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Konu: Spring is A Time For Being Loved

  1. #1
    Yönetici SeRDeNGeCTi - ait Kullanıcı Resmi (Avatar)
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    Spring is A Time For Being Loved



    MONDAY IS THE DAY OF MY ROUNDS AT THE HOSPITAL. I AM SITTING in a room with four other doctors and three nurses. I am sitting between the door and the window which are at opposite ends of the room. There is a person on my right. Crying. In pain. Depressed. An ache has gotten hold of her heart. She's talking about the meaninglessness of life. About her loneliness, her solitude, her worthlessness, her nothingness. About not being loved. Questions and questions. When did this start, how did it start, etc. etc.

    The patient's depression, heartache, and pain, the distress in her soul, the questions that pass through her mind start to invade my soul. A tight feeling comes over me. My feelings are being quashed under so heavy a load, so many problems that a person must deal with. The room is drowning in sadness. Sadness is lurking over every inch of the room. Pain has enveloped every corner of it.

    Suddenly I catch sight of the window. Through the pane, uncovered by the curtain, a little glimpse of the garden outside. Lush green spreading out over an area the size of my hand. No pain, no sadness. No depression, no depressing questions. No loneliness, no isolation. Everything united, in harmony with everything else, in endless activity. I am right in the middle of two worlds. In the middle of two worlds, one of which contains only pain, sadness and anguish, the other, a land where peace prevails. One world on my right, inside, the other on my left, outside.

    My mind is apprehensive. Apprehensive when thinking. Like an obsession. My mind has become obsessed with this sentence: "I can't find anything to be happy about in my life". Obsessed with living. Living has become an obsession for me. To live, but how to live? To live for what? "What makes you happy?”

    * * *

    Lunchtime. My mind is still on the previous patient. Two of my friends from the hospital invite me to lunch in the canteen. For tea and conversation and joking around. For relieving the stress of the day. Or just for something different. Going to the canteen is a routine outside of the normal routine. We agree to sit outside the canteen in a garden just next to it. Everyday conversation has engrossed the people around me. I am still thinking about the above question. I reluctantly join in the conversation. "What's wrong," they ask me. "Nothing, I'm fine," I reply.

    And then I see it in the garden. It is flying about. From flower to flower, joyously, rapturously.

    A butterfly. Almost white. I want to get close to it, to study it at close range but it flies away. It flies off and lands onto another flower. And then onto another. When I see the joy, the happiness, the enthusiasm of that butterfly I realise that all other creation must carry the same joy. Must be just as happy. I see maybe a hundred other butterflies that day. That day, butterflies seem to catch my eye. On seeing all of those butterflies and the flowers that they rest on, I realise that spring has arrived. Spring - here at last. Spring is now the most important, most topical subject. Spring is the most important change in the city we live in, and in other cities. Everywhere is in the midst of change.

    While everything is changing I feel myself on the threshold of something, on the border. Behind me the buzz of the canteen, the murmur of people, muttering, voices mixed with other voices, incoherent, unrecognisable. In front of me, on the other hand, a peace forever stretching out, endless activity, beauty. A beauty made more beautiful on the already beautiful faces of the beautiful. Order, method, regularity, harmony. Sound, not noise. And me, right in the middle of these two worlds. It is as if my world has been split in two. In front of me beauty, behind me turmoil, commotion, noise, the incoherence of people, worldly and meaningless chatter, finite and mortal talk. To which world do I belong?. I am certain that my soul and my feelings belong to the world in front of me. My nephesh is a representative of the world behind me. But where am I? Where is my whole self? I can't answer. The conversation around me doesn't allow me to answer. I can't talk about the spring in front of me. I can't talk about or share spring with people- most people. They take me away from spring. No, I must come here alone. I must come here in the absence of people. Unaccompanied and alone. There must be no one to hinder me from reaching into my emotions.

    * * *

    Every day I cross the Bosphorus bridge to get to work. For one whole month the surrounds of the harbour undergo a slow, gradual transformation. First of all, a light green colour spreads out everywhere. Later on, the harbour undergoes another change. Some areas become engulfed in white flowers. The change doesn't end there. It goes on. An Artist continually changes the appearance of the harbour. At one point, a flash of purple appears in some areas. Then the Artist desires to exhibit some other beauty. He wants to demonstrate His beauty to us. Some portions of the harbour turn red. Then yellow is added. When at last, the whole harbour becomes a mass of colour. Not a flaw, not a defect anywhere. The Infinitely Beautiful Artist wants to introduce himself. He drapes the whole harbour in a resplendent splash of colour.

    Spring has arrived. The Artist Who has brought spring to us is now advertising it. He wants us to hear about it. He wants us to see it. The Infinite Beauty Who has created the beauty on the beautiful faces of the beautiful has made man fall in love with beauty in the best way. And this is beautiful.

    * * *

    Now the face of the earth is triumphant. There is a smile on it's face. Such a warmth, an enthusiasm, such joy.

    The garden of the world is being revived. The black earth, the lifeless earth becomes the cradle of creation. The earth becomes the flowerpot of life. Millions of lives are being presented at the hands of the earth.

