Because We are Nothing in a Big Void.
Sometimes I feel that life is meaningless. Everything suddenly becomes meaningless in my brain. The stones are trying to fall into place. In a rush, excitement, chaos. The mind that tries to understand wants to understand. Of course, the heart must approve.
Time bends within itself, forming different dimensions in my mind. Along with the hour and minute hands, the thoughts in my mind also flow into infinity. As the strange train of thoughts continues to poke around my head, mocking the perpetual solitude of my solitude, it comes to my mind that I am an ordinary person traveling through space-time with the passing of time.
I can feel the heat of the floor I sit on spread over my body as my eyes touch the mirror that reveals itself in the dimness and the self that I see in its reflection. But what I really felt was; My journey in space, in perfect harmony with the rhythmic ticking of the clock, as my thoughts surround me like a cloud of fog. Even though the me in the mirror says "you are here", I have already gone on an adventure. It's not just me. You too.
We are all people of space-time. We live in different times in different places. One of our common points is that we travel in a vacuum. In our own space. As the universe expands and adapts to the rhythmic order of time, we move along the line segments we have drawn. Or it would be more accurate to say beam. Because the path we are on leads to eternity. But my soul wants to treat life as a piece of truth. For example, with a beginning and an end…
We do not know where our true parts, which represent life, will take us. But if you are sure of the soundness of the lines you draw, you will not get lost even if you travel in space!
In this space, where you have been advancing with adventures since the day you were born, your right parts may coincide with both beauty and evil. Or, some of the things you want so much may remain parallel to you. So your paths may never cross. But in any case, you need to proceed with firm steps on the path you have drawn. On this journey you embarked on, you need to remind yourself to be open to experiences, sometimes to succumb, and sometimes to accept certain things.
Sometimes you can get out of line. Which is very normal. Then you should stop, rest, and continue on your route. If the negativities don't let you down, you should know how to break the time and give another acceleration to the right. Yes, you will do it when appropriate, and you should.
Although we are all people of different line segments, we must accept that we are ordinary beings of space-time. Because we are nothing in a big void. Here we are and here we go.
The journey is long.
May it be filled with beauty from beginning to end.
A Day From My Childhood.. Winter Sun
First I look at the sky, then I slowly close my eyes and take a trip into the past. One day from my childhood..
I'm in my 20s in March. Around 11 o'clock. After preparing my lunch box, I press the on button of our brown tube television made of walnut veneer. The school bell is about to ring. I am still at home.
I stare at the poplar trees and the empty fields, through the gap between the flowered curtains of orange and red that once housed everyone. The cotton buds of the trees are still greening.
The rains are about to come…
The ground is filled with mounds of snow that are gently gathered. The icy crystals accumulating on them are slowly melting.
The dull winter sun is shining. The long ice eaves accumulating on the roof of the A block on the opposite diagonal will not be able to resist the incoming winds, they will fall…
My eyes wander to the sea buckthorn trees in the garden, and girls with pleated skirts made of cashmere are running through their branches.
With my long, slender fingers in my auburn hair, I contemplate as I stare at the melting fringes. My bangs touch my eyelids, I squint my eyes slightly.
It's been a long time.
Now I am in front of other windows at other moments. Trees no longer inspire confidence. Many emigrated from these lands. The rest are pretty thin. They blend into the pitch black darkness.
In their place are concrete with moldy hearts.
The winter sun on the day I prepared my lunch box is still the same; But the winters are not what they used to be.
This time, shaking my head, I slowly walk away from January 1985.
I remember the days when nature was covered with white snow, I have a blue ballpoint pen in my left hand.
Gray and blue mixed together as usual; combative and closed…
The sun intends to hang in the sky for hundreds of thousands more years. Just let the last snow crystals on the ground shine!
I'm looking at my watch. It's still behind. I lift my head up. The glass is a little hazy. I smile at the huge glow that passes through the dark clouds that I love in every way. I say take care of my sun...
Take a good look at the best part of my childhood.
Wealth is the feeling of indifference!
