Because love come first

Любовта е онази радост от съвместното съществуване заедно. Просто така – аз съм щастлив, защото те познавам. Щастлив съм понеже животите ни са свързани. Искам и ти да си щастлива, защото аз се интересувам от твоето щастие. Искам ти да си щастлива. Ето това е любовта. Не звучи като нещо голямо и велико, обаче е!

Ако ти живееш сто години, аз искам да живея сто години без един ден, така че никога да не живея без теб.

Прасчо: Как се пише любов?

Пух: Тя не се пишe

, тя се чувства.

Finder

Somehow, ending our conversation with a small group, I, as usual, said goodbye to one story. To my surprise, one person from the group asked for the floor and offered to give me his story. This story I liked, and I decided to write it in memory of his friend Hai Gabon.This is a story about a man whom I would call a seeker ...Seeker - is someone who is looking for something, not necessarily the one who finds it. It's also not the one who always knows exactly what he was looking for. This is just the one for whom his own life - but search.Once the seeker was worried and thought that it would be necessary to visit the city Kammir. And he began to assemble in a way. He learned how to attach great importance to the feelings that came to him from the unknown depths of his soul. That's why he left all his things and went on the road.After two days' journey along the dusty road he could see the distant outline of Kammira. The right of the path to the city on a hill has been viewed a green island, which attracted his attention. Coming closer, he discovered that it is a hill with lots of delightful trees, birds and flowers, surrounded by a small fence, made of polished wood. Semi-open bronze door seems to invite him to come.He had forgotten for a while about the city, where and why he went, and succumbed to the temptation to relax a bit at this point. Seeker went inside and began to slowly move between the white stones, which seemed were randomly placed among the trees.His view, like a butterfly fluttered and stopped at every little detail of this multi-colored paradise.His eyes were the eyes of the seeker, they were opened to meet the entire novel, and perhaps why he found such an inscription on a stone:Abdul Tareg,lived for 8 years, 6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days.He shuddered involuntarily, realizing that it was not just a stone, tombstone.He felt pity at the thought that the child lived for so little.Looking around, the seeker saw that on a nearby plate also has an inscription. He came close to read it. The inscription reads:Yamira Kalibospent 5 years, 8 months and 3 weeks.Finder was shocked. This beautiful place was a graveyard, and every stone - grave. One after another, he began to read the inscription.All of them were similar: the name and meticulously counted lifetime.But the worst thing was that a man who lived the longest, was little more than eleven years.Greatly saddened by this discovery, he sat down and wept.Approached him he was passing the cemetery superintendent.Noticing that the searcher is crying, he asked whether he mourns a relative.- No, not a relative - said searcher. - What is happening here? What happened in this town? Why so many children buried in this place? What a curse is on these people?The old man smiled and said:- Calm down. No curse not. We have an ancient custom. Want me to tell you about it ...And he began his story:"When he turns fifteen years old, my parents give him a little book. Such as I have. It is worn on the neck. Since then, each time experiencing something very pleasant, open your notebook and write in it:Left - causing pleasure.Right - how many have lasted these moments.So much for tradition.For example, you meet a girl and fell in love. Whether long was the joy of dating? How crazy passion lasted? Week? Two? Three and a half?Then - the excitement of the first kiss ... it's an extraordinary pleasure. How to measure it?Fifteen minutes? As much as kiss lasts? Or else. Add emotions associated with it, its aftertaste. Two days? Week?Then - the birth of their first child ...A wedding of friends?A long-awaited trip?A meeting with his brother, who returned from a distant land?How many were released pleasures?Watch? Days?And so we celebrate in the book every moment of joy ... every moment.We have since instituted:When someone dies,need to open notebookand put the time of pleasure,to write it on the grave.Because for us the only thing that has really lived life. "

