According to popular belief, the word “chur” from ancient times helped those who found treasures. It was a conspiracy against evil spirits. Hence, for example, the expression “keep me away.” There was also the word “bewitched”. That is, the condemned, misappropriated finds. The happy owners of such finds were called “churaks”. An enchanted, charmed place becomes sacred and inviolable, like some important border property.
All this is because Chur in the old days is not only the name of a Slavic god, but also a border, a boundary, as well as an edge, a limit, a measure. The same meaning is in the word “too much” that has survived to this day. Too much or too little is against the right, against the measure.
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- Everyone has their own spiritual path
But enough history. Recently I came across a book by my friend Alexei Yelyanov. She came out a long time ago, was intended for children of middle and older age and was called “Chur, my smoke!”. This is a child’s game of appropriation. Whoever said it first is the owner. Even what to own by definition is impossible. For example, smoke. But by agreement, he’s still mine. Unprecedented pleasure is my smoke.
Apparently, the desire to appropriate lies at the heart of our behavior and perception. We love only what has been appropriated, what we have made our own. This is not a struggle of owners, because desire is very often disinterested and even, from the outward view, meaningless. So, for example, there is any knowledge, starting with studying at school. We truly know only what we have managed to love, that is, to make our own.
We are funny creatures. It’s like we’ve been playing a child’s game all our lives. “My Pushkin”. Well, isn’t it funny? Not funny. This is my Pushkin, the one whom I fell in love with, felt, experienced in myself and understood in a way that only I can understand. My right to my own Pushkin in no way encroaches on your right to have your own. But mine is reserved, don’t touch it.
Read more:
- How to learn to fulfill your desires?
There are many apple trees in the garden. But there is an apple tree that I planted. My apple tree. And I have a special relationship with her. I visit her more often, I water more often, although this is careless and stupid. Jealousy watching the growth, anxiously waiting for the first flowers. And then I cut off several ovaries, because she, a young one, cannot pull a large number of fruits. That is, I behave with her as with my own little child. Well, there is no need to explain how your child differs from someone else’s.
We are the owners. It is foolish to argue whether this is good or bad. This is our nature. Besides, as I tried to show, the desire for appropriation is at the heart of love. Christian love, tolerance, compassion are one thing. But at the same time, we say about the behavior of a person, a book, a home interior: this is not mine. And we move on. To my. In my own. In what we value.
Does this apply to personal, tangible property? Of course. But it is precisely on this basis, you will say, that there are so many ugly confrontations, crimes, wars. Well, there are ugly manifestations in marital love, and in love for a child, and even in love for Pushkin, if this is connected with dogmatism and the imperious imposition of the only Pushkin.
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- At what age do we feel unhappy?
It does not change the law. In addition, a person also clings to material property, most often for symbolic reasons. That is, the nature of love for a child, for smoke, for Pushkin and for one’s own home is one. Take the planned flooding of villages. What a tragedy it was. Even if people were offered in return new comfortable houses and in the best lands. But – here every centimeter of the house is lovingly inhabited, every path is familiar. This is my land, “forever beloved.” Not to mention family graves. No material considerations can explain this tragedy.
I remember how many years ago I bought a house for a symbolic price. The house, however, was also purely symbolic. The porch looks like a drunkard who no longer has the strength to joke. The roof is charming: during the day in the hut there are colorful sun glare, in the evening you can see the stars through it. But the Russian stove has retained all the reserves of its gift – it hypnotizes the soul with slow cinematic languages. But in a year or two it will have to be shifted.
We worked with our sons from morning until dusk. They smoked, hiding from the sun. Milk was brought to us three times a day.
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- What is the meaning of life: a question that has no answer?
The palace of our estate has already settled in my mind. Veranda. Balcony. Obedient garden. A garden plowed for a bottle of alcohol and a pond dug under the willows. With carps. But so far only grasshoppers were playing around on their rough strings, and potatoes were languishing in milk in the stove.
This is life? By the way, and this. Happiness? In a way, yes. Personal, I would say. Because we were rebuilding our dream, which, by the way, was never fully realized: the village died out, partially burned down. We recently visited the ruins of our former home. Wandered through them with great sadness and love. Here was our house, and our smoke rose from its roof.