Sober Full Moon

Many Danish poets have described the full moon as an alcoholic being, because full, in Danish, also means drunk. It is so easy for the light-hearted writers, but the Moon has feelings, and not infrequently felt hurt. She is struggling a bit with post-traumatic stress because of these centuries-old descriptions, so she has promulgated ” Sky Express ” that there will not be served alcohol this year, either for itself or for intimate star or cold comets, which instead must put their inclinations, and ice crystals, up by other places if they want a small inebriation.

There is then indeed quite many befuddled constellations, they can visit.

No, this time she will drink the non alcohol version of ginger ale. There’s also happened this that alcohol policy in the sky have been tightened up so that you can lose your stars if you are tipsy while working.

If someone were to hear the Moon hiccups this time, please immediately contact the Milky Way Sheriff, which can be easily recognized by the great star, he wears the lapel of his vest, which is reserved for use in an official capacity. For it is considered very important that the moon behaves intergalactic and modestly. If the moon was drunk every time it was full, it would be a lousy role model, especially for people on the earth as well look up to it.

When the full moon is high on the beautiful night sky, she should inspire poetry, love, beauty and peace. She has always wanted to light herself, from the moment she realized that it was the sun that gave the light.

It took a long time before she realized this, and that is understandable when you consider how beautiful reflections sea fascinates with, and therefore easily forgotten what self and its light is actually is made of. And this, the light itself, is quite a task, because it is not enough that there is light delivered. No, there must be something else. Quite what this otherwise was, she was not certainty yet. However, she has her suspicions.

Many think not that the Moon has intuition. But she has, and will try to listen to it, and she will tentatively wish happy spring with a glass of sparkling ginger ale, which she will squeeze lemon in for fresh sake . It’s a piece of advice she has received from Mars, who managed to taste this mixture before he felt a biff in the planet and went into a coma. He had been too warmongering and intemperance in a long time, lived as a spendthrift, and is now paying on the debt cited.

His desolate countries is perhaps Karma, which can not be called good or bad, just fair and self-inflicted, as far as known. About other things played a role, there may be many opinions on, but the idea of Karma intervention sits well with most, and then the matter is assumed closed.

When the time comes, he comes to trial, and, having learned his lesson, he may perhaps be blooming again. Who knows? Love poetry is at the top of his wish list, because he has heard some stanzas from an exceptionally beautiful and loving shooting star that had fallen a star sun and made a wish possible. But it is too early yet, the inspiration is missing, while a dawning hope, however sprouts.

The Moon knows all this and even, from time immemorial, tasted the good life, the greedy abundance so that she now says: “Better late than never.” And as long as she stays on the silvery road with the golden star selections, the sun will shine on her, and let her feel herself accountable for her beautiful light.

But she must be wary not to fall in the silver ditches again, where there is so much, she will go to misappropriate, because there is only light men to deceive. And they will make her tired and worn on her face so it will be obvious for everybody. We wish her the best and want her to keep smiling.

Theatre thunder

Nature may be subtle and play us apparently many plaster. As if it pulls us around by the nose in the manege, and forcing us to dance to its tune. It uses an excellent conductor and virtuoso playing so that we get enchanted, and find it difficult to spot other than what it has in the repertoire.

We get lost easily and immediately, in the ideas it intends to show on the Main Stage. The performances seem sometimes theatrical, but can be anything from agonizing to sentimental. The field of our core, though neutral, seems difficult to conquer.

Without a compass, we have to fight our battles with double-edged swords. It makes sense, as long as the show is running. Meanwhile, we choose the first, and then the other way. Over and over again, not all the signs we encounter in the scenes, seems to be true, and navigation unit has been unfaithful several times. The weather forecast is fooling us, and the time is rarely quiet, but are either too slow or too fast. So we convert ourselves gradually to rely on intuition.

When the curtain goes down after the last performance, when the lights turned off and the seats folded up, we get up, stretch our legs and smile a bit dazed to each other.

