What Matters Most

Oriah Mountain Dreamer


It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with the pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me whom you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Çınar Misali

 

Vakti zamanında bir parkta büyük bir çınar ağacı varmış.Öyle vakur ve ihtişamlı dururmuşki gelip geçenler ona hayran kalır onun büyük gövdesinin altına sığınır ,ona sırtlarını dayarlarmış.Güven verirmiş çınar ağacı çevresine.Herkes ona sırtını dayarmışda kimse bilmezmiş onunda bir derdi varmıdır.?

Herkes ,baktığı kadarını görür..Solan yapraklarından anlamazlarmış olup biteni.

Önemli olan bakmak değildir baktığını görmektir çünkü..

Günlerden bir gün bu çınar ağacı aniden yıkılıvermiş. O dimdik duran  devasa ağaç, iri kökleriyle toprağa sımkıkı bağlanan, yemyeşil yapraklarıyla hayat dolu görünen  çınar; artık yerde yatan bir zavallı durumundaymış.Kimse olan biteni anlamamış yerde yatan çınara şaşkınlık içinde bakakalmış..incelemeler sonunda anlaşılmışki çınar ağacını içten içe yiyip bitiren küçücük bir kurtcukmuş..Bu kurt yavaş yavaş ağacı yiyip bitirmiş..Kendini kemiren kurda karşı fazla dayanamayan ağaç yıkılmış..pes etmiş..

İnsanda bir çınar ağacına benzer aslında..

Son derece vakur, dimdik ayakta durmalıdır hayatındaki insanların ona verdiği güvensizlik ve acılar karşısında ..öulede olmak zorundadır.Çünkü yaşanan her olay karşısında anlarki kendine kendinden başka dost yoktur..Aciz, zavallı,çaresiz kaldığı anları gizler,saklar…Ağladını kimse görsün  bilsin istemez.Yalnızdır insan ,yalnız ağlar çoğu zaman.Kalabalığın içinde yalnızdır…Hep güçlü görünmek ister ona muhtaç olan, sorumlulukları olan insanlara karşı , dimdik ayakta olmak zorundadır.Kendini içten içe yiyip bitiren kurtlara karşı tek başına mücadele eder çoğu zaman.Kimseye belli etmez içinde yaşadığı acıları hep mutlu görünür.

Bir yara bir ömrü nasıl kanatır,nerden biliceksiniz..?.. İçten içe kendini yiyip bitiren kurtlara karşı nasıl mücadele eder bir insan nasıl direnir kimse bilemez..Derdi çeken bilir,acıyı yaşayan bilir misali kimse kimsenin ne yaşadını ne çektini bilemez hissedemez.Herkesin derdi kendine büyüktür..Bazı acılar vardır sessiz ve dilsizdir.Kelam yetmez anlatılmaz dile gelmez..Anlatsan bile kimse anlamaz..Kimseye sıkıntını derdini anlatamazsın  , anlatmaktan ziyade anlaşılmak istersin çünkü..Anlaşılmam endişesi belkide bizleri asosyal yapıp içe dönük yaşamamıza sebeb oluyordur kimbilir..Zira kendini ifade etmekten ziyade karşısındaki insanların ne anladığı onu ne kadar anlıyabildiği daha önemlidir.Çünkü sen ne kadar anlatırsan anlat,karşındaki insanın anladığı kadarsındır..

Çok şey istemeyiz aslında beklentilerimiz verdiklerimizden daha azdır .Sevmek,sevilmek çokmu zordur. Sevdiğinden emin olabilirsin ama sevildiğinden asla emin olamassın demiş fuzuli..Demekki sevilmek ister insan..Sevildini hissetmek ister.Ensesinde bir ses ,bir nefes duymak  ister..Omzunda bir el sıcaklığı ,ona uzanan elden güç almak ister..Azıcık ilgi alaka ,hoşgörü destek olmak ,dostça arkadaşca.Zor anında yanındayım demek..Güleryüz, samimiyet, çokmu zordur riyasız sevmek..Ver elini bırakmam demek..Güç vermek o insana..Derdin varsa yanındayım demek..Onun yüzünü güldürmek çokmu zordur..

Belki yeterince sevgi görsek içimizde bizi yiyip bitiren kurtlara karşı daha güçlü oluruz..Çınar ağacı gibi yıkılıp kalmayız ortalık yerde.Yeterince sevgi, samimiyet, ilgi ve alaka görsek dertleşebilsek çevremizle ..Yanındayım dersinde yanında kimseyi bulamassın çoğu zaman..Uzattığın ellerin boşluğa uzanır.En güvendiğin dağlara kar yağar..Her defasında yıkılır ayağa tekrar kalkarsın..Yaşanan her olay bir tecrübedir aslında..
Haykırmak istersinde susarsın ..Susmak konuşmaktan evladır çünkü..Sessiz çığlığını senden başkası duymaz.Yalnızlına dört duvar şahitlik eder …Birde her nefeste biraz daha seni tüketen bir sigara..Ne yaptım dersin kendi kendine,ben bu dost dediğim insanlara ne yaptım..Az mı verdimde çok şey istedim..Yada verdiklerim yetmedimi.Yüreğimmidir az gelen..Yoksa sevgimmi değersizdir..