The beautiful aspects of life; wealth and luxury life is of course not something that is undesirable. But the richness of life is too great to overshadow the fact of happiness. Positive people do not expect rewards for anything they do. For them, reward means the value and knowledge they add to people.
Which bias, whose bias?
If there is an environment of stress under the pressure of society, there is no peaceful and happy person in that environment. They are already aware of the values they have, they do everything that needs to be done at the right time and do not give the opportunity to be offended. While human beings are struggling to meet the expectations of the society, the search for the society and the expectation of the infrastructure of the society, happy people live by their own value judgments rather than the society by walking the line outside these standards. They see life the way they feel happy.
In short, they do not care about the sense of harmony and the expectation of society.
They don't care about the approval or validation of others.
Happy people don't really care what you think of them; because they already know the value they have. They listen to what other people have to say; but they don't seek anyone's approval. They just do what needs to be done and don't let pessimists get discouraged.
Being right is not a blessing!
Happy people do not care much about the obstacles or injustices that come their way, they live life improvisationally because life goes on in every way for them and negative judgments are always left outside the window. They do not compare themselves to others. They do not like to interfere in the affairs of others, nor do they like to be interfered with in their own affairs. Even if they are in the wrong direction, the right is their right and the roads that are the side roads for others are their main way. Achieving success isn't difficult, it's just a complex path and the only key is positive thinking.
This makes them happier and protects them from jealousy, resentment, and an unhealthy perception of superiority over others.
Harmful relationships or what?
Their logic rules their hearts so much that this situation begins to become an ordeal for people who are outside; constantly changing moods, people who complain about everything are a complete ordeal for them. A peaceful and peaceful person is a beautiful person. They live life in joy; As soon as they notice negative, negative thoughts, they destroy it like an antivirus and they go away! If you come to them with joy, you are there, there is no place in their happy life for a sullen face. The basis of a healthy relationship is smiling and they always smile!
For happy people, forgiveness is another name for recklessness, they forget everything that happened, they don't care and move on. They do not see lies and especially obsessed people who lie, they are aware that life is made up of little lies, and living by distorting this situation is a cloud of fog for them. If life is built with lies, it will be divided into parts more quickly, so a lie is neither a goal nor a tool for happy people, it is a way of life that only egotistical and obsessive people use and watch from afar with a smile. If happy people are happy with the people in their lives, they never complain. If there is a complaint, there is an atmosphere of unhappiness. Since all environments where complaining or being complained are an environment of torture for them, they leave without a second thought. The key to happiness for the future is always in their hands. Happy people do not seek revenge, they should be aware that the luxury of seeking revenge in their fallen will not do them any good! Revenge is destiny, destiny will present more than enough to the person they want to take revenge from. Happy people are people who turn everything negative into positive and continue their lives laughing.
This brings with it that the secret of lasting happiness lies in the happy person himself.
Every time I see a scarecrow, a memory comes alive in my childhood.
Every time I see a scarecrow, I think of a movie that carries traces of my childhood and has a place in my mind.
Wizard of Oz.
Or wait, let me tell you this. The story of a lion, a tin man and a scarecrow…
remember?
Check it out, I'm sure you'll remember
(The Wizard of Oz) is a 1939 American fantasy musical film.
Yes, this movie may be the movie of my childhood; but to me, this story is an allegorical, symbolic work that includes more than a children's book...
Wasn't it the same as the Smurfs cartoon? Every smurf living in the village was actually an individual describing the systemic structure of the state.
Anyway, I'll go into more detail about it later. Our current topic is the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz.
I don't know if you remember!
The Wizard of Oz is a movie about the adventures of a brainless scarecrow, a heartless lion, a heartless tin man and a little girl!
At the end of the movie, the Wizard of Oz makes the little girl return home, giving heart to the tin man, reason to the scarecrow, and courage to the lion.
After the wizard of Oz had made everyone happy, when it was time for the scarecrow, he gave him the reason he wanted so much and said these words to him:
“Anyone can have a brain. It's a simple feature. Even the heartiest creatures that crawl on the earth or swim in sticky water have brains. There are universities where I come from. Great training places. You go there to become a great thinker.
