Mirrors

Ink

chapter from the volume "Holocaust Gutenberg"

Ion Buga is a priest, teacher and essayist, member of the Writers' Union. He has so far published over 20 books, a third of which are translations, the rest are essays on spirituality, biblical exegeses and journals of ideas. "Metaphysical diaries" would be the right term. "Holocaust Gutenberg" narrates the odyssey of Writing, that is, of the Fact that takes man out of prehistory and plunges him into history. Knowledge takes us out of Heaven, but opens the Kingdom.

Vasile Andru

Ion Buga is priest, professor and essay writer, member of the Romanian Writers' Union. To date he has published more than 20 books, of which one third are translations, while the rest are essays on spiritual topics, Biblical exegeses and idea diaries. The more appropriate term would be "metaphysical diaries". The book "Holocaust Gutenberg" narrates the Odyssey of Writing, i.e. of that Fact which takes man out of prehistory and plunges him into history. Knowledge banished us from Heaven, but opened up the Kingdom.

Vasile Andru

Whoever is traveling in the dawn of a clear day in the Aegean, leaning over the railing that heats the white boat like a silk belt, will have the clear sensation that the most vast and powerful reality, the only and absolute reality, is ink. It is on this great and terrible ink that the universe sits, like a baby in a pillow of amniotic fluid in its mother's womb.When the night sky lifted its eyelid from the cobalt eye of the human September day, I was passing by Santorin Island and in a second I was transmuted, many years ago, into the gloomy little Transylvanian town of Copșa Mica. The cobalt sea and the frightening volcanic island - a landscape for which there will be no words in the world to describe it, reopened deep the smouldering wound of a dark story of flame and darkness.The ink, the dye of the human brain, the rainbow in the world's word-sky, though it was the ray of light without which civilization would have had no chance, it bears through the millennia a gloomy appellation: black water - μελaν υδoϱ, as Plato, the first to illuminate with it the highest vault of human thought, calls it.

Read the full text in 3 / 2011 of Arhitectura Magazine.

He who travels in the early dawn of a serene day in the Aegean Sea, lent over the parapet which girdles the white ship like a silk belt, will clearly feel that the vastest and most powerful reality, the one and only, is ink. In this grand, overpowering ink, the universe is nested like the fetus in the amniotic fluid of his mother's womb.As the night sky was lifting its eyelid off the cobalt eye of the September day, I was passing next to the island of Santorini when I was all of a sudden taken many years ago, to the somber Transylvanian town of Copșa Mică. Thus, the cobalt sea and the frightening volcanic island, a landscape for the description of which no proper words can be found, ripped up an old wound and called to my mind a hazy story of flame and darkness.The ink, the paint of the human brain, the rainbow on the world's word-made sky, despite being that ray of light in the absence of which civilization would not have stood a chance, has borne through the millenniums a dark designation, namely the black water - μελaν υδoϱ, as Plato, the first to light with it the highest vault of the human thinking, calls it.