Fairy tales&Intelligence

"If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more ."

The above quotecomes from none other than Albert Einstein. And though the title of this post was meant to be slightly humorous and not to literally apply to all situations, I think there's something in what he said. He elaborates below:

"When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking."

When children are young, they are what we call concrete thinkers. This means that they understand things based on concrete objects they can see, and not abstract concepts. As a special ed teacher, many of my students are stuck in the concrete thinking stage. They probably interpret phrases literally and will be confused at puns or words with double meaning. For example, using a phrase like "looks like the cat's out of the bag" is something adults may use and the meaning is obvious to us, but a concrete thinker may start looking around to see where this cat is and wondering why it was in a bag in the first place.

When young children learn math, they can learn basic arithmetic by using physical objects to represent an equation. Two apples plus one apple equals three apples; children can add and subtract by counting with their fingers, and that's why our math system is in base 10. But when it comes to algebra, and the concept of a variable is introduced, that's abstract-a letter which doesn't really represent a letter, but an unknown numeric value. In order to understand algebra, one has to be able to entertain an undefined idea that can't be represented by an object or picture.

Really this is what fairy tales do, although the same argument could be made for fantasy or fiction in general. Except in rare cases, children are able to understand when they hear a story, especially one that begins in "once upon a time" and isn't intentionally presented as a true story, that it didn't actually happen. Therefore they're entertaining ideas in their heads that they know aren't physically real, or thinking abstractly, but in a basic, graspable form. Even more in fantasy and fairy tales, as children learn more about the world, they're able to take in many events in a fictional story and separate in their minds what is not true but could be true, such as Cinderella doing housework, with what is not true and couldn't possibly be true, such as a pumpkin turning into a coach. Very young or concrete thinkers may be confused by this, but an older child who is not yet an abstract thinker won't have to be specifically taught that pumpkins can't turn into coaches to know that that element of the story was magical. And yet it's fun for children-and most adults, I believe-to entertain the notion of living in a world where such a thing would be possible.

I think this is what Einstein meant. It appears to have worked for me-I devoured fantasy as a child and was always good at algebra. Although I can think of people who read lots of stories and fantasy and still didn't understand algebra, so again, it's not meant to be the newest method in math education or anything. But if Albert Einstein said it, it must be legit, right?

Sen Olmak İstiyorum

Sen Olmak İstiyorum 
 
“ICH WİLL DU SEIN”

sessiz rüyalar görmek istiyorum
ve onların zarif parlaklığıyla
odamı kabule süslemek istiyorum
ellerinin ellerim
ve saçlarımın üstünde olan duasını
geceme götürmek istiyorum
insanlarla konuşmak istemiyorum
böylece sözlerinin yankısını
(ki o bir sır gibi beni titretir ve sesi varlıklı kılar)
kaybetmeyeceğim
ve akşam güneşinden sonra
hiç bir ışıkta
daha fazla görmek istemiyorum
gözlerinin ateşinde tutuşan
binlerce sessiz kurban için
içinde kabarmak istiyorum
bir çocuk duası gibi
sevinçle bağırılan sabahta
bir fişek gibi
en yalnız yıldızda
ben
sen olmak istiyorum
Rainer Maria Rilke

Robert Sapolsky

I first met Robert Sapolsky years ago at a research conference. My first impression was that he was quiet... too quiet. In a crowded hotel lobby with hundreds of scientists busily jabbering about themselves and their research, he seemed almost transparent. He didn't talk much, took up very little personal space and seemed comfortable and content to just be there and listen to what was going on around him. I chalked him up as yet another scientific introvert. Let's face it, the sad but true fact is some of us go into science to avoid the messy and unpredictable reality that is human interaction. 

On the next day of the conference, Dr. Sapolsky gave a talk, and, as introversion and public speaking are usually at opposite ends of the personality spectrum, I arrived expecting a strained half-hour lecture. I was shocked -- it was as if somebody had switched Sapolsky's on me during the night. He appeared to be two feet taller than the day before -- he was engaging, dynamic, extroverted, lighthearted, and passionate about his work. He spoke of the complexities of hippocampal neuronal death with such ease that even the bellboys at the hotel understood. Dr. Sapolsky covers a wide spectrum. 

This is a neuroscientist who runs a lab of about 20 people investigating causes for neuronal cell death in the brain -- in particular, how stress and the related stress hormones affect a neuron's ability to survive after trauma. He is a MacArthur fellow, and a professor of biological sciences and neuroscience at Stanford University, and he has an outstanding reputation as a dynamic teacher and lecturer. In addition, he is also an accomplished writer and communicator of science to non-scientists. His books on the mechanism of neuronal death, stress, and stress related diseases, and the "biology of the human predicament" are witty and informative. 