They think about very deep topics with brains no different from yours. But they have something you don't have. A diploma.
So, what is the conclusion to be drawn from this photograph and article?
First of all, thanks to this color photograph, we remembered the movie "The Wizard of Oz", let's admit it, it helped me tell this story :)
As for the scarecrows, they are actually a part of life. They are objects that are somewhat sad, calm, sad, always reminding people of sadness. But; As the Wizard of Oz said, “Anybody can have a brain. This is a simple feature…” So maybe we shouldn't make it so dramatic…
Think about it, the fear given to a crow does not even have as much effect as the fear given to a person, the crow escapes and escapes at the slightest reflex.
What about human!
The more people get used to fear, the more they begin to forget the existence of that fear.
And the result!
In fact, it is a significant fact that as time passes, the scarecrows are called ordinary and simple, just by their name, which does not even benefit them…
After writing this article, I did some research.
What is this scarecrow, why have you ever thought in human form?
We often come across scarecrows in the fields in movies or TV shows.
Well, have you ever wondered about the history of scarecrows? When were handrails first used?
Scarecrow, or scarecrow for short, refers to a human puppet planted in a vineyard, garden and field in order to scare the birds away from the cultivated crop or crop. Here are some interesting facts about railings that you haven't heard before.
1. Scarecrows actually live up to their name. Made for farmers to scare away birds to protect their crops
2. The first known scarecrows in history were built 3000 years ago by the Egyptians to protect their wheat fields, especially along the Nile River
3. In the past, windmills were also used as guardrails to protect fields
4. But once the birds get used to the scarecrows, it's no longer an obstacle to stop them
5. In addition, hanging cans from trees can also make noise and frighten birds. However, after a while, the birds realize that this is a trick and enter the fields.
6. Greek farmers fashioned their scarecrows to resemble Priapus, the son of Dionysus and Aphrodite
7. Greek farmers' use of the Priapus form was based on a legend. According to the legend; Priapus lived near the vineyards and was very ugly. Whenever Priapus wandered in the vineyards, he would scare away the birds.
8. However, in addition to the appearance of the scarecrow, birds are also afraid of the human odor emitted by the scarecrow's clothing.
9. Japanese farmers have also used scarecrows in the past, but they hung old rags, meat and fish bones on the scarecrows. The smell itself was enough to keep all living things away from their crops, not just the birds.
10. German farmers used to make wooden witches for their fields. Because they believed that witches would draw the evil spirit of winter into their body.
11. Surprisingly, a scarecrow festival is held in England every year. This festival, called the Urchfont Scarecrow Festival, has been held since the 90s and welcomes 10,000 people every year.
12. The first known use of the word “scarecrow” in English novels was in Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe in 1719.
13. In medieval England, young men called “bird scarers” were working, who wandered around the fields with bags of stones to throw at the birds.
14. However, after the plague epidemic, the population declined drastically. For this reason, the farmers could not find staff to work and started to make scarecrows to put in their fields.
The Effortless and Fragrant Marigold of Warm Climates and That Mother..
I am on the veranda in the garden of a small two-storey house made of adobe. Large and small wildflowers at the bottom of the walls; purple, orange, yellow, pink, blue…
There is one of them which is my favourite.
An effortless and sharp-smelling marigold with orange to yellow transitions in warm climates.
In ancient religions, it was also known as the 'flower offered to the gods'. It turns green with the good news in the spring and stays infused until autumn, and when winter comes, it puts its head in its hands and shuts itself down softly…
Afterwards, a deep preparation; next spring to spring…
The eldest son of the house gets up from us and moves towards the wooden door, the edges of which are flaked in places. I turn my head to the right. The most beautiful of flowers peeks out of the little white window in the attic, two small dewdrops in the fountain of her eyes.
Smiling.
I'm smiling.
This beautiful invitation was not in vain.
A short time later I hear the creak of wooden stairs.
She is holding her son's hands tightly with her blue embroidered writing, a red wool cardigan, and a printed floral shalwar.
