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今天看到這部交通部所拍攝的影片,為之感動: 

 

台灣這塊寶島之所以為寶島,是因為我們有許多充滿人情味的小人物。他們相信助人為快樂之本,生活的目標也很簡單,因此腳踏實地去度過每一天。

他們追求的不是大事或是讚美,而是發自內心的小小成就感與快樂;也就是這些小人物每天點點滴滴的努力生活,才造就出台灣社會特有的樸、實、真。

台灣加油,讓我們努力踏實地生活,成就自己、關心彼此,讓社會持續地更加美好!

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5/31,在辛亥愛眉住滿兩年,也是離開的一天。上週梅雨季尾聲時,夜裡天空出現低掛的白雲,在辛亥總是能特別注意到天空以及遠處那端景美、新店的層層山峰。

謹以這張夜幕照片,特此紀念居住在辛亥的日子。我會想念愛眉的安靜、盛開的雞蛋花、貓朋友咪咪黑黑及小花、聒噪的青蛙蟋蟀蟬兒還有午夜愛唱歌的紫嘯鶇。

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580公升
【聯合報╱陳漢平】
2011.02.23 03:56 am
 

「你知道,一個人,每一天,需要使用多少氧氣嗎?」他突然問我。「你把我問倒了,我不知道。」我坦白說。「五百八十公升,我仔細算過。」他接著又問:「那你今天一共製造了多少氧氣?」……

 

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Copyright: All Reserved

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我永遠站在「雞蛋」的那方

/村上春樹

 

今天我以一名小說家的身分來到耶路撒冷。而小說家,正是所謂的職業謊言製造者。

當然,不只小說家會說謊。眾所周知,政治人物也會說謊。外交官、將軍、二手車業務員、屠夫和建築師亦不例外。但是小說家的謊言和其他人不同。沒有人會責怪小說家說謊不道德。相反地,小說家愈努力說謊,把謊言說得愈大愈好,大眾和評論家反而愈讚賞他。為什麼?

我的答案是:藉由高超的謊言,也就是創作出幾可亂真的小說情節,小說家才能將真相帶到新的地方,也才能賦予它新的光輝。

在大多數的情況下,我們幾乎無法掌握真相,也無法精準的描繪真相。因此,必須把真相從藏匿處挖掘出來,轉化到另一個虛構的時空,用虛構的形式來表達。

但是在此之前,我們必須先清楚知道,真相就在我們心中的某處。這是小說家編造好謊言的必要條件。

今天,我不打算說謊。我會盡可能地誠實。我在一年之中只有幾天不會說謊,今天剛好就是其中之一。

請容我告訴你們真相。

在日本,許多人建議我不要來這裡接受耶路撒冷文學獎。甚至有人警告我,如果我堅持前來,他們會聯合抵制我的小說。主要的原因,當然是迦薩正在發生的激烈戰鬥。

根據聯合國調查,在被封鎖的迦薩城內,已經有超過千人喪生,許多人是手無寸鐵的平民、孩童和老人。

我收到獲獎通知後,不斷問自己:此時到耶路撒冷接受文學獎,是否正確?這會不會讓人認為我支持衝突中的某一方,或認為我支持一個發動壓倒性武力攻擊的國家政策?老實說,我也不想看到自己的書被抵制。

經過反覆思考,我還是決定來到這裡。原因之一是,太多人反對我來。我和許多小說家一樣,總是要做人們反對的事情。如果有人對我說,尤其是警告我說,「不要去」、「不要這麼做」,我通常反而會特別想去、特別想做。

這就是小說家的天性。小說家是特別的族群,除非親眼所見,親手觸摸,否則他們不會相信任何事情。

我來到這裡,我選擇親身面對而非置身事外;我選擇親眼目睹而非矇蔽雙眼;我選擇開口說話,而非沉默不語。

但是這不代表我要發表任何政治訊息。判斷對錯,當然是小說家的重要責任,但如何傳遞判斷,每個作家有不同的選擇。我個人偏好用故事、尤其用超現實的故事來表達。因此,我今天不會在你們面前發表任何直接的政治訊息。

不過,請容我在這裡向你們傳達一個非常私人的訊息。這是我創作時永遠牢記在心的話語。我從未將這句話真正行諸文字或貼在牆壁,而是刻劃在我心靈深處的牆上。這句話是這樣的:

「以卵擊石,在高大堅硬的牆和雞蛋之間,我永遠站在雞蛋那方。」

無論高牆是多麼正確,雞蛋是多麼地錯誤,我永遠站在雞蛋這邊。

誰是誰非,自有他人、時間、歷史來定論。但若小說家無論何種原因,寫出站在高牆這方的作品,這作品豈有任何價值可言?

