Philosophy Is Immortality

The child laughs: “My wisdom and love are the game”.

The youth sings: “My game and wisdom are the love”.

The old man is silent: “My love and game are the wisdom”.

Lucian Blaga, Poems

magic-tree-clock

We used to say that it was not in our power to choose our parents, that they were given us by chance: but we, the philosophers, are allowed to be born as we wish. The most famous personalities form families: choose the one you want to be part of. You will receive both their praise and possessions that you will not have to keep them for your greed or pettiness. These will increase the more you share them more.

They will open you a path to eternity and raise you to a place where no one has collapsed. This is the only way to overcome the mortal state and even turn it into immortality.

Honors, monuments, all the verdicts given by the ambitions or all the works made by it are falling apart soon; anything can be ruined or collapsed by long ages. But to those whom wisdom consecrated, it cannot touch them anymore.

Therefore, the life of the wise man will take a long time. He is not closed in the same boundaries as the others. He alone is freed from the laws of mankind. All centuries obey him as a god.

Is it about a past time ? The wise man will include it through his memories. The present ? He uses it. How about the future, he already enjoys it. Uniting all these moments makes his life longer.

from Seneca, The Eulogy of Philosophy

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Anonymous Stonemasons

cuckoo

In the enclosure of the bedlam there are some statues

Scrupulously sculpted by anonymous sculptors

Who have passed by and disappeared into the world,

Forgetting these works under the sign of nobody !

 

The sturdy stones begin to fight against each other in the pile

With their broken bodies moistened with green lichen –

A glory in the mud I saw:

Titans have fallen from sockets, posthumous decays !…

 

A world of profiles carved by a fine chisel –

With crashes, with defeats of their grandiose purpose !

An Anonymous World in which the Rock Top Mime

Creeps, is confused with the anonymous sculptor !

 

Sublime Michelangelo, look at your brave sons

How, locked in the rock, they are born to be slaves forever !

Tudor George, Pietrarii anonimi

translated from Romanian by Marcel Rus

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