The mother was born in a village in 1926. It is obvious that no one has been knocking on the doors of his historic adobe house for a long time. From the moment we met, the happiness in his eyes doesn't stop his heart beating. Warm hands and moist eyes; gets excited with longing glances towards people.
Despite the palpitation of his little heart, he wants to tell his intruders what has accumulated in his heart.
After our conversation, I take him to his room.
Even though I have touched a heart that has aged so much, my mother left a very different mark on me. I saw in him the longing for a couple of words, the smiling eyes, the smile spreading on the lips. I left with a thin ache in my heart. ‘Loving people!’ ‘Longing for people!’ There is actually a lot to tell in this one-hour story.
While saying goodbye, mother calls out from the window; “The flowers of my garden are beautiful. Don't leave without my flowers…”
I pluck a branch of marigold. The patio smells like my childhood. I'm waving.
We will meet again, the most beautiful flower in the garden...
So what does the marigold, which is the subject of this article, mean?
Marigolds are wonderful plants that bring butterflies, bees and ladybugs to your home garden, along with the bright colors of the sun. These plants, which reward the efforts of the gardeners with showy flowers, can be grown both in the garden and in the pot. Moreover, it is very easy to maintain and does not require extra dexterity.
Did you know that the first known marigold cultivation in history was done by the Aztecs in the 1500s? Marigolds are praised in the book Libellus de Medicinalibus Indorum Herbis, written by the Aztecs in 1552, and it is said to have a magical power to cross rivers safely, in addition to its medicinal benefits such as treating hiccups.
Although it is a myth far from reality that marigolds have magical powers, it is an undeniable fact that it transforms the indoor and outdoor space it is in into a peaceful environment with its perfect colors.
Throughout history, marigolds were believed to be a type of sacred flower with magical powers. Marigolds were found in convent gardens in Spain, and in Saints' Day celebrations, Hindu religious ceremonies, festivals, and funerals in Mexico and Latin America. Therefore, the meaning of marigold is considered sacred love and rebirth.
We wish the velvet flowers to bring luck to all of you..
That old house abandoned to memories.. Full of longing
He had come a long way. There were deep lines on his hands. The veins of the lemon he peeled were as distinct and yellow as they could be. Life was integrated with his hands; He was preparing to say goodbye to her softly.
Ms. Saadet plunged into the distance with thoughtful eyes. Perhaps he had never been so alone on a holiday morning. Where was Hikmet?
The room in the right corner was extremely quiet this time.
Sound… There was no sound!
Was the loneliness at home that heavy? Maybe there was someone, whose existence was never known…
The shimmering white lime on the walls of the house has started to fall off; The sun, pouring in through the doorways of the rooms surrounding the hall, was getting darker and darker. That room never got the sun on a holiday morning. But she had always looked beautiful, with chandeliers shining like crystal.
She put the lemon and knife in her hand into the iron bowl on the coffee table next to her and got up from her seat. He walked slowly to the wooden door at the exit of the hall. Over the years, that door has been opened to countless guests. It had ancient curved arms made of brass.
He met a pair of eyes in the doorway. It was his grandson. His grandson, who saw that mansion as his best friend throughout his childhood. She was happy, Ms. Saadet. She had spent many years together in that mansion, where the sun was offended by their room, she. Time passed so quickly; everything, everyone had changed.
The only thing that did not change was that mansion that stood like a precious jewel in hearts and eyes, she.
I think Hikmet's absence left a strange hum in that hall. A hum, like a harbinger of bad days to come. A strange, distasteful tone…
How nice to see an old face; it was like a thin paper cut that appeared on the faces.
Grandma and granddaughter went out to the garden. Memories as numerous as the leaves of the apple tree in the courtyard had accumulated under that gray sky. The thin pine trees standing in the corner, the grieving sizzle of the burning stove chimney in the winter, the copper tray standing at the foot of the wall in summer and winter, the chickens in the garden, the sound of the garden gate made of white iron during the sunset on long summer days, Hikmet's brown suit, the thin summer cap on his head. , its cane made of walnut, the pink rosewood that renews itself with bigger buds every spring, as if to say I am the eldest in this garden...
