Going through my university study notes (in theoretical linguistics) I have realized that Universal/Generative grammar and being bilingual was my first consciousness-expanding experience. Deep syntax structure theory broke my mind completely. Noam Chomsky is – for sure – God’s left hand on issues relating to human awakening! Indeed – WHY and HOW do all humans know what a noun is and what a verb is and what an adjective is. It is fascinating that children have such easy access to such a vast database of knowledge from infancy. I especially like the idea that we are born with this UNIVERSAL database of linguistic rules for which ANY language can be applied very quickly up to a certain age. And it is only later that we start dividing languages as “easy to learn” vs. “hard to learn”. How do bilingual children, for example, start understanding without any explanation the deep structure of syntax? Say – English/Spanish combination. They somehow know that all English sentences require an object “I go” whereas in Spanish the same sentence will not require an object “Voy”. Nobody explains it to them! They understand it very easily. Whereas when you start learning Spanish vs English later in life – this syntax difference is probably the first one to get used to…
What would we be like without these deep syntax structures? Is it THEM that make us linear in time? And the time going only one direction?
It’s interesting that the Hopi tribe have a cyclical notion of time; therefore, they have a less linear language, for instance, day and night aren’t separate. Tomorrow isn’t another day. Tomorrow is day returning. Hopi day controversy. Whorf wrote about this while studying Hopi language.
Hieroglyphic speakers find Western languages difficult because they are linear. When in front of a page of ideograms they immediately see/feel what the topic is and can move in any direction. Their language lateralization is on the right side of the brain, ours is on the left.
The research on “genius” seems to indicate that “feeling” is the only nonlinear “language”… if you can call it a language. The simultaneous understanding of many aspects of a situation leads to breakthroughs in human thought aka genius. I think it can even be taught (to a certain extent)… Steiner talks about the withered intuitive sense and how to develop this. Fascinating subject.
The only way to speak in non- linear fashion would be telepathic so that an instant message would contain the whole picture of what is being said….and transferred to another person…💫💫
… We are doomed to be linear in time here while we are speaking the languages…
On the bridge, remaining the same, only made different by the sunlight or the dapping effect of the clouds, looking like it was dreamed into existence rather than constructed, soulless but solid and safe, trains sweep past each other, providences fly tired and divergent.
You’ve met eyes of someone you liked but then looked away to not meet them again.
I am thinking of conversations we had, which are life, craft, zen, books, destinies, causes and all the discrepancies that prevent one from breathing into other’s chest, which seems to be accessible only in parallel worlds. I read books and people, bridges on the background, walk miles, U2 is in my headphones, erasing ballerinas on the asphalt, drinking coffee in liters. You know, I walked this city through and through, found a favorite hidden vineyard in Pimlico, learned to accept people as they seem and any forthcoming circumstances. A couple of months ago it credulously seemed to me that I was not afraid of anything. I even expressed it aloud to you and immediately bit my tongue. Today I’m rather concerned about not causing affliction or hurt to others. I learned to speak and write, it seemed somewhat to save me from loneliness. Only indirectly though. It opened the gate of opportunity, taking small steps towards leniency. You as nobody know how demanding it is to merge with me, not every playfellow of mine has enough longanimity and vitality. The wind in the street, almost rocking me back on my heels, graffitis, June has not yet been spent, tenderness overboarding, but it is not intended for anyone. Useless tenderness of mine. Mayakovsky’s poems come to mind. Old friends are farther away, but in the psyche they are part of my kindred, and in here – people with all our human dramas. It remains only to puzzle. How good and keen it is to feel. And it is healthy to not always get everything you want, but sometimes to get what you really need. Walked my miles! Digested the day I lived.
You can’t confuse it – it’s sunlight. Unique. So gentle and surreal.
Through the unwashed from the last summer glass of the old window, the transparent curtain, the decanter on the table it falls and shares its warmth.
You throw your tired arm, frozen from the shadows, into this sunny spot in the middle of the window sill and the ray reaches out to you.
And then suddenly memories hit… The love of those different people you’ve met in your life… Them sharing with you their feelings and experiences. Tremble and shiver in your body from this heat and comfort from the realization that it could/did happen… Brightest colors. Rainbows. Butterflies in the stomach.
In this daze you go out, walk and love. Carefully not to miss anything and God forbid to frighten off your luck or Universe. You now know how to observe, absorb, listen quietly so to understand more. You are after insights. You follow the signs, signs of nature and your intuition.
You stop to sit on the fresh cut grass, present in few realities, watching teenagers play badminton above you and also buried in your many memories.
You wander through the twisted alleys, peaking in the windows, faces, souls. You come into contact with them.
And the rain comes and you feel so alive and the sky is blue with a small cloud in the middle and there will be snow but before leaves falling and gray clouds over the spiers of houses. And it will be frost on the windows one day.
And the light in the kitchen will burn because it’s too early and the sun has not yet risen.
With conversations until the morning and your old bookshelf with your loved books and heart pressed to the heart, and hand in hand. Mesmerised.
Notebooks finished, candle shadows mysteriously dancing on the walls.
New books, movies, films, maps, photos. New doors, new roads, roads, roads, discoveries, dawns, tiredness of grey morning, the smell of gasoline, looks of passers-by, and returning home, brewing tea and reaching a homemade jam from apricots at the familiar kitchen shelf. And “Hold me! … Please!”
“She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city”.
When you move, the view from your window changes. And so does your world outlook and perception… How do you like this allegory?
Getting lost to find herself. She is inspired by events and meetings, to which she can not remain indifferent and so appreciate people whose intellect impresses her. She is looking for meaningful stimulating encounters that lift up and elate her… Increasing her curiosity about the world, making her ask questions, learning more about herself…
Trusting the Universe. She reads Nature’s signs, follows her intuitions and insights, knowing that she is meant to love others.
Her life is constantly changing, flowing like a never ending stream… Longing for change, growth and freedom.
In our frantic fast paced world, often superficial and self-centred, she ultimately desires to connect with another kindred like-minded soul.
The thought of today is making love is one of most powerful ways of communication…,, A pure blissful Energy exchange. And the opportunity to GROW communicating with each other.
The ability to see the story in everything that surrounds you is rather the companion of those who read a lot. You walk along the street, you look at the pharmacy, a yellow stain of light falling from the window onto the pavement that has just become covered with frost, traces of a dog and several passers-by, crossing this spot and a story is born in your head. Or the autumn grapes over the entrance to the book cafe, the lamps are lost in them and the light is again the same yellow as was in the childhood. Are you a writer, photographer, artist, designer, muse? Something is happening in your head and so in this heap of information inspiration is born… Recently I was a guest of the talented artist, so everything was permeated with the sources of this Energy: the grid on the floor, the courtyard with holes in the brick walls, where pigeons live, an ashtray on the marble window sill, a door from the yard, reminiscent of the entrance to an unknown magical dimension… My hand did not want to let go when parting. It seemed if you let go, the magic will disappear, the personality will evaporate, and with it all the fruits of creativity and miracles. We live by touch. To feel this is such a rarity. To appreciate this is priceless luck.