Jorge Buaky

Obstacles

The text that you see here, actually - not quite the history. It is rather a reflection, inspired by a dream. And I suggest to think of him with me to understand the true reasons for some of our failures. Please read it carefully, trying to stay even for a moment on every phrase, and personally to imagine every situation.
I'm walking on a footpath.
Going, where eyes look.
My gaze slides over the trees, birds, stones.
On the horizon loom the outlines of a city.
I ran my eyes to better see him.
I'm drawn to this city, it attracts me.
Without knowing why, I feel that in this city all come true, what I dream.
My goals, intentions and aspirations.
All my dreams come true - in this city.
Here's what I needed, something that I aspire, and that trying to do.
Things for which I work, trying to become what we would like.
It fulfilled all my dreams here - my main goal.
I imagine that everything is concentrated in the city.
And without a doubt, heading in his direction.
Just after the way I see that the trail goes uphill.
I'm a little tired, but it does not matter.
Move on.
And I see in front of the black outlines of the shadows.
Coming closer, I understand that a huge ditch blocks my way.
I'm afraid ... I was assailed by doubts.
I'm annoyed that you can not easily reach your goal.
But I hesitate to jump over the moat.
Digress, diverge, jump ...
Attempt failed.
I calm down and keep going to the target.
A few meters on my way to another ditch.
I have again run up and jump.
And already running to the city: I think the road is no longer obstacles.
I am amazed, seeing the chasm that has emerged in my way.
I stop.
It can not jump.
Looking around, I notice that lie near boards, nails and tools.
I understand that you can build a bridge.
But I was never a master of all trades ...
Me again assailed by doubts.
I look at the desirable goal of ...
And to take to build a bridge.
Pass the hours, days, months.
The bridge is ready.
In the excitement I walk on it.
And by clicking on the other side ... I rest in the wall.
A huge cold and wet wall surrounds the city of my dreams ...
I'm in despair ...
I'm trying to get around to it.
Not obtained.
I must find a way.
The city is already so close ...
I will not allow a wall to stop me.
I'm going to climb up.
A few minutes rest to gather strength ...
And suddenly I notice
Child
who looks in my direction, like an old friend.
He smiles at me amiably.
And reminds me ... in my childhood.
Perhaps that is why I hesitate to complain aloud:
- Why do so many barriers between me and my goal?
- The child shrugs and says:
- Why do I ask?
They were not, until you came ...
Are you a all the obstacles.

Jorge Bukay

The children were alone

Mother had gone in the morning and left the children in the care of the girl of eighteen, which she sometimes invited a few hours for a small fee.
Since the death of their father, fallen on hard times. You could lose your job, if we stay home every time my grandmother would not be able to sit with the children, sick or leave the city.
Marina after lunch put the kids to bed. And then she called her boyfriend and asked for a ride in his new car. The girl did not particularly think. In the end, the children usually do not wake up before five o'clock.
Hearing the blast machine, she picked up her purse and turn off the phone. She prudently closed the door with a key to the room and cleaned it in her purse. She did not want to wake up, Pancho walked down her stairs. He was only six years, he could gape, tripped and hurt. In addition, she thought, how can we explain to the mother that her child is not found?
What was it? Short circuit in a TV or fixtures included in the room off from the fire ... a spark? But it so happened that the curtains caught fire and the fire quickly reached the wooden staircase leading to the bedroom.
From smoke seeped through the door, baby coughed and woke up. Without hesitating, Pancho jumped out of bed and tried to open the door. Put pressure on the bolt, but could not.
If he did, then he and his brother chest after a few minutes would have perished in the raging flames.
Pancho shouted, and called the nurse, but no one responded to his cries for help. Then he ran to the phone to dial her mother, but it was disconnected.
Pancho realized that only now he must find a way out and save himself and his brother. He tried to open the window, which was a ledge, but his little hands were not under the power to open the valve. But even if he did, he would have to overcome more and a wire guard, had set his parents.
When firefighters extinguished the fire, everyone was talking only about one thing:
- How could such a little baby break a window and break the hanger bars?
- How he managed to stuff the baby in a backpack?
- How did he manage to pass along the eaves with the load and go down the tree?
- How could they be saved?
Old Fire Chief, a wise and respected man, replied:
- Panchito was one ... there was nobody to tell him that he can not.

Jorge Bukay

Illusion
There once was a fat and ugly peasant
who love (and why not?)
a beautiful blonde princess ...
One day the princess - who knows why -
kissed the fat and ugly peasant ...
and he is magically transformed
a slim and handsome prince.
(At least so it seemed ...)
(At least, so he felt ...)