Indeed, where was Mrs. Hatice? Even if he comes to make rose syrup from the roses in the garden again. Velvety, sweet pink rose petals that darken in the murmur of the water; Apple tree, poplar trees, pine cones that are bare in autumn…
Eyes turned to the north of the house, slightly squinted. They had now migrated to their real home; Mr. Wisdom, Mrs. Hatice and Mithat gentlemen…
The mansion was preparing to send the lady Saadet on a journey, uprooting her from her roots, towards those distant cities where she did not belong. In fact, Ms. Saadet was unaware that she would not be able to return to that mansion after her journey.
Years have passed since Saadet left the mansion. The phone call was a harbinger of the fire that broke out in the middle of the night. From its wide walls to the poplar trees, to its fireplace made of red tiles, which finds love in many conversations, to all its rooms that do not receive any light, there is a deep anguish and a bitter sadness everywhere. That mansion, which said hello to many lives, was falling into a quiet sleep after Mr. Wisdom, while looking at the cemetery in the north.
It's a Peaceful Day Where I Live the Primitive Life With a Power Cut..
I love you friends, who attribute the event to the possibility of the cat re-entering the transformer; but I was very satisfied with this situation. I started by reading the cries of the people of my country, who made the power cut in social media a state issue, by playing until I reset it, instead of trying to prevent my venerable phone from running out of battery, who integrates with me as if it were an organ, and threw it into the corner. A huge load has been lifted from my shoulders. As someone who has never liked the person who invented the telephone, I have always hated using him...
I came home; If I had a phone in my hand, I would deal with it, who did what on social media, who spoke what, what's on the news, hanging around for at least half an hour, making long phone calls and interrupting all the work I have to do, looking at me every evening on my desk to be read, standing in line I would continue to leave the books that have entered. There was no obstacle in front of me anymore, I lay on my feet with my fluffy slippers, my warm blanket…
Everywhere is quiet, there is no sound from the apartment, it's not the electricity going out but the voices of the people, such a strange day. I was laughing at myself with a sarcastic expression about how people lived in the past, my head was empty, after resting comfortably, I got dressed and left the house; Since we have a common place where we always sit on the beach with friends, I did not think that they would have a hard time finding a place for me. Since communication with smoke is history and I'm not very good at making a fire, they could reach me by guessing anyway. It was dawn when I went out, and after a little more time, it was dark… I entered a restaurant; a 3-storey venue with wooden stairs that serves both authentic and good food; I usually prefer to sit by the fireplace every time I go there, but the classic thin white candles placed on the tables after the power cut and the iron tea plates under them added a different atmosphere to the place; This time I moved to a different table and sat in a quiet corner.
It was a fantastic environment without formal technology, it was truly wonderful and wonderful. Fortunately, I preferred to go out instead of staying at home because according to the rumors I heard, such a power outage was 15 years ago. I sang a hot linden, and there was no one but a few couples sitting around, the only noise being the shadows of the candles and the occasional sizzle of food in my nose. After winking at the linden and chamomile seeds staring at me in the bottle behind the candlelight, words of happiness from the power outage and no phone poured out of my mouth on a small note paper… Then I went out, walked down the dark and quiet street; the shopkeepers stood in silence at the corners; there was no music or vehicle sounds, the only sounds were human voices humming silently… as if no one wanted to disturb each other; Everyone was talking quietly as they made their way home. The big city was perhaps this quiet and peaceful for the first time…
I stopped, I thought, I smiled!
And I said…
Long live primitive life 🙂
Longing for the past.. Tired Lemon Tree..
I'm sitting on the velvet sofa in the living room. How beautiful was that armchair with its green carved headboard and wooden arms. There is a balcony made of glass right next to me. Beautiful glass balcony that made our breakfasts unique. Glass balconies are beautiful. They love uninvited guests. They host them. Dewdrops falling on him in the morning, raindrops, his hands that leave traces on them...
You take that smell when you step on it. The smell of the soil in the pot, the smell of beautiful flowers, takes you far, far away.. To the dreams you have dreamed.
I have my mother's basil on the floor. And a lemon and olive tree.