Outside, in the warm summer evening, stands some and gets a cigarette. They understood the show before it ended, but waited anyway because there were people who would drive home together.

Lis and Knud have seen the play several times, Allan understood not a bit, and Gail and Eigil have finally realized that lightning strikes from theatrical thunder never can hurt their thatched house.

Views

Down from the plain one could see he was standing on the narrow ledge with his back against the wall, so to speak. The distance from the plain up to the rock shelf was more than a hundred meters, and the shelf was so narrow that he could just keep his footing. His arms were spread out to the side with palms facing toward the cliff.

He had a view of a stunning panorama. Top glorious and infinite sky, the bottom an extensive landscape with a glittering river which writhed in a lazy way. When he looked down, he felt an icing of the spine. Not because he was afraid, but because the height and the way he was standing on, together made an impression, as he invariably was reminded of how little he needed to quickly fall so low.

Right behind him was a wooden door, which he could open with a push back if he wanted. He could hear the beautiful music from inside and spread glorious, appetizing scents that reminded him of how appealing there was behind the door. He could also hear footsteps and happy babbling and slightly golden light found its way through the cracks. All of this was his as soon as he wanted, but there was something fascinating about staying here, at least a little while and experience the feelings and moods which lay on a completely different level than his usual confidence to offer. He stood here often for half an hour, and felt he charged his mental batteries.

Today there was a new element in his experience. Half a meter from his face frolicking an exceptionally beautiful butterfly itself. He did not know this kind and marveled at its unique , luminous and delicate colors. His attention gathered automatically fully on it, and little by little it dawned on him that it spoke to him in a voice as fine as a spider web thin silver thread:

¨Come to me lean towards freedom. I am sent in this special way, because the time is ripe. I am a love and infinite goddess. Turn your palms forward and give completely let go. Do not be afraid, for the silent ocean of consciousness will grab you and make you free from now on and forever. Fear is the greatest sin you might wear, it will leave you if your courage and your borderless trust to me, determines your action. If you do not dare, if you fear for your life and go through the door behind you, I can not tell you when you see me again, because I have so many to visit and offer freedom. I clothe me several different shapes and colors, so I always dress for the occasion. You will also completely forget me for many, many years and seek sunlight and electric light instead of mental light, until your soul one day again get homesick. Please do therefore not wait even a second more.¨

Down from the plain one could not see this butterfly, but there were other butterflies frolicking among the flowers that grew on the banks of the river. The river glittered still in the beautiful sunlight and occupied the viewer’s attention.

Looking up on the narrow ledge, there was not a living soul to see now. Only a closed door.

But it says nothing in itself.

//To venture.

"To dare is to lose footing for a moment, not to dare is to lose oneself"

Quote by Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1853), Danish theologian and philosopher.

Udsigt.

Nede fra sletten kunne man se, han stod på den smalle klippehylde, med ryggen mod muren, så at sige. Afstanden fra sletten op til klippehylden var mere end hundrede meter, og hylden var så smal, at han netop kunne bevare fodfæstet. Hans arme var bredt ud til siden med håndfladerne vendt mod klippen.

Han havde udsigt til et fantastisk panorama. Øverst en skyfri og uendelig himmel, nederst et udstrakt landskab med en solglitrende flod som bugtede sig på en doven måde. Når han kiggede ned, følte han en isning i rygraden. Ikke fordi han var bange, men fordi højden og måden han stod på, sammen gjorde et vist indtryk, da han uvægerligt blev mindet om, hvor lidt der skulle til for hurtigt at falde så dybt.

Lige bag ham var en trædør, som han kunne åbne med et skub af ryggen, hvis han ville. Han kunne høre den smukkeste musik der inde fra, og der bredte sig herlige, appetitvækkende dufte som mindede ham om, hvor tiltalende der var bag døren. Han kunne også høre fodtrin og glad pludren, og lidt gyldent lys fandt vej gennem sprækkerne. Alt dette var jo hans, så snart han ville, men der var noget fascinerende ved at stå her, i hvert fald en lille stund, og opleve følelser og stemninger som lå på et helt andet niveau, end hans vante tryghed kunne tilbyde. Han stod her ofte en halv times tid, og følte han ladede sine mentale batterier op.

