Archive | June, 2016

Barefoot in a museum … not!

26 Jun

today I came to Dali museum in Figueres, Spain, and was informed by the staff — including the manager, that I am not allowed in barefoot as I was. They said that it is the rule of the museum. I asked to see the rule in written, seeing that people with barely any footwear (wearing only flipflops) are allowed in. I didn’t get any reasonable explanation nor did anyone show me the rule or the law which would forbid me to enter. They just insisted, explaining that that’s it.

I am a cultured — albeit always barefoot and thus perceived as eccentric — member of the society, facilitator of group processes, writer and speaker, I won cultural awards and I’ve been to many museums and cultural institutions barefoot, INCLUDING the Dali museum I was just denied entrance (that was quite a few years ago). I tried to explain this to the staff, but they wouldn’t listen, they forced me out, gently because I didn’t react with violence. I was just asking for a concrete explanation, but I am not stupid to fight against prejudiced repression exercised over me by short-witted clerks and “managers”.

113NaraFootth

Seeing this I can imagine even the eccentric Dali, if he came to the museum today, being denied entrance due to some peculiarity of his outfit on some particular day. Forbidding the non-conformist creative social activist to enter the museum is against the spirit of the great artist, whom the museum is dedicated to. I am wondering what would Dali say to this incident, were he still alive?

Continue reading

Advertisements

Moj vihravi dom

20 Jun

Domačnost je sila pester pojem, kajti domačnost za vsakogar ni sedenje za domačo pečjo ali pod domačo odejo ali na klopci za domačo hišo ali med domačimi in znanimi ljudmi. Včasih dom srečamo vedno znova v nečem, kar se nenehno spreminja in v čemer ga ne more najti telo, ampak le duša.

Včeraj sem srfal. Po muhastem dnevu je zvečer le zapihalo; stopil sem na desko, v roke zajel moč vetra in pod stopali začutil mehkobo morja — vzneseno sem zatisnil veke in vzdihnil: “Domače. Kako domače!”

Kaj to pove o meni? Kako sem lahko doma v nemiru valujočega morja, v negotovosti burje? Kje so meje mojega doma? Kaj vleče mojo dušo čez zmedo in nemir? Kaj jo greje sredi surove nepredvidljivosti? Vem le to, da mi ni treba verbalizirati odgovora na ta vprašanja, da bi se tu počutil kaj bolj doma.

Kaj pomeni “tu”? Je sploh možno opisati občutek, ko z vetrom v dlaneh krotim morje pod stopali? Ko me ubogajo valovi in so leteči oblaki edini prometni znak? Ko je sončni zahod  gumbek za “off”? Kako se ne bi moja vihrava duša počutila doma v tem neulovljivem “tu”?

Nara13

Včeraj me je občutek domačnosti v muhavosti posebej izrazito spremljal ves dan, vse do tiste ure med valovi in zatem sončnega zahoda, ko sem stopil na kopno in v trdnosti tal zaman iskal varnost. Varnost je potonila v mraku in brezvetrju, ki se je zdolgočaseno usedlo na obzorje. Betonski pomol je bil grozljivo nepremičen. Spominjal me je na okrutni red — včeraj, danes, jutri … in dolgočasna strukturirana opravila, v katera sem trenutno ujet.

Narava pozna ritem, le redko pozna takt. Ritem mi zadostuje za ples z morjem, ko se mi Burja predaja, da plešem z njo. Včasih vodi ona, včasih pa jaz, najbolje pa je, ko se izgubiva drug v drugem in ne vodi nihče.

Ob tem vse jasneje razumem, zakaj moj dom ne stoji, zakaj nima temeljev, zakaj je brezmejen. Moj dom je veter. Moj dom je sen. Moj dom je slavčkova pomladna pesem, poletna slast robid in fig, jesenski žar rujevih listov, ponos zimskih vršakov. Moj dom je občutek lebdenja pod stopali, ko mi valovi prečkajo pot in mi veter kuštra tistih nekaj las, kar jih premorem.

In ko ob tem razmišljam o stanju naše družbe, o domačnosti vseh nas, se spomnim misli Toma Robbinsa: “Nekje v arhivih najsurovejšega instinkta je zabeležena resnica, da je bolje živeti v ogroženosti in svobodi kot v ujetništvu in udobju.”