這代表什麼意思呢?轟炸機、戰車、火箭和白磷彈就是那堵高牆;而被它們壓碎、燒焦和射殺的平民則是雞蛋。這是這個比喻的其中一層涵義。

更深一層的看,我們每個人,也或多或少都是一枚雞蛋。我們都是獨一無二,裝在脆弱外殼中的靈魂。你我也或多或少,都必須面對一堵名為「體制」的高牆。體制照理應該保護我們,但有時它卻殘殺我們,或迫使我們冷酷、有效率、系統化地殘殺別人。

我寫小說只有一個原因,就是給予每個靈魂尊嚴,讓它們得以沐浴在陽光之下。故事的目的在於提醒世人,在於檢視體制,避免它馴化我們的靈魂、剝奪靈魂的意 義。我深信小說家的職責就是透過創作故事,關於生死、愛情、讓人感動落淚、恐懼顫抖或開懷大笑的故事,讓人們意識到每個靈魂的獨一無二和不可取代。這就是 我們為何日復一日,如此嚴肅編織小說的原因。

我九十歲的父親去年過世。他是位退休老師和兼職的和尚。當他在京都的研究所念書時,被強制徵召到中國打仗。

身為戰後出生的小孩,我很好奇為何他每天早餐前,都在家中佛壇非常虔誠地祈禱。有一次我問他原因,他說他是在為所有死於戰爭的人們祈禱,無論是戰友或敵人。看著他跪在佛壇前的背影,我似乎感受到周遭環繞著死亡的陰影。

我父親過世了,帶走那些我永遠無法盡知的記憶。但環繞他周遭那些死亡的陰影卻留在我的記憶中。這是我從他身上繼承的少數東西之一,卻也是最重要的東西之一。

今天,我只希望能向你們傳達一個訊息。我們都是人類,超越國籍、種族和宗教,我們都只是一枚面對體制高牆的脆弱雞蛋。無論怎麼看,我們都毫無勝算。 牆實在是太高、太堅硬,也太過冷酷了。戰勝它的唯一可能,只來自於我們全心相信每個靈魂都是獨一無二的,只來自於我們全心相信靈魂彼此融合,所能產生的溫 暖。

請花些時間思考這點:我們每個人都擁有獨特而活生生的靈魂,體制卻沒有。我們不能允許體制剝削我們,我們不能允許體制自行其道。體制並未創造我們:是我們創造了體制。

這就是我想對你們說的。


(來源: 天下雜誌 418期 2009/03)

 

Always on the side of the egg

By Haruki Murakami

I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.

Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies. Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and military men tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders. The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling them. Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics. Why should that be?

My answer would be this: Namely, that by telling skillful lies - which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true - the novelist can bring a truth out to a new location and shine a new light on it. In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately. This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form. In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth lies within us. This is an important qualification for making up good lies.

Today, however, I have no intention of lying. I will try to be as honest as I can. There are a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.

So let me tell you the truth. A fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize. Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.

The reason for this, of course, was the fierce battle that was raging in Gaza. The UN reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded Gaza City, many of them unarmed citizens - children and old people.

Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power. This is an impression, of course, that I would not wish to give. I do not approve of any war, and I do not support any nation. Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.

Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here. One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it. Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told. If people are telling me - and especially if they are warning me - "don't go there," "don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that." It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist. Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.

And that is why I am here. I chose to come here rather than stay away. I chose to see for myself rather than not to see. I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.

This is not to say that I am here to deliver a political message. To make judgments about right and wrong is one of the novelist's most important duties, of course.

It is left to each writer, however, to decide upon the form in which he or she will convey those judgments to others. I myself prefer to transform them into stories - stories that tend toward the surreal. Which is why I do not intend to stand before you today delivering a direct political message.

Please do, however, allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: Rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:

"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?