My mother planted them side by side in a large flower pot. He said you grow up here as brothers. The olive tree has grown like the earth is mine, it has spread; lemons are growing smaller, more docile…
My mind goes back to ancient times.
I remember that wonderful quote from the movie Green Apples.
“I remember the old while forgetting the new…”
Isn't that a fair statement? It's a word that I had a hard time understanding when I first heard it, but then I felt it to my bones.
I remember the old ones too, now forgetting the new ones.
Sometimes something like this.
It was the early 90's. Time is the best time..
As if life is then more meaningful, more compassionate.
Otherwise, why miss the old ones?
When I was a kid, we had a lemon tree growing with me, standing by the window in the living room.
Lemons on the branches caught my eye when I was running around the house. The house smelled like musk.
Its roots were deep and its branches were too tired to carry the lemons that had fallen into their clusters.
Who knows what he was talking about. What did he witness and whose mistakes he shared. Unknown..
Then we moved from that house. The lemon tree disappeared with my childhood and I always stayed in the old while I forgot the new ones...
The howling of the wind is stubbornly trying to get inside through the ajar window. The season is autumn. The evening prayer has just been read.
The sky is neither black nor blue. The moon is determined to hide itself.
It started buzzing again. I think the thin and low wind noise heralds that winter is now approaching.
The sound of the wind, which is hardly incomprehensible in summer. It is skinny.
Now he's walking around the street shouting. This time he is determined to take a place on the balcony.
At least he won't hurt my mom's sweet lemons.
I get up from my seat to close the door.
The old woman, who lives in the wooden house at the beginning of the opposite street, has opened her window and watches her reflection in the glass for a long time. What do you think?
Who knows, maybe a new lemon tree is sprouting in his body as he approaches the end…
My Habit of Writing on Papers That are About to be Forgotten..
XXI, where technology covers almost all of our lives. In the 21st century, everyone takes their share of the shortcomings out of the 'vortex of losing the habit of writing'. I want to leave the positive aspects of technology aside and directly address the negative aspects. Yes, the invisible but most effective point of technology affects us writers exactly. Especially to bloggers. Many of us have lost our handwriting habits so much that we have almost lost this habit. We forgot our beautiful handwriting. I will explain this issue directly by giving an example from myself.
I've been losing my writing habit lately. I think I wrote my longest handwriting in college. Then it continued intermittently, always on computers and tablets… When I pick up a piece of paper to scribble in a cafe or anywhere, even if it is not in the first sentence of the article I will write, after a few words, it staggers like a student who has just started primary school. reading. Every time my pen comes into contact with the paper, all the letters almost dance among themselves, as the words entanglement.
It was another day when I was trying to write something in a hurry. I have a pen in my left hand. I had scattered papers on the wooden table where I rested my elbow, and I was trying to quickly scribble the sentences I heard. The letters were getting mixed up more and more as I tried to raise them… All of these were actually the harms of moving away from handwritten papers. So where was my red colored pencil when I was swept away by technology? What about the smells of my straw papers… Was there anything like those smells, touches? Line by line handwritten letters, chest-stained notebooks, texts on which dates are embroidered on each page, documents, photographs…
Each of them is both a huge historical archive and the most beautiful series of memories in my life. I actually had no trouble examining those dates living in my wooden drawers. It was all a string of light that illuminated my front. My father's manuscripts, diaries, newspaper archives he kept, and even the written dates and explanations that were meekly jotted behind the photographs; they helped me so much. I could easily find the answers to all the questions I needed in those manuscript archives. By touching, feeling, inhaling the smell of those yellow papers.
Okay, maybe I've become a very negligent blogger these days. Let alone writing handwriting in my notebooks, I don't even go to the computer these days. However, there are many sentences waiting to be written in my mind… Fortunately, I wrote some of the sentences that accumulated in my mind on a rainy 26 October day in my gray-covered notebook standing right in front of me. Even though there are pages full of gaps in my jumbled handwritten notebook, where my dear and forgotten letters are mixed with each other, these lines have taken their place again in a new June. Both on my computer, one of the greatest inventions of technology, and in my handwriting notebook :)
@MySterious34
