Viena labiausiai siela laužančių pasakų iš vaikystės, paklausiau... Nepasikeitė ... Siela ir vėl skilo i dalis, jei tik Egle viska kitaip būtų sudeliojusi(turečiau patarimų), nebūtų pasaka 🤣✌️
Sveiki Robertai. Dar kartą noriu Jums padėkoti už tai ką darote. Kadangi žodinė padėka nekažką, tikiuosi, kad ši istorija nors ką nors.
The Gravity of Being
He begins not as darkness, but as a star — burning, radiant, full of promise. A furnace of fusion, turning hydrogen into light, pressure into presence. But even then, something in him leans inward — a gravity gathering, a silence growing.
And when the fuel runs out, when the light has nothing left to feed on, he collapses. Not with drama, but inevitability. He becomes a black hole — not just an object, but a boundary. The world calls it an event horizon, but for him, it is the edge of self: the place where nothing can escape, not even memory.
He is no longer a star, but not yet absence. He is a singularity of hunger.
Then, a passing star comes too close — and he pulls. Not out of malice, but out of need. The star spirals, pulled into his gravity well, its outer layers stripped into glowing rings. This is not intimacy; this is accretion. Violent. Radiant. Consuming. The star is unmade in light and silence.
Yet not everything is destroyed. Some encounters form stable orbits. Light itself curves around him — trapped, but dancing, never quite falling in. These are his companions: matter that flirts with the edge of eternity, caught between surrender and escape. They never touch, but they are shaped forever by his pull.
Then one day, another black hole approaches.
This is different.
There is no light, no surface, no substance to grasp — only gravity meeting gravity. They do not collide like matter; they spiral, slowly at first, then faster, tighter, space itself warping around them. They radiate gravitational waves, ripples in the fabric of reality — silent announcements that something ancient is happening.
And then, they merge.
No explosion. No fanfare. Just a new black hole — heavier, deeper, quieter. The universe grows darker by one event horizon, but richer by one story.
Not all black holes meet. Some drift alone, cloaked in invisibility, undetected, the stillness behind motion. Some consume galaxies. Some wait. But all carry the same paradox: that the more they take in, the more they vanish. That presence, beyond a point, becomes mystery.
So they orbit, consume, merge, wait.
Stars, light, gravity, echoes.
Each drawn by forces they don’t control,
each shaping others by how they bend space itself.
Sveiki. Visada su malonumu klausau ir istorinio turinio laidas, ir šias pasakas. Tik nedidelis pastebėjimas - anksčiau žmonės, ypač Suvalkijoje, vartojo ir vienaskaitinę žodžio debesis formą, tad dviejose vietose poemoje kirtis turėjo būti dedamas gale - debesìs, o ne děbesys 😉.
Dažnai kūriniai interpretuojami skirtingai vaikystėje ir suaugus, bet man šiandien sugriuvo nuo vaikystės šitą pasaką lydėjęs įsitikinimas dėl geros-blogos pusės.
Viena stipriausių lietuvių pasakų.
Seniai begirdėta, ačiū.
pati svarbiausia.
Mitinė žinutė šiandienai:
Klausyk savo vidinio balso, net jei tai reiškia išdrįsti prarasti „viską“.
Viena labiausiai siela laužančių pasakų iš vaikystės, paklausiau... Nepasikeitė ... Siela ir vėl skilo i dalis, jei tik Egle viska kitaip būtų sudeliojusi(turečiau patarimų), nebūtų pasaka 🤣✌️
Ji tikrai tokia....
Pati mėgstamiausia pasaka ❤️!!! Teta man dažnai skaitydavo S. Neries versiją. Ir filmas pats pats mėgstamiausias iš visų lietuviškųjų
Ir gražu,ir graudu...Ir filmas "atsigamino" tarpais,ir baleto spektaklis vietomis,buvau pamiršus,kad mintinai kai kurias vietas dar vis atsimenu.
Ech...kažin ar šiuolaikiniams vaikams dar skaito tokias pasakas?
Sveiki Robertai. Dar kartą noriu Jums padėkoti už tai ką darote. Kadangi žodinė padėka nekažką, tikiuosi, kad ši istorija nors ką nors.
The Gravity of Being
He begins not as darkness, but as a star — burning, radiant, full of promise. A furnace of fusion, turning hydrogen into light, pressure into presence. But even then, something in him leans inward — a gravity gathering, a silence growing.
And when the fuel runs out, when the light has nothing left to feed on, he collapses. Not with drama, but inevitability. He becomes a black hole — not just an object, but a boundary. The world calls it an event horizon, but for him, it is the edge of self: the place where nothing can escape, not even memory.
He is no longer a star, but not yet absence. He is a singularity of hunger.
Then, a passing star comes too close — and he pulls. Not out of malice, but out of need. The star spirals, pulled into his gravity well, its outer layers stripped into glowing rings. This is not intimacy; this is accretion. Violent. Radiant. Consuming. The star is unmade in light and silence.
Yet not everything is destroyed. Some encounters form stable orbits. Light itself curves around him — trapped, but dancing, never quite falling in. These are his companions: matter that flirts with the edge of eternity, caught between surrender and escape. They never touch, but they are shaped forever by his pull.
Then one day, another black hole approaches.
This is different.
There is no light, no surface, no substance to grasp — only gravity meeting gravity. They do not collide like matter; they spiral, slowly at first, then faster, tighter, space itself warping around them. They radiate gravitational waves, ripples in the fabric of reality — silent announcements that something ancient is happening.
And then, they merge.
No explosion. No fanfare. Just a new black hole — heavier, deeper, quieter. The universe grows darker by one event horizon, but richer by one story.
Not all black holes meet. Some drift alone, cloaked in invisibility, undetected, the stillness behind motion. Some consume galaxies. Some wait. But all carry the same paradox: that the more they take in, the more they vanish. That presence, beyond a point, becomes mystery.
So they orbit, consume, merge, wait.
Stars, light, gravity, echoes.
Each drawn by forces they don’t control,
each shaping others by how they bend space itself.
And none of them, not even the emptiest,
are truly alone.
Sveiki. Visada su malonumu klausau ir istorinio turinio laidas, ir šias pasakas. Tik nedidelis pastebėjimas - anksčiau žmonės, ypač Suvalkijoje, vartojo ir vienaskaitinę žodžio debesis formą, tad dviejose vietose poemoje kirtis turėjo būti dedamas gale - debesìs, o ne děbesys 😉.
Sėkmės
Ačiū už pastabą. Nežinojau išties kaip perskaityti šitai
Ateičiai 😉
Ačiū, Robertai, už primintą nuostabią istoriją!
Dažnai kūriniai interpretuojami skirtingai vaikystėje ir suaugus, bet man šiandien sugriuvo nuo vaikystės šitą pasaką lydėjęs įsitikinimas dėl geros-blogos pusės.
Yra tik interpreracijos…tik įsitikinimai…
Bet riba tarp gėrio ir blogio kaip ir turėtų būt aiški, bet taip nėra
Kas gi tą ribą nustato?