Jorge Bukay

Epitaph on the death of an unusual human

November 28, 1984.
Today a man died.
This man was my friend.
He was 35 years old.
In terms of statistics, he was too young when you consider the average life expectancy.
He spent plenty of time for what he did, and totally inadequate for what he was capable.
It was an interesting personality, but in addition also a very unusual man. Opinions differ about him: some thought he was insufferable pedant, while others asserted that he possessed a brilliant mind and a lack of modesty, as so often happens with geniuses. I just knew him best, I can say that he was neither a genius nor a pedant. He was a man who enjoyed the fact that he did. He called himself a hedonist, and consequently lived, worked himself into joy.
Perhaps this is the unrestrained desire for action and caused a big problem in its relations with others. All seemed to him too slow and passive, and for some reason, which I guess he is constantly
was among people who are not very lively mind, and ruthlessly to criticize them. To try to explain this behavior - and perhaps to justify the other - I guess that all his life he not only did not consider himself a genius, but also suspected in the depths of the soul, it was foolish, goosey, worthless person, incapable of to any creative activity.
My friend was more interested in entertainment acts, not actions themselves. His love affair had to be a passion. The breadth of his interests is boundless. His fascination with nothing comparable. His energy is inexhaustible. That's why he was a wonderful professional: the therapist, who owned a technique of catharsis. He, like anyone else, could reduce stress, doing things you love. (I wonder whether he found what he wanted? In addition, he constantly complained that he could not find a suitable doctor. Perhaps he needed a doctor, what was he ...)
Whatever it was, it was a remarkable man. How not to fall in love with someone who fully devoted himself had started any case, important or insignificant, with the same unbridled enthusiasm, and sometimes absurd?
There was also another side of this vibrant personality. Other, more pathetic, as he put it, the vision of the situation ... probably the least attractive feature of his character, or (why not?) The driving force behind his actions was this:
This man is too fast to bother.
It was getting boring.
Boredom. Probably, it determines the life of my great friend and comrade. Enthusiasm gave way to weariness from the people, work, sports, dress and manners of speaking. Frankly, he got tired of their own existence. But despite that, today, when it came time to sum up, I must confess: it was the fact that he never tired. He lived for this and for that, with all the passion with which he enjoyed everything else. Clear image of standing up before his eyes: he and the children. I never saw him get tired, irritated from contact with their children or did not want to see them.
(Maybe to them he simply had no time for nostalgia? Luckily, we never even know.)
Without a doubt, this man loved his children more than anything else. I do not know whether he liked someone else, as his children? (Not "like", namely "how" of their children.) Moreover: if he loved someone truly? (In the sense that he understood the word "love"?) That is: whether he is taking someone without reservations? This is a mystery. In my humble opinion, he liked until now ... he did not start to like someone else. Because, as soon as it happens, love, magnanimity and generosity,
seemed to be evaporated and were replaced by hideous requirements, unhealthy expectations and the lowest passions ...
If there is doubt about whether he loved, there is no doubt that he never felt truly loved.
Behind this "omnipotent" man, strong and invincible, "pandornogo (afford this neologism), hiding in the shadows of the universal favorite, was a changed man, his alter ego. Secretly, though somber Mr. Hyde, but not cruel, but need the location to yourself. Another person with a lot of deficiencies, weak, demanding, annoying and miserable. Unloved, insecure, unsatisfied ... This man took more than half a lifetime to meet face to face with his ego lurking. And finally, he was lucky: not because of courage, as brave as he was, but because of the stubbornness ... When, after twenty years of searching, he found himself (or decided to have discovered), he also understood (or agreed that understood) and what others (those whom he loved) continued desire to remain the same. To what it was before meeting with yourself.
And he backed down.
He agreed to forever play the role of a superhero, who had to bravely deny the dark side of his soul.
Even he did not know how managed to achieve what ever anyone did not expect. "Counted" in the sense that he understood the word, that is, unconditionally. At heart he was convinced that nobody can rely on another person unconditionally, but at the same time, he could not get rid of those ridiculous looking in, to whose bosom he could lay his tired head, close your eyes and relax.
Today I would like to say that never talked to him in the eye:
You never do not trust anyone
I do not want to think so, because he was so friendly and always willing to help. How many of you, the survivors could claim that he was your friend? Many would classify it to your friends, but who would dare assert that these relationships were mutual? Frankly, I think that no one, because I doubt that he, in spite of external openness, was able to trust others. Not because of the shortcomings of others. He was simply incapable of it.
I can imagine that he once someone has confidence.
Maybe once, long ago, he relied on someone ...
Hoped, and he was cheated ...
But what is this ridiculous excuse!
What changes this assumption? Why does a person because of it has to constantly wear a "mask"? Maybe it takes away any responsibility for failing to keep friends (except one, which, incidentally, had emigrated.) Or is it allows a close eye on his involvement to the "failure".
If he heard this, he would refuse the understanding, sympathy or pity ...
How many uncertainties remain in this complicated life!
One of these mysteries was his family life. What connected the man with his wife? That he felt for her? Death claimed the answer to this question.
