Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Eros and the God of the little things ...

... could also have been the title of the previous post.
Means, there was no need of mocking about poor Mr. Phelps. On the other hand I thought, his joyless face in the perhaps greatest moments in his swimming career would give a nice contrast to my (our) joyful faces about such jerkwater muscular efforts like weeding between the cracks of a courtyard and planting a row of strawberries.

Anyway, utterly determined to not throw the title above into the vortex of oblivion, I take it for this post, and I am quite optimistic finally you will agree that it makes some sense.

Alright then.
At about seven we went upstairs, took a shower, prepared a lasagne and a little salad, enjoyed both together with a glass of red, talked about this and that, and around midnight, when Mrs. J. had gone to make herself bed-fine - 'sich bettfein machen' is an uncommon German idiom :) - I went on balcony to feed my lungs-worm.

What a sky. I could not remember to ever have seen so many stars with naked ... alright, spectacled eyes. Amazing. Beautiful. Really a bit excited I felt.

And so, when, after she had shared my delight for two or three minutes, Mrs. J. felt drawn to the warmth of the feathers, I switched off all lights, even the candles - yes, yes, the candles I 'switched off' by using a match to dip the wicks into the wax - and sat down on balcony staring into the past, which is our planet's future.

Ah, yes! It must be fascinating to live such a night inmidst a desert.

Ha ha, even in such wonderful seconds human beings tend to think of that it could be better - somehow, somewhere. :)

Well, at 1 a.m. the street-lights went off, I put my Aran on, tiptoed downstairs through the cellar into the garden, took a chair, carried it to the middle of the lawn (which is in fact a meadow) sat down, and watched what I got offered in my open-air planetarium. Ahh ...

... and ... I started to think of what - in a way - has already been subject of the previous post: those little 'things' around us that we'd often take for granted without appreciating them.
Why? Why would I? Due to education? Experience? Teaching myself? Or is it just a gift? Perhaps. Perhaps a 'mixture' of all.
All these stars up there. And down here, this tiny cosmos existing of apple-, plum-, hazelnut- and cherry-trees, red-currant, black-currant, Josta - a cross-breeding (Jo for Johannisbeere = currant, sta for Stachelbeere = gooseberry), ... ah ha ha - would take too long to list all. Did I write tiny cosmos? :)
All these stars up there. Chaos?
All the chaos-corners in this cosmos down here.
And still - it's (also) this chaos that I love. A contradiction that I'd call myself an aesthete? What is beauty? What's perfect?
The imperfectness ... sometimes ... let me feel: This is a perfect place.

A place that is mirroring the chaos in my head ... my heart? :)

Only those having chaos in their heart will be able to give birth to ... Oh dear, Nietzsche, is this true? Am I pregnant with a dancing star?

:) Has to be. All my faults, all my mistakes. Do I regret? Yes. And no, as without all my strange 'decisions' I had (very probably) not made all those experiences which - looking back - let me become what now I am.
Time to deliver the 'baby'. Otherwise I might not have enough time to enjoy watching it dancing.
What will my star look like? This "something" that I do love without having seen it, yet, of which I do not even know that it exists / will exist; that does exist / will exist, though, because I feel it.

Don't know why, suddendly I remembered this photo of Asteroid Eros.

courtesy NASA/Reuters

The potatoes! According to the forecast this Sunday would be the last of a two days lasting rainless summer-period.

Thus, time to put my head on the pillow.

Mind you, I had better 'little things' to dream of than ... (digging) potatoes. :)


  1. What a beautiful post :-) Your evening sounds wonderful, I can imagine it quite clearly!

  2. I never can sit and look at the stars without feeling awestruck and feeling like a tiny grain of sand in the cosmos.

    And what always comes to mind is seeing Sputnik cross the sky in 1957 and being amazed at what mankind had done. On the one hand not much in the overall scheme of things but on the other hand what an incredible achievement.

  3. Cherrypie,
    there are myriads of ways to tell a story. In this case I chose this one.
    Still, I think the idea was good, the realisation, though, ...

    The more I am glad you enjoyed reading it. And: I am glad to 'know' you didn't write what you wrote just in order to be polite. :) Thank you.

    the beeps of Sputnik are the first historical moments I can vaguely remember. And afterwards Laila, Yuri Gagarin, John Glenn, Valentina Tereshkova ...
    I think for a while I wasn't anymore sure that once I'd become an engine-driver. :)

    Yes, an amazing time this was for little Sean, too. By now, this time is history, the protagonists are dead while ... the stars are still there.
    Wherewith I come to your first paragraph: Yes! :)

  4. Living near a city I don't get too many chances for star-gazing these days due to the light pollution, so your post brought back many happy memories of being able to sit back and look up at the night sky, sometimes with my telescope and at others with my binoculars. To witness the wonder of the Universe all around us. Many people in cities don't realise what a glorious spectacle they are missing out on.

  5. Ginro,
    yes, we don't need clouds anymore to get the view of the nightly firmament obnubilated. That's why I thought of the desert. :)

    Anyway, fortunately there is comparatively not too much light pollution in our area, especially when focusing south-west and west.

    Glad my pondering was able to let some of your memories come to 'unpolluted light' and ... that you let me know. :)