tribut moşului intr-o zi de joi [dupa un text de Colbert]

despre profunzimi

de ape

şi de sine

sau

cum am făcut

scufundări

cu bunicul/ moşu'

meu

în

învăţături(le)

(sale)

dupa un text de Colbert

La a 13a aniversare a zilei mele de nastere m-am plimbat de-a lungul unui rau cu bunicul/moshul meu [n.t. - voi folosi „moşu’ ”, pt ca asa il alintam si tot asa i ne adresam]. Cand am ajuns pe malul raului, a luat un pietroi si mi l-a pus in brate. A ales un alt pietroi si a intrat in apa.

L-am urmat.

Treptat, am fost absorbiti de apa. Pietroaiele ne ancorau in albia raului, in timp ce ne inclinam in curentul apei precum niste arbori inalti in vant. Talpile ne erau mangaiate de ramurile cu frunze ale plantelor subacvatice.

Cand am privit de pe fundul raului in sus, abia vedeam suprafata apei, insa reuseam sa deslusesc umbrele pasarilor ce pluteau deasupra. O testoasa ce plana deasupra noastra, parea a fi o pupila in ochiul verde al raului.

Era o liniste ce nu o mai simtisem vreodata.

Am dat drumul pietroiului si am inotat spre suprafata. Moşu’ m-a urmat.

Pluteam amandoi pe spate, iar el mi-a spus:

“Linistea ce pluteste la suprafata unui rau nu e nicicand la fel de profunda sau de pura ca linistea ce o regasesti in adancul sau. Daca la finalul vietii poti privi in urma si poti compara iubirea pe care ai avut-o pentru o femeie, cu puritatea linistii de pe fundul acestui rau, atunci vei fi in stare sa spui ca ai trait”

On my thirteenth birthday, I went on a riverwalk with my grandfather. When we reached the river’s edge, he picked up a heavy stone and placed it in my hands. He picked up a second stone and waded into the water.

I followed him.

Slowly we were swallowed up by the water. The stones anchored us to the riverbed as we leaned into the current like tall trees in the wind. The soles of our feet were caressed by the fronds of underwater plants.

When I looked up from the bottom, I could barely see the surface of the water, but I could still make out the shadows of floating birds. A razorback turtle hovering above us looked like a pupil in the green eye of the river.

There was a stillness that I had never felt before.

I released my stone and swam to the surface. My grandfather followed.

As we were floating on our backs, he said to me, „The quiet that hovers over the surface of the river is never as deep or as pure as the silence that is to be found within it. If at the end of your life you can look back and compare the love you have had for a woman with the purity of the silence on the bottom of this river, then you will be able to say that you have lived.”