We Should Strive for Harmony

“The language was silent, but the brain was working. This brain was looking for way. Shouldn’t I take revenge on that insolent, disrespectful girl!”
The revenge by Anton Chekhov

Language, words are unlimited potential. There is an infinite number of combinations to express content. But the lips are silent, and the head is working hard until it evaporates.

The human body is extremely flexible. It can make a boundless number of moves. But instead of moving, the muscles start to stiff from the jaw and neck, then stiffness affects the whole body.

The human mind is creative. It can create magical worlds without limitation. But unconsciously people choose to lead a bare existence.

And an unreserved number of actions you can take. But sleepiness, feeling dizzy, restlessness and  slowness of movement appear.

The lack of harmony between the word body, mind and deed is a basic limitation in life. Man as an imperfect being, always fails to reach this harmony. Thankfully, this unequalled idea is excellent, because man is a mortal creature. Obtaining  the perfect state of harmony would stop the stride and solidify the dullness. But when human does not try to strive for this harmony and prefers to live in the split, the problems arise.

 I think we would avoid serious troubles. If only we could find the right balance between words, deeds, body movement and thoughts. 


Human or Machine

Use online translator, and you get a load of crap. This programmed machine can translate only to a small extent.
Leaving translations aside, let us look at everyday life. The human being can also act as a programmed machine. He does not use his inner wisdom. His true knowledge is being put to sleep. A man acting like an automaton succumbs to another automaton’s will. Consequently, we
achieve the explosive mixture.

Does Anyone Take Care of Health of Soul

“But he who is full of faith is certainly under no fear; for there is an inconsistency between faith and fear. Now, whoever is subject to grief is subject to fear; for whatever things we grieve at when present we dread when hanging over us and approaching. Thus it comes about that grief is inconsistent with courage: it is very probable, therefore, that whoever is subject to grief is also liable to fear, and to a broken kind of spirits and sinking. Now, whenever these befall a man, he is in a servile state, and must own that he is overpowered; for whoever admits these feelings, must admit timidity and cowardice. But these cannot enter into the mind of a man of courage; neither, therefore, can grief: but the man of courage is the only wise man; therefore grief cannot befall the wise man. It is, besides, necessary that whoever is brave should be a man of great soul; that whoever is a man of a great soul should be invincible; whoever is invincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and considers them, beneath him. But no one can despise those things on account of which he may be affected with grief; from whence it follows that a wise man is never affected with grief: for all wise men are brave; therefore a wise man is not subject to grief. And as the eye, when disordered, is not in a good condition for performing its office properly; and as the other parts, and the whole body itself, when unsettled, cannot perform their office and business; so the mind, when disordered, is but ill-fitted to perform its duty. The office of the mind is to use its reason well; but the mind of a wise man is always in condition to make the best use of his reason, and therefore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of the mind; therefore a wise man will be always free from it.”
Tusculan Disputations by Marcus Tullius Cicero

Cat in Literature

” ‘Sleepy!’ I thought, sitting in the bank.I’ll come home and lay down to sleep.’
What a bliss!’ I whispered, and having despatched my dinner I was standing in front of my bed.  ‘How lovely is to live in this world! Great!
Boundlessly happy, stretching and luxuriating in bed, like a cat in the sun, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.”
Fell into disfavour by Anton Chekhov