{"id":5289,"date":"2020-01-05T20:02:40","date_gmt":"2020-01-05T19:02:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/?p=5289"},"modified":"2021-01-25T21:18:20","modified_gmt":"2021-01-25T20:18:20","slug":"martin-nawrath-videno-rybizove-a-mazlicci-milacku","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/martin-nawrath-videno-rybizove-a-mazlicci-milacku\/","title":{"rendered":"Martin Nawrath: Seen in Currants and Pets of the Darlings"},"content":{"rendered":"

Martin Nawrath (born 1968) is a facilitator, therapist, lecturer, consultant, essayist and poet. Life has led him ever deeper into the topics he has been drawn to since childhood. How to perceive, experience and protect the beauty of the world. How to search for a deeper meaning of democracy as a path to nature, naturalness and community. How to listen to the signs of the times with the ears of both a fool and an emperor. Studying biochemistry, working in the field of environmental protection, training in process-oriented psychology and poetry have become his gateway to the world of Alchemy in the broadest sense of the word. For more about his work, see: www.martin-nawrath.cz<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seen in a currant way<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

As a little boy, I loved to stuff myself with currants in my grandmother's garden. She had an infinite supply of them in my eyes, and in my conception of time at the time, that's how it always was and should have been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We don't have that many currants in our current garden. We inherited some from the previous owners of the garden, and some we planted ourselves. Gradually, I realized that having fruit bushes and trees that bear fruit every year is not something that has been around forever, nor will it last forever. Every spring, my amazement grew even more. I began to truly appreciate trees and bushes. I realized that any of them can die over the winter, stop bearing fruit. I began to gently step around them and watch them come to life in the spring.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I learned to carefully prune the branches and with a silent wish, approaching prayer, I waited to see how it would turn out. My attention went even further. I had previously perceived the flowering garden mainly as one great work of art. But over time, my eyes bent even lower, closer to the individual bush, branch, grapes and fruits. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my adult years, I experienced for the first time something as obvious as watching a flower turn into a currant berry. I thought to myself: "That's incredible, that's a miracle!<\/em>". <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I said the words out loud and realized what they really meant. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is fascinating how, minute by minute, millimeter by millimeter, each plant finds its form, which we ultimately take for granted and seemingly permanent. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although I am educated in science, for the first time in my life I felt a deep desire to understand this miracle more. To understand how it is even possible. And so I thought back to my school years and science classes and tried in vain to recall a similar experience. Yes, we have certainly learned about it at some point. But what about that desire, that experience of miracle, which only opens up the desire for understanding? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I suspect that in the flood of descriptions and technical terms that school tried to teach us, there was simply no place for desire, and probably still is to this day. We have divided the world into so many pieces and named each of them that we have become somewhat lost in it. We are mainly waiting for ripe fruits, before that, it is useless to us, unworthy of more attention. There is no place for miracles and desire in such a world. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We are missing a key subject. I don't know what to call it exactly. It shouldn't end with "writing" or "science." It should teach the ability to see the seemingly invisible, it should teach understanding the miracle of the process of life. I can practically imagine it a little. Before a science, physics, or math class, it could be, for example, a morning contemplative sensory observation of the emergence of those silent and yet unnamed forms of life.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pets of pets<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

I don't know much about the countryside, but the number of dogs in cities is undoubtedly still growing. More and more of us, more or less consciously, fulfill the perhaps somewhat vague need to have "someone else" or "at least someone" in the family. We buy them for our children or for ourselves when the children are not there or have left; we love their tenderness, soft fur, loyalty, closeness; we love the somewhat mysterious look in a dog's eyes; we love the spontaneity of their movement, the surprising and unusual form of dog gestures, or even just the way dogs lie down. We enjoy staring at their mere existence; we enjoy how their noses slowly, unobtrusively move closer to us, how they invite us to pet them; we enjoy how they bark at us as soon as the door creaks and usually even earlier, because they are somehow mysteriously connected to our existence; we are amused and somewhat annoyed by their temptations, their game of who will lead and who will be led. They bring all this to us because they are from a different world, a world in which they are more anchored than we are. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

If we bring more and more dogs into our world, what space are we actually filling? What is missing from our world that we can't help but feel? What kind of world would it be in which we ourselves were a bit like dogs? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It doesn't have to be a complete dog revolution. It would be enough to bring the dog world into our everyday lives little by little. We could start by staring more into the eyes of our loved ones or even into our own in the mirror - without words, like mute faces. We could surrender to the feeling that the depth of the eyes has no bottom or end and therefore no time. We could allow our bodies to have their own way of moving and expressing themselves. Stretch whenever we need to, speed up and slow down our walking when our body wants it. We could lie down occasionally during the day and enjoy the touch of the ground and the vastness of our own backs, roll around a bit and straighten up again. We could smell a little more. The smell of a morning cup of tea, a prepared lunch, as well as the atmosphere at a meeting or on the tram. We could learn to perceive the connection with our loved ones without their presence. Trust a sudden memory, a random situation that reminds us of someone. And call him, write to him or just wait for him to call back. We could practice the ability to express tenderness and tell each other about it by arranging our own fur. Scratch ourselves, scratch someone else, let them scratch us. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to rub against someone close to us or cuddle up to them every now and then during the day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We could be somehow closer to ourselves and to others. More faithfully than we are.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Martin Nawrath (born 1968) is a facilitator, therapist, lecturer, consultant, essayist and poet. Life has led him ever deeper into the topics he has been drawn to since childhood. How to perceive, experience and protect the beauty of the world. How to seek a deeper meaning of democracy as a path to nature, naturalness and community. How to listen to the signs of the times with the ears of a fool and an emperor. Studying biochemistry, working in the field of conservation\u2026 Continue reading Martin Nawrath: Seen in Currants and Pets of the Darlings<\/span><\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5291,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[39],"class_list":["post-5289","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-texty","tag-martin-nawrath","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5289","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5289"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5289\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5950,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5289\/revisions\/5950"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5291"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5289"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5289"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/potulnauniverzita.cz\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5289"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}