Give me ....
Christiane Singer
Christiane Singer was born in Marseilles in 1943 and died April 4, 2007 in Vienna, Austria. Lecturer at the University of Basel, then a lecturer at the University of Freiburg, she spent several years in his literary activities.
Wife of Count Georg von Thurn-Valsassina, architect, she lived in his castle medieval Rastenberg, near Vienna. His father was of Hungarian Jewish mother and Catholic Ukrainians.
She followed the teaching of Karlfried Dürckheim Graf (disciple of CG Jung).
It is relatively prolific writer of Christian sensibility steeped in oriental wisdom, which fails to give lessons in morality and excludes dogmatic.
Christiane Singer died at the age of sixty five years of cancer. The doctor tells him he still six months to live. She wrote a diary during his months, to be published under the title "last fragment of a long journey."
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..
[...] Give me, please, that is the distinctive feature of the secret side of the world for not being up to date.
When I ask people I meet tell me about themselves, I am often saddened by the poverty of my harvest. I am told I am a physician, I 'm an accountant ... I added softly, you misunderstand me. I do not know what role you are given this season at the theater but who you are, what you live, you glad you took? Many still do not understand me, accustomed as they are not to attribute importance to the life that moves them gently. I am told I am a doctor or accountant, but rarely: this morning when I went to remove the curtain, I no longer recognized my hand ... or: I'm back down just now resume in the trash the old slippers that I had thrown the night before, I think I still love them ... or I do not know what's silly, a fool, real, hot as a hot bread that children relate to current baker. Who knows that life is still a small music almost imperceptible will break, get tired, stop if you do not look at her?
things that our contemporaries seem to consider important determine the exact scope of insignificance: news, prices, stock price, ways, the sound of fury the individual vanities. I do not want to know the people I meet either the age or occupation, or family situation: I may pre-tend it all clear to me only way they removed their coats. What I want to know is how they survived the despair of being separated from the One by birth, how they bridge the gap between the major events of childhood, old age and death, and how they bear not to be everything on this earth. I do not want to hear about the agreed share of reality, always the same, the little underworld and mafia: what a time dangled from the sky in the puddle of its conventions fat! I want to know what they perceive the vastness that noise around them. And I often fear of rejection ferocious reign Today, out of the scope assigned to meet the vastness of the created world. But what I fear even more is not enough love, not enough to contaminate my passion for life those I meet.
You know just like me: what remains of a life, these are moments away from everything and resume living their own lives, in the presence of these breakthroughs envelope fake biographies.
smell
call
a look
and these are trunks, suitcases, bundles securely stowed in the bunkers that are set in motion, snapped the belts and ropes and will capsize the ship because of our everyday!
Not only these moments we become fools.
Far from it.
a moment to confinement, confined to the smell of the ship's bottom took over the sea breeze. The limit for which we were born is revealed.
As the lungs during the first fill suddenly inspired air and snatch the baby cry, the memory suddenly dropped banners in the wind and banging unfold . The memory of his kingdom reached the bottom of the slave holds. Consciousness passes in a moment of what is called for a vessel the "dead works", confined under the waterline, the vitals "washed by the spray and light.
Our long conversations were successful. I am longing to pursue a day!
Your Livia.
(from "The seven nights of the queen" of Christiane Singer )
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