Navigating love, navigating the Pacific - Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning / Pius Mau Piailug, master navigator (1932-2010)
NB: Here are some selections from October 2011, the month I started blogging (you can see more posts by clicking the link). I thought of re-posting them because - well, they're interesting, and might prompt my readers to explore this blog a bit.. DS
The remarkable thing about Raag Darbaari is that he decried the system in spite of being an instrumental part of it - said a close friend of Shukla’s, former DGP Mahesh Chandra Dwivedi, an author in his own right.. It was ironical that the man famous for his sharp commentary on governance and administration should receive his final recognition, the Jnanpith Award, on his deathbed. NB: We can only imagine what he might have said about this belated recognition by the servants of the public
The remarkable thing about Raag Darbaari is that he decried the system in spite of being an instrumental part of it - said a close friend of Shukla’s, former DGP Mahesh Chandra Dwivedi, an author in his own right.. It was ironical that the man famous for his sharp commentary on governance and administration should receive his final recognition, the Jnanpith Award, on his deathbed. NB: We can only imagine what he might have said about this belated recognition by the servants of the public
According to Murakami,
“1Q84” is just an amplification of one of his most popular short stories, which (in its English version) is five pages long. “Basically,
it’s the same,” he told me. “A boy meets a girl. They have separated and are
looking for each other. It’s a simple story. I just made it long.”
One beautiful April
morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood,
I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth,
she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are
nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep.
She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a
"girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away:
She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in
my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert..." read the story:
http://www.youmightfindyourself.com/post/22131227213/on-seeing-the-100-perfect-girl-one-beautiful
http://www.youmightfindyourself.com/post/22131227213/on-seeing-the-100-perfect-girl-one-beautiful
IN THE spring of 1976
Mau Piailug offered to sail a boat from Hawaii to Tahiti. The expedition,
covering 2,500 miles, was organised by the Polynesian Voyaging Society to see
if ancient seafarers could have gone that way, through open ocean. The boat was
beautiful, a double-hulled canoe named Hokule’a, or “Star of
Gladness” (Arcturus to Western science). But there was no one to captain her.
At that time, Mau was the only man who knew the ancient Polynesian art of
sailing by the stars, the feel of the wind and the look of the sea. So he
stepped forward. As a Micronesian he
did not know the waters or the winds round Tahiti, far south-east. But he had
an image of Tahiti in his head. He knew that if he aimed for that image, he
would not get lost. And he never did. More than 2,000 miles out, a flock of
small white terns skimmed past the Hokule’a heading for the
still invisible Mataiva Atoll, next to Tahiti. Mau knew then that the voyage
was almost over. On that month-long
trip he carried no compass, sextant or charts. He was not against modern
instruments on principle. A compass could occasionally be useful in daylight;
and, at least in old age, he wore a chunky watch. But Mau did not operate on
latitude, longitude, angles, or mathematical calculations of any kind. He
walked, and sailed, under an arching web of stars moving slowly east to west from
their rising to their setting points, and knew them so well—more than 100 of
them by name, and their associated stars by colour, light and habit—that he
seemed to hold a whole cosmos in his head, with himself, determined, stocky and
unassuming, at the nub of the celestial action.... read more
Whoever embraces a
woman is Adam. The woman is Eve.
Everything happens
for the first time.
I saw something
white in the sky. They tell me it is the moon, but
what can I do with a
word and a mythology.
Trees frighten me a
little. They are so beautiful.
The calm animals
come closer so that I may tell them their names.
The books in the
library have no letters. They spring forth when I open them.
Leafing through the
atlas I project the shape of Sumatra.
Whoever lights a
match in the dark is inventing fire.
Inside the mirror
an Other waits in ambush.
Whoever looks at
the ocean sees England.
Whoever utters a
line of Liliencron has entered into battle.
I have dreamed
Carthage and the legions that destroyed Carthage.
I have dreamed the
sword and the scale.
Praised be the love
wherein there is no possessor and no possessed, but both surrender.
Praised be the
nightmare, which reveals to us that we have the power to create hell.
Whoever goes down
to a river goes down to the Ganges.
Whoever looks at an
hourglass sees the dissolution of an empire.
Whoever plays with
a dagger foretells the death of Caesar.
Whoever dreams is
every human being.
In the desert I saw
the young Sphinx, which has just been sculpted.
There is nothing
else so ancient under the sun.
Everything happens
for the first time, but in a way that is eternal.
Whoever reads my
words is inventing them.