True is that until the day of his death he continued to live with her.
It would be too easy to think that he stayed with it for the sake of children.
It would be wrong to think that he was perfectly happy in marriage.
It would be naive to believe that he was (or consider themselves) are unable to seduce or be seduced by another woman.
It would be foolish to admit that he did not give his report in an event or denied it ...
So he stayed out of love for this woman, or was confined to her own fears?
Anyone who has asked him about it, I would know that he loved her very much. But no one could understand to what extent. Did he love her in a moment of his death? I think so. However, her image was obsessed with his outstanding deeds or the life he once she provided, or its role in these relations. And she, in turn, was absorbed by the annoyance and devastated by his excessive demands. I say this with complete certainty, because I think that life with him could not be neither easy nor pleasant.
Yet now, next to the dead, I would just like to talk about him as a husband. And he considered himself a great husband (at least before he had enough and he ceased to struggle, or rather gave it to fight it) He believed that rendered intolerable, survived all did their utmost, and all for that they become an ideal couple.
But there was not enough time. This fool is constantly shifted responsibility for his failures on his wife. And, rightly or not, he died with the thought that she was unable to cope with the circumstances.
In recent years, he saved his anger and resentment that clouded his life ... and never found a quiet bay, where I could wash this dirt that have accumulated over the years.
Important to know that a lot more than love, was his affection for this woman.
Because there is no doubt that he has never to anyone was not tied as to her. Never!
And perhaps this is precisely the problem was.
Only her he had provided the dubious privilege of seeing himself as he is.
Only to her, he showed his weakest side.
But she could not accept and endure it all.
And if they could, they did not want to ... And if they wanted to, he never even knew.
Why did he continue this relationship? He knew all repeating: one love is not enough! And what ...?
Gee!
It is quite possible clue to the many strange things and the answer to the riddle "non-splittable" family relationship - fear. How much enthusiasm and without looking he was involved in his work, how was bold in his actions, just as weak and indecisive, he was inside.
Somehow I got the idea that his diagnosis is probably related to the phobia, rather than with anything else I've long realized that his tantrums were undoubtedly pose, a defense mechanism or, at best - an expression of desire. This person would be constrained by fear. Starting with the stupid and banal (for example, he clutched his heart in the night phone calls) to panic at the thought that his children could have something happen (cough or headache in children was enough to deprive him of his father's dream or at least, calm). And between these two extremes, between serious and frivolous - the fear of death ... his own death. Fear, who accompanied him to the last day, which destroyed most of his life. Recently, he behaved like a hypochondriac, relentlessly watching their breathing, heartbeat, muscle pain, or for any reaction to the skin or mucous membrane. He was embarrassed by this, perhaps because he knew: the moment that cost him his life, will be hidden for his constant fear of the disease. Perhaps his spleen was prophetic anticipation of death? Was it a concern of his psychological feature or
premonition? Now, as the "later" for it will no longer, this concern seems unimportant. If you look at the story in retrospect, premature death can also be interpreted as a natural and perhaps even desirable result of the tremendous expenditure of energy ... but he did not want to die.
At least he no longer wanted to live than to die. Despite everything, the man enjoyed life and was confident that his relatives enjoyed his company. But note: the first mutual pleasure lasted only with respect to "away".
And the reason it was hated throughout the habit, or should I say - terrible commitment: a passion for candor. The surrounding is not used to it and not going to get used to. And this ridiculous craze sincerity gave him a lot of trouble. If he had said: "I am a good doctor," he pigeonhole bouncer.
He is not a party problem, which others avoided - people also poked fun at his "omnipotence".
He was proud of well deserved success, and all around thought him conceited.
He spoke in the face. - "I do not want to see you," and the source in response to call him hell-raiser.
He ceased to go wherever he did not want, and passed for unsociable. He refused to lie and condemned for cruelty. He did not want to be "like everyone else, because I do not want to get lost in the crowd, and accused him of everything that he wants to be in the spotlight.
Oddly enough, but it's so ...
He is a doctor, psychiatrist, psychotherapist, psychoanalyst, an analyst who specializes in communicative relations, Gestalt psychology, and more or less keen observer ... and yet, strangely enough, never understand people!
What remained of the journey through life of this man?
Was it worth it to live?
He is survived by children, and this alone justifies it.
He left behind a lot or a little (I think that a lot) of what he said, has taught and what has helped his patients.
Has not been forgotten and his case dealt with by other physicians, as well as what they had learned (or, in any case, they say that have learned).
Remained considerable capital, of which he was so concerned in recent years.
Still have his ideas and unique style of presentation.
Remains the memory of his good humor, his smile and originality.
Remains confident that it is possible and necessary "to fight for their own beliefs.
Here lies one of whom we can say
without fear of contradiction:
"He has done everything possible to be happy ...
and he did it! "
Perhaps, after all the above make sense of speech, which he himself asked to write on his tombstone:
"Happiness - it's the confidence that you're on the right track."