Dr. Sapolsky can also be found on the grasslands of Kenya, where he has established a field research program observing baboon behavior for over 20 years. His field studies are composed of extensive behavioral observation combined with physiological measurements of stress. In order to obtain these measurements, Dr. Sapolsky is said to be a reputable shot with a blowdart. I'd like to think that it was his training in techniques of silent behavioral observation that I encountered at our first meeting (and I have been harboring secret fantasies of firing blowdarts at scientists during conventions ever since). 

 I recently had a chance to talk with him again.

Could you explain your current research?
There are three broad areas: 

First, we have known for 50 to 60 years that stress can do bad things to blood pressure, sex life, and the immune system. It turns out that stress hormones can also damage the nervous system -- in particular, a part of the brain involved in learning and memory, which may have something to do with why some of us go into old age with more intact memories than others. I am trying to understand, on a cellular level, how one class of hormones released during stress can damage neurons, and what that has to do with which of us have lots of brain damage after a stroke or seizure, or who succumbs to Alzheimer's. 

The second area is to take that knowledge and try to figure out ways to actively save the neuron after a stroke or seizure using gene therapy techniques to identify genes that might be protective. We are attempting to deliver genes into neurons around the time of crisis to see if we can actually save a neuron. 

The third area includes the fieldwork I'm doing. I am looking at a population of wild baboons living out in Kenya with a very complex and often very socially stressful world. I am basically asking what does social rank and personality have to do with who gets the stress-related diseases? I am looking at neuronal stress related disease, and not just in the brain, but stress damage in virtually any organ of the body. And I am looking at an overwhelmingly important fact: some of us are a lot more vulnerable to stress related disease than others.

Death Constant Beyond Love

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez vividly portrays the loneliness and carelessness that some people experience due to unfortunate circumstances, in his story, Death Constant Beyond Love. I found the title of this story most interesting because the meaning is so direct; I interpret it as regardless of love, or for that matter emotions or feelings, we all expire, we all die. This is the very image that Marquez elucidates through his character, the Senator.

          The Senator has approximately six months to live; he keeps this a secret and goes on with his duty as Senator. His duty, at least as I interpret it, is to continue to deceive the people of Rosal del Virrey to believe that things will be getting better, while all along the whole intent is to keep things the way they are in order for the town to make money by allowing illegal imports at night in the port.

          Before the Senator knew of his impending death, he used to feel bad for people less fortunate. However, after learning of his unfortunate fate his emotions reverse, he no longer feels bad for the barefooted Indians, who are rented as crowd fillers during the Senator’s speeches, and it annoys him that people want to shake his hand. He seems a miserable person, but who’s to say how we would feel in the same situation. He was completely alone, no friends, no family, and no one knew of his situation.

           The Senator’s fake persona is exactly what causes this lonely, careless feeling. The more he tries not to think of his death, it’s constantly hitting him in the head. He’s married, has six children, and has money; however, none of it matters, he is still alone. He falls in love with a young girl named Laura Farina, who’s father killed his first wife and lost his second wife, her mother, to natural causes. Laura’s father begged the Senator for years to get him a fake ID in order for him to be free, but he refused.

          Later, her father notices the Senator’s interest in her and uses her to get what he always begged for—it works, he gets his papers. However, the Senator never gets Laura in the way he wishes, he doesn’t get to be with her intimately, he just sleeps on her shoulder and that’s it. This later turns into a scandal, and once again the Senator is alone.

          Marquez is careful to show that the Senator ill-fated outcome is just as lonely as he felt through his last six months living. I’m not sure if he meant to show this as a lesson, or if he’s trying to imply that this is reality, and what is perceived by others may just be imagination, like the Senator’s pictorial account of the paper birds that turn into real birds. We know this is impossible, but this is how people see others, this is how the world is shown to us, and we believe what we want to believe. It doesn’t mean that we are wrong for imagining, it just means that we are wrong for trusting and believing in everything that shown to us. We need to be skeptics in order to get the truth, and the truth is what sets us free.

Kirilgan

Kırılgan bir çocuğum ben
Yüreğim cam kırığı
Bütün duygulardan önce
Öğrendim ayrılığı
Saldırgan diyorlar bana
Oysa kırılganım ben
Gözyaşlarım mücevher
Saklıyorum herkesten
Ürküyorlar gözümdeki ateşten
Ürküyorlar dilimdeki zehirden
Ürküyorlar o dur durak bilmeyen
gözükara cesaretimden
Diyorlar: Bir yanı sarp bir uçurum,
Bir yanı çılgın dağ doruğu.
Oysa böyle yapmasam ben
Nasıl korurum içimdeki çocuğu?
Bir yanım çılgın nar ağacı
Bir yanım buz sarayı.  



MURATHAN MUNGAN