I dag var der et nyt element i hans erfaring. En halv meters afstand fra hans ansigt boltrede en usædvanlig smuk sommerfugl sig. Han kendte ikke denne art og undrede sig over dens helt specielle, selvlysende og sarte farver. Hans opmærksomhed samlede sig automatisk helt og fuldt om den, og lidt efter lidt gik det op for ham, at den talte til ham med en stemme så fin som en spindelvævstynd sølvtråd:

¨Kom ud til mig, læn dig frem mod friheden. Jeg er sendt på denne særlige måde, fordi tiden er moden. Jeg er kærlighedens og uendelighedens gudinde. Vend dine håndflader fremad og giv helt slip. Du skal ikke være bange, for bevidsthedsoceanet vil gribe dig og gøre dig fri fra nu af og altid. Frygt er den største synd, og bærer du på den, vil den forlade dig, hvis dit mod og din grænsefri tillid til mig afgør din handling. Hvis du alligevel ikke tør, hvis du frygter for dit liv og går ind ad døren i stedet, kan jeg ikke sige dig, hvornår du ser mig igen, for jeg har så mange at besøge og tilbyde frihed. Og jeg iklæder mig flere forskellige former og farver, så jeg altid er klædt på til lejligheden. Du vil så også helt glemme mig i mange, mange år og søge sollys og elektrisk lys i stedet for mentalt lys, indtil din sjæl en skønne dag igen får hjemve. Tøv derfor ikke et sekund.¨

Nede fra sletten kunne man ikke se denne sommerfugl, men der var andre sommerfugle som boltrede sig blandt de blomster som voksede ved bredderne af floden. Floden glitrede stadig i det smukke sollys og drog gang på gang beskuerens opmærksomhed til sig. Kiggede man opad mod den smalle klippehylde, var der ikke en levende sjæl at se. Og døren var lukket.

Men det siger jo ikke noget i sig selv.

From grey to gold

If you just had not seen it happen, you would not suspect that the dense, green hedge that followed the sidewalk, was pretty well occupied by happy and chattering grey sparrows. They broke suddenly into the hedge, as when the farmer’s wife sprinkle a handful of grain from her apron pocket out to her hens.

But Sherlock had seen it. Sherlock saw it almost every time. He was an experience affected cat a little over fourteen years old and his resume was in order. He had tried a little of everything, and move silently as a ninja was the least of his art.

Now the flock of sparrows suddenly left the hedge. As a small tornado. Only one of the sparrows did not make it, and it was Sherlock’s profit. He had plucked a little toy… in the first place … and a treat in the other.

The sparrows were again gathered in the hedge. Now began one of them, to tell about a friend who had hopped from branch to branch in the tree by the hedge. Higher and higher she made it, and in the end she had become engulfed a moment of a beautiful sunbeam. Ever since she had only sung the gilded sparrow song: “quit quit quit quit quit quit… queeeeeeet.”

“Could she not help us to keep an eye on the cat or maybe scare him away. I mean, with this adventourus view,” one of them said.

“She says this, that the only way we can avoid all of our problems is that we follow her example and jump up in the golden world field. For in the hedge area there will always be a new cat when Sherlock take retirement or die. This is the way it works. She knows, however, that we find it hard to leave our beloved hedge.”

“But at least I try to practice a little of her song. For it was perhaps not so foolish to be gilded instead of being devoured. The song is relatively easy to remember, for both text and chorus is almost the same: quit quit quit quit quit quit… queeeeeeet.”

Time travel

“Some imagine that one maybe can travel back in time, but never ahead because the future has not occurred yet. But if you traveled back in time, would the selected time people have to meet people (or beings) from the future.

