A MAN’S SOUL

2011-04-25

06.04.2011, Haidakhan India – 25.04.2011, Zornitsa village, Bulgaria

 

“One always craws, always doubts where he is heading to, not understanding the valuable essence of his impulses.”

“Most people don’t possess the ability to take a chance and creation in too risky enterprise…”

“The older we get, the more we understand, but this is not an obstacle for us to be unwanted for the others, the new ones, more perfect. In fact we provoke this needlessness towards ourselves, as we give up life, just because we have entered its more mature part. People alone destroy themselves much earlier than their time is due.”

“The implementation of choice lies only in what product from the store we buy. But the store of life itself is hosted only a few strangers.”

“Happiness compensates with intensity its continuance, which is missing.”

“Second letter

You pray for me to be alive and you always have, but the truth is that you are in danger, surrounded from the big city, where souls are buried, not bodies. There are places there which we call parks, gardens, which we visit as if we are visiting an obedient prisoner – the nature in which there is still beauty but it has lost its power. We admire it and we imagine that we know and respect it and we even tend to believe we love it.
And here the nature is alive, the wind – severe. Love is a joyful fight and death is unique under the sunlight. And in all this there is justice. Otherwise I wouldn’t be happy alive in the dark outlines of the light sky.”

FRAGMENTS OF THE BOOK “A MAN’S SOUL”, BY PHILIP LHAMSUREN, CIELA, 2011

I arrive in Haidakhan There I find my friend with whom I have an appointment at a distant place in the Himalaya, next to one of the Gang’s feeders. Both of us and lots of other people who came from all over the world will spend more than two weeks together. We hope so. Next to her bed I see a strange printed issue. It looks like a diary. So I decide that this is just her diary. One day I am strongly tempted and I carefully lift one edge of the cover. I see that the text inside is not handwriting but is printed. Surprised I take this strange book in my hands. At this point I tell to myself that it is not very good to peek into my friend’s personal stuff. And naturally in the same minute she walks into the room. I am ashamed. In return to my curiosity I receive the right to read this apocrypha. The book is written by Philip, for whom I have herd before. A man with a strange history, half Bulgarian, half Mongolian, walking the road towards himself, traveling all around the world and looking for the answers his heart needs.

Ii devour the text greedily. In particular moments the history takes me in the steppes, in other moments – in the middle of my soul. Sometimes the reading goes easily, the story just flows. Then something becomes tighter. As if rows overflow with the need to tell more than the words really can. I return to reread it.

One pray, told all in a breath. A cut – deep wound and disclosure in the center of the soul. Rudeness – as if came out of the harsh nature. Gentleness – coming deeply from the soul. That is what this book is for.

 Back in Sofia I look for the official edition in the bookstore so I can have it too. Regrettably this time my favorite publishers disappointed me – the cover, the design, even the font… how sad, what lack of understanding. Or perhaps it is more correct to say – how different from my understanding of this text. So please, do not mislead from the pretentious of the title or the look of the book. If you want to travel deep down, it is an opportunity for this.