What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them. This is one meaning of the metaphor.

This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: It is The System. The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others - coldly, efficiently, systematically.

I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on The System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist's job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories - stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.

My father died last year at the age of 90. He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest. When he was in graduate school, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China. As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply-felt prayers at the Buddhist altar in our house. One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the war.

He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike. Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.

My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know. But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory. It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.

I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today. We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong - and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others' souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.

Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made The System.

That is all I have to say to you.

I am grateful to have been awarded the Jerusalem Prize. I am grateful that my books are being read by people in many parts of the world. And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.

(source: http://www.haaretz.com/culture/arts-leisure/always-on-the-side-of-the-egg-1.270371)

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吳金黛的綠色方舟-- 大自然音像旅行講座

地點: 台北荒野總會

時間: 4 Nov 2010


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閉上眼睛十秒鐘 你聽到了什麼?

我聽到: 樓下大門摔門聲, 腳踏車吱吱作響, 行人走在公園落葉上的腳步聲, 汽車飛嘯而過, 機車向前衝, 鋁箔包爆破聲, 公車停車的嗶嗶警示聲...

這是台北市東區繁忙馬路上的聲音 

 

 

環境  反應了周遭環境  培養了人的感官神經 

在視覺暴力的時代  在噪音公害的世代  我們的聽覺能力是否也漸漸被消磨?

上一次你注意到蟲鳴鳥叫  蛙聲迭起  蟬鳴震耳是什麼時候?

(正在寫此句的同時, 我就注意公園裡的麻雀正在啾啾鳴叫)

或許你聽到了什麼  但是因為不懂到底是啥動物  所以也就算了.....


昨晚  在自然音樂製作人吳金黛的演講中我似乎又重新被開啟了塵封已久的聽覺神經

在英國農場生活時  每天早上都是被鳥叫聲跟它們在屋頂蹦蹦跳跳的嬉鬧聲所吵醒

在台北生活  每天都是在公車呼嘯而過的引擎聲中甦醒  接著再被手機鬧鈴嚇醒

清晨公園裡的白頭翁或是綠繡眼  他們的獨特叫聲似乎漸漸被我遺漏


我  想要重新開啟我的耳朵   尋找台灣生活裡美妙的自然音樂


 

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宗教的力量  就是讓人 知天地 敬鬼神

了解極限  不要認為人類擁有掌控天地一切的能力

走過位於永和市的世界宗教博物館後 

發現'尊重'的美德  不僅存在於人類的種族與宗教之間 

也存在於人與天地之間


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嘉義鮮採  自己種的油菜!

說自己種其實太驕傲  應該說是油菜們自己努力乖乖長大

三個禮拜前撒種之後  就只有回去稍微拔除雜草跟餵它們喝水過一次

很自力更生的油菜! :)



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因緣際會地 與有機農耕班的學長吃了頓飯

聽著多采多姿的人生故事  快樂的時光總是流逝地特別快

時間的軌道灑落在潔白的牆面  我跟學長約下次一起去野外探險

我們的最終目標都是地球之肺- 熱帶雨林!



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01. 台灣南部的將軍漁港  一股安靜的落寞  卻有著美麗的夕陽及熱情的魚販

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02. 開始在家實驗烘培  第一次嘗試餅乾  有機檸檬葡萄乾口味頗受好評   

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03. (陽台)香菜播種後歷經兩個多禮拜  終於有像樣的葉子出現

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04. 在新竹縣油桐花步道發現這隻奶油色的斑點甲蟲(不知正確學名)  

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05. 九重葛是園藝造景的良伴  頭一遭發現裡頭竟然住著兩朵小花兒

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有好多環保資訊想要跟大家分享,但此時此刻的我是十分緊張地在準備禮拜五的某個面試。 

不是份簡單的工作,想要獲得也是得突破重重關卡。我感到準備面試的重點不在流利地回答問題,而是自己必須非常確定這是我想要的方向與工作。

人說很多事情都是天註定。我感覺,如果我最後真的獲得了這份工作,那麼這就或許就能解釋這一年多來的大轉變,似乎就是要帶領我走向那條路。如果沒有得到這份工作,那麼我還是會好好地快樂生活,慢慢地去了解老天到底註定了什麼。

 

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