Then, based on that logic, one can also travel to the future IF you can travel to the past.”

After reading an article in Ekstra Bladet, inspired by Videnskab.dk, there is a basis for additional views:

If you find yourself somewhere 100 million light years from Earth, and could be there looking at the earth with telescopes which were powerful enough, you would see the earth as it looked when dinosaurs lived. When you look out into space, you are looking back in time because the light is so long to arrive, and therefore, the nearest star other than the sun, turns out as it was for 4.24 years ago.

It’s an interesting angle on this that, if not travel so, however, LOOK back in time. It has been very difficult to imagine that anyone can make as powerful and advanced telescopes that this can be done, but we know very little of a possible technical development of one, thought highly developed planet.

And if you could, would you then see moving images, and if so, what is the reality of all this? Where is the difference between real living and things from yesterday? These shifts in space and time are not easy to understand, I think. But interesting to mull over.

Hash

The rustling dices and the dice cups muffled sound when they hit the tablecloths were as primitive instruments held a kind of pace in the many cross-voice cacophonous attempt to warm up for a concert that was kept alive on a mighty wave, which did not intention to break off and be crushed to sea foam to the patiently waiting coast. It was lively, but was also withheld, in a breathless second, who had thrown the eternity cloak around her shoulders.

It sounded as if all the instruments were tested and tried voted at once, before the conductor’s baton would control all in a predetermined direction.

It was time to get up for a while. Everyone had beer standing in front of them. Filled glass half-empty glass and batteries of beer bottles all the time was replaced by a white apron which brought in and lashed out in a smooth, professional rhythm. Plates were being removed, now the hash, with mashed potatoes and beetroot had legs to walk on. It provoked new feature in the cacophony: clinking cutlery on plates and dishes on plates with a robotic regularity.

He pushed the chair backwards, supported his hands against the table edge, took a swig of beer and went quietly out. No one took any notice of it as this to get up and go out or come in and sit down, was an integral part of the performance. Only when a new face came in and wanted to participate, lifted and turned their heads attentively for a moment.

Outside it was dark, mild, still and starry night. An overwhelming contrast to what he had just risen from. He was blown away by the atmosphere and sucked the starry sky to him while he felt the gentle heady feelings wear amicably through.

So he grabbed the doorknob slowly after, it was time to go back inside.

He opened the door a crack, and expected the familiar wall of voices and activity wash over it, as soon as possible to engulf him again, but only tobacco smoke, mixed with the fresh evening air and a petrified scenario was to trace. Everything was at a standstill, as if the stars had enchanted it. A strong feeling of unreality hit him. His expectations did not fit here, which ousted a peculiar sense of being outside of time and space.

Am I dreaming or am I dead, he thought, though he knew neither was the case.

He opened the door so that he could get through. Not a sound, no movements. But then all at once, as if by magic, it started all over again, as if it had just been frozen in time as he immersed himself in the night sky and then suddenly drove on again full curtains. As if nothing had happened, and as if all had been waiting for his participation in order to live again. As a film that had been broken, and suddenly was repaired. He would just like to indicate the start, but in a special way, which was under his immediate conscious horizon.

As he sat down at the table, it dawned on him that all along, had been a voice who tried to tell him something. A voice so quiet and insistent as distant almost silent lightnings at harvest. Now he would make an effort to grab what this mysterious voice had to say. It might shed light on his recent and unusual experience, and his mind began to listen inward.

¨ Bowl,¨ was said, and in the next second, he had forgotten all about the voice and slipped effortlessly into the common atmosphere. The conductor had grabbed the baton, and all was now playing on the same nodes.

Freedom

Limits of mind as clouds for the sun,

defiant waves as they constantly run.

The pier will wrestle with angry waves

defy their power to make them slaves.

Desire for freedom is strong and constant,

as hovering eagle and strong elephant.

Freedom is like a room without walls,

where ceiling is gone and raindrops falls.

The struggle for freedom can go very deep

deeper than dreaming as deepest sleep.