    Mercy, embodied in the form of rain; Drop by drop tenderly reunited with the earth. Each drop rejoins the earth. Together once more. The seeds below the earth are rapturous. Reunited with grace. Divine grace. The grace they had been waiting days for. Such an eagerness in the seeds. They are bursting with life. They want to sprout open and start budding out. They want to meet the sun, to receive it's warmth, to get close to it. Their prayers are answered. By divine command, with just one command, thousands, hundreds of thousands of seeds burst open. These seeds are the most evident reflection of the divine attribute of Preserver, the most beautiful manifestation of this name. They obey this command to let us know the mysteries hidden inside of them. Deep inside the dark earth, hundreds of thousands of different seeds; if we held them in our hands we wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them. They are consciously dispatched to us by one deliberate command, by a deliberate will and knowledge. Mixed up with each other, yet able to carry out their function without getting mixed up. Obeying completely the command given to them to "burst open and bud out" without disruption or problem.

    And so a daisy seed suddenly becomes a daisy flower, along with all the other daisy seeds on the face of the earth. The spread of the favours provided by The All-Wise Creator has begun. Will the seed of the violet flower hesitate? It blossoms into a violet. They adorn themselves for us. Hundreds and thousands of different colours and patterns. They smile at us in this way. They endear themselves to us. Other seeds become orchids. Whetting our appetites with their beautiful scent, smell, and form, inviting us to themselves. Sacrificing themselves for their fans.

    Hundreds of thousands of seeds taken out of the world of absence and brought into the world of existence. The earth smiles. The tender joy of mercy fills the bosom of the earth. The earth beams. The first buds start to smile. As the buds smile so does the earth. The buds cheer, the earth is jubilant. Not one, but maybe hundreds of thousands of different smiles on the face of the earth, now. Because each flower is a smile in itself. Each flower smiles with it's own countenance, unique to it. The flowers are smiling so heartfelt, with so much warmth that they make their onlookers smile as well.

    With the flowers in this state what’s to stop the trees. Two months ago they were bare and naked. Unclothed and empty-handed, standing there just like that. But their hands were in prayer. The trees wished to become green. They wanted to adorn themselves, to beautify themselves. And then the time came. One morning, on the tip of the dry trunk on a branch as thin as wire, one little flower appeared, embellished, adorned, decorated. Then, more and more flowers followed. A smile appeared on the face of the tree. Inside, the happiness at being the recipient of such mercy, at having it's prayers answered. All of the lovely little flowers that blossomed on it’s branches expressed the depth of its happiness. The tree became a proclamation of the beautiful artistry of the Maker who created it in this miraculous way. A proclamation to us.

    * * *

    People like to share their experiences. They want a friend, a confidante. The Master of spring introduced me to a friend. Armagan was my friend, but we didn't know each other that well, we didn't share anything. Then, a day came when I opened up my heart to him. And he did the same with me. He became a companion for me on the journey to work. I asked him about spring. "What makes spring, spring to you?" He lowered his eyes slightly. When he does that it means that he's going to say something very important. A phrase was about to be sifted from his emotions and drop off his lips. "Spring is the meeting of old and new", he said. For the next few days this became the topic of conversation on the bus to work.

    * * *

    One day on the trunk of a dry and aging maple tree, on the old, old branch, the bud of a new leaf appears. Or, on the branch of an old ivy, on the almost brown branch, which has dried up, a fresh, green, delicate leaf takes hold. The ivy drowns in it's own happiness. It's dryness, it's lifelessness vanishes; it becomes engulfed in its greenness, in its own vitality. Life and death change place. Death leaves it's spot vacant for life to take hold.

    Spring is a revival. It’s the joyful tidings of the resurrection. For one who can create one flower, creating a spring full of millions of flowers is just as easy, and so a spring is made as easily as a flower. Spring is a rebirth. It is the revival of everything, the migration from the world of nothing to the world of existence. Spring is the best evidence for the revival to come of man after this world.

    Cannot the Being that can attach life to a bone-dry branch with ease, without any difficulty at all, and on millions of branches for that matter, also give back life to dry, rotten bones with the same ease?

    They say that spring is a time for loving. But, in actual fact, it is a time for being loved. It is a time for realising how much we are loved by the most lovely of Beings, by the Being Who loves us eternally, by the Being who can hold spring in His Hands as easily as a flower.

    Spring is a flower. A flower that tells us of our Creator love for us; a flower that expresses His mercy, His infinite mercy; His compassion, His infinite compassion.
    Those who say they have nobody to love. Those who say they are all alone. That nobody understands them. That nobody cares for them. A flower is reaching out to you, waiting. A flower, to say “I love you”. Take spring by the hands and remember Him. Spring is the season for understanding how much we are loved by our Lord.

    Mustafa Ulusoy - karakalem.net
    (tr.: Ozlem Kaba)
    Anlamını Bilmediğiniz Kelimelerin Üzerine Çift Tıklayınız...

    Sual: Belki onlar eski hali istiyorlar?
    Cevap: Size kısa bir söz söyleyeceğim; ezber edebilirsiniz: İşte, eski hal muhal; ya yeni hal veya izmihlâl...
    (Bediüzzaman Said Nursi)


    Ne hayal, ne kuruntu hakikat istiyorum.
    Hakikat, hakikat, hakikat istiyorum!.. (Osman Yüksel SERDENGEÇTİ)




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    thank for sharing
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