Today, I sat in the park as the warmest days of March slipped away with the descending sun. I thought of you, all of you. And I thought of how funny it is if an invisible hand could just take the me who’s sitting in the park out of this world, yet I can still see you and think of you.

So the summer is coming.

Every year, since maybe three years ago, the first sweetness of summer’s air always frightens me. I am nevertheless filled with joy – and the first sight at a seemingly microscopical blossom of a flower intrigues me wondrously.

I hope you are well and ready for this wondrous season.

Love,
Sophie

For beauty, Phaedrus, mark me, beauty alone is both divine and visible at once; and thus it is the road of the sensuous; it is, little Phaedrus, the road of the artist to the spiritual. But do you now believe, my dear, that they can ever attain wisdom and true human dignity for whom the road tot he spiritual leads through the senses? Or do you believe rather (I leave the choice to you) that this s a pleasant but perilous road, a really wrong and sinful road, which necessarily leads astray? For you must know that we poets cannot take the road of beauty without having Eros join us and set himself up as our leader. Indeed, we may even be heroes after our fashion, and hardened warriors, through we be like women, for passion is our exaltation, and our desire must remain love – that is our pleasure and our disgrace. You now see, do you not, that we poets cannot be wise and dignified? That we necessarily go astray, necessarily remain lascivious, and adventurers in emotion? The mastery of our style is all lies and foolishness, our renown and honor the training of the public and of youth through art is a precarious undertaking which should be forbidden. For how, indeed, could he be a fit instructor who is born with a natural leaning towards the precipice? We might well disavow it and reach after dignity, but wherever we turn it attracts us. Let us, say, renounce the dissolvent of knowledge, since knowledge, Phaedrus, has no dignity or strength. It is aware, it understands and pardons, but without reserve and form. It feels sympathy with the precipice, it IS the precipice. This then, we abandon with firmness, and from now on our efforts matter only by their yield of beauty, or, in other words, simplicity, greatness, and new rigor, form, and a second type of openness. But form and openness, Phaedrus, lead to intoxication and to desire, lead the noble perhaps into sinister revels of emotion which his own beautiful rigor rejects as infamous, lead to the precipice – yes, they too lead to the precipice. They lead us pots there, I say, since we cannot force ourselves,since we can merely let ourselves out. And now I am going, Phaedrus. You stay here; and when you no longer see me, then you go too.

- from Death in Venice by Thomas Mann

Once in my teenage years I have experienced and agreed with this profoundly. It is a dangerous, exciting, sinful road, an it will consume one without a trace.

Perhaps this is what some embrace wholeheartedly- and live for.

In my twenties now, reading this, I am seeing myself. To fully comment and understand this passage I will need to read way more (ie Plato), but it is here to be recorded.

——–

There’s an urge inside everybody that wants to destroy beauty. To possess, to make impure and imperfect, and take delight and pride in the ownership of such actions.

It makes me shiver.

It is a book that speaks of Buddhist spirituality, but in a very representative German kind of existential way – to me at least.

It speaks of the teaching of benevolence, kindness, sympathy, etc., but of no love; for love binds everything and does not lead one to be free. But how can that be? How can humans live without love? Even though it can hurt us so much, it can agonize us so much, it can break us into piece, but shouldn’t we have the courage to fight through for love instead of drifting away into the loftiness of places without any human contact?

Many things I agree, yet I disagree.

Then again, I thought and wondered, if I hadn’t come out from China at the age of 13, what would I think about the world?

—-

Everything that is thought and expressed in words is one-sided, only half the truth; it all lacks totality, completeness, unity.

记得两年前尼玛达娃在豆瓣上联系我，说, 是否可以把我06年去西藏的照片给他要出的关于西藏的书一用。我当然感到很荣幸。但，遇到了去年西藏的一些问题等等. 就这么，两年他肯定做了很多的工作，花了很多时间和精力,虽然书虽然一直没有出.

今晚在线上碰到他,他说,书出版了. 在此要再次祝贺他. :)

——–

A friend has asked me two years ago whether he could use some of my photos that I took in Tibet in a book he’s writing. I said sure, I’d be honoured. Two years has passed, I’m sure he encountered many problems, the book hadn’t been published. Last night, he told me that they’ve finally published it, and I’m so happy to see this coming out. Congratulations to Nimadawa. :)

My feeling is just that the movie is trying too hard to be narrative, trying to catch up with the books and the expectation of the fans; it kind of lost some of the movie quality it should have. When Dumbledore died, it wasn’t so sad or shocking as it was in the movie (okay, maybe we all know how the story goes, so it takes away a bit of that surprise.. but still, I wouldn’t have minded if there were more suspense).

The last book is still sitting on my shelf. For some reason, my subconscious just refuses to read it. Perhaps it wants the story to never end – albeit knowing it’s impossible. I still have a slightest hope that Snape isn’t on the evil side….. I really hope so. But from what I heard, this is not the case. :(

And Steph, I really miss called our chemistry class “potion class” in high school!

你們這些生在今日的人，你們這些年輕人 – 現在要輪到你們了！踏在我們的身体上面向前吧。但願你們比我們更偉大，更幸福。

我自己也和我過去的靈魂告別了；我把它當作空殼似的扔掉了。生命是連續不斷的死亡與復活。克裏斯朵夫，咱們一起死了預備再生吧！

——羅曼 羅蘭，一九一二年 十月