Some more confessions.

The New Testament story presents a picture of a certain optimum. The image is moving, it seems to me, not because it shows a desired but unattainable ideal, but because the optimum is real and achievable at any moment. Each successive step has its own optimum parameters, say, direction and energy. And optimal steps that follow stack up nicely and neatly into the best possible course. The trouble and the paradox is that the optimum is realised unwittingly. Just as it is, say, the Universe, that is realised unwittingly. By contrast, steps subjected to reflection become unstable and the course is subject to aberrations. That involuntary nature is by no means mindlessness; the steps and courses in thinking itself also have their optima. Thus, homo sapiens sapien's problem is multipled by definition.


Somehow the key to that unwittingness must be something that all religions and philosophies of the good life insist on, and that is the recognition of the unreality, or insignificance, of the so-called ego. But here it is so easy to get these annoying and completely pointless cases of nonsense that I don’t even try to grasp what all that could be about. Well, maybe I try a little, but I withdraw quickly, feeling that my efforts resemble the first attempts by pre-aviators, which focused on the movement of wings and propellers instead of their shape.


Anyhow, the image of God (god(s) - creator/guardian/shepherd/judge, etc.) seems to be an extrapolation of the complex situation that is beyond comprehension that we find ourselves in, in which the purposefulness of everything comes to mind, one can distinctly sense the maximum appropriateness and adequacy, the perfect and complete, instinctive awareness, and at the same time our own inadequacy, inappropriateness and confusion are painfully real. At times, with reluctance, I cease to think that looking into this image is necessarily an escape from reality; quite the opposite, it is rather a chase after reality, however hopeless.


In turn, successful works of art are also (almost) optimal constructions that realise the potential of selected (arbitrary) means. And also they are moving, because they allow to feel the way their inadequate and inappropriate creators had to go through, struggling with the resistance posed, for some reason, by the matter under reflection. Besides, all successful feats in whatever field, in so-called real time, undertaken by someone, always at some cost, being shadows of an optimum that sometimes cannot be regained, are touching. Vectors in chaos.


I sometimes get a brief, very, very brief glimpse of understanding or, perhaps better, of knowing some great truth. Of course, in saying this, I am not even taking an aim with a hoe at the sun, but at least at a black hole in the middle of the galaxy. But the image of a pathetic character with a pathetic hoe also moves me. The characters with hoes are my ancestors.


The orchestral version of Baczyński is ready. I think it came out nicely. It is possible that it will be played somewhere in the first quarter of 2022.


Meanwhile, also in the first quarter, I'm buckling up. For the first time, I’ll be trying to write two things in parallel. One great colleague told me it was possible. First thing: “Baśń o wężowym sercu”. [The Tale of the Serpent’s Heart]. Radek Rak wrote the libretto, I’m getting started. And the second thing: songs to the lyrics by Leśmian. Again, with Tomek Konieczny and Lech Napierała. I have almost completed selecting poems, and I’m getting started, too. More on this soon.


(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)