Mister God This Is Anna Quotes

in the dark you have to describe yourself. In the daylight other people describe you.

The sun is nice but it lights things up so much that you can't see very far... The night time is better. It stretches your soul to the stars.

If I was the only one I wouldn't be littler or bigger, would I? I'd be just me, wouldn't I?

The diffrense from a person and an angel is easy. Most of an angel is in the inside and most of a person is on the outside.

So very many times over the next three years i heard her laughter - no silver bells or sweet rippling sounds was her laughter, but like a five-year-old's bellow of delight, a cross between a puppy's yelp, a motor-bike and a bicycle pump.

Letting your soul, or whatever fancy name you like to give it, out of its cage and into the daylight is perhaps the hardest thing anyone can do.

I suppose that the human mind can only stand so much grief and anguish. After that the fuses blow.

Dying could be a bit of a problem, but not if you had really lived. Dying needed a certain amount of preparation and the only preparation for dying was real living,

I began to realize why most people went to sleep in the night-time – it was easier. A whole lot easier.

The daylight schooled the senses and the night-time developed the wits, stretched the imagination, sharpened fantasy, hammered home the memory and altered the whole scale of values.

Humanity in general had an infinite number of points of view, whereas Mister God had an infinite number of viewing points.

Love everybody like you love yourself, and you’ve got to be full up with you to love yourself properly first.

My reason for preferring the darkness is that in the dark you have to describe yourself. In the daylight other people describe you.

My reason for preferring the darkness is that in the dark you have to describe yourself. In the daylight other people describe you. Do you understand that?

Ugliness was the chance to make beautiful. Sadness was the chance to make glad.

Fantasy was and is important; it leads to heaven knows where, but follow it and see. Sometimes it pays off.

And God said love me, love them, and love it, and don’t forget to love yourself.

Да обичаш всички, както обичаш себе си, а за това трябва първо да си пълен със себе си, за да обичаш истински.

It isn’t the Devil in humanity that makes man a lonely creature, it’s his Godlikeness. It’s the fullness of the Good that can’t get out or can’t find its proper ‘other place’ that makes for loneliness.

Аз съм"… Това е трудното. "Аз съм". Наистина, опитайте се да си го кажете, и вече сте си вкъщи. Кажете го с мисъл, и вече сте пълни, вече сте само вътре. Не е нужно да искате неща отвън, които да запълват празнините отвътре.

Не е дяволът, който прави човека самотен, а приликата му с Бога. Пълнотата на доброто е това, което не може да излезе или не може да намери подходящото си „друго място” и предизвиква самотността

I was nineteen at the time, prowling the streets and alleys with my usual supply of hot dogs, the street lights with their foggy haloes showing dark, formless shapes moving out from the darkness of the fog and disappearing again.

Mister God can know things and people from the inside too. We only know them from the outside, don’t we? So you see, Fynn, people can’t talk about Mister God from the outside; you can only talk about Mister God from the inside of him.

The tricky bit was looking inside yourself to see what bits of the works were missing. Once you’d overcome that hurdle the rest was fairly simple.

Фин, на небето няма различни църкви, защото всеки е вътре в себе си. Външните неща са тези, които правят всички различни църкви и синагоги, и храмове, и такива работи. Фин, Мистър Бог е казал „Аз съм“ и точно това иска да кажем всички – ето кое е трудното.

Why do we go to church, Fynn?" "To understand Mister God more." "Less." "Less what?" "To understand Mister God less." ................. "You go to church to make Mister God really, really, really big, then you really, really don't understand Mister God- then you do.

Some people collect stamps or beer mats; Mum collected waifs and strays, cats, dogs, frogs, people, and as she believed, a whole host of "little people." Had she been confronted that night with a lion,she'd have made the same comment "The poor thing.

You don’t have to want things outside you to fill up the gaps inside you. You don’t leave bits of you hanging around on objects in shop-windows, in catalogues or on advertising hoardings. Wherever you go you take your whole self with you, you don’t leave bits lying around to get stamped on, you’re all of a piece,

For Anna, ‘love’ meant the recognition of perfectibility in another. Anna ‘saw’ a person in every part. Anna ‘saw’ a ‘you’. Now that is something to experience, to be seen as a ‘you’, clearly and definitely, with no parts hidden. Wonderful and frightening.

A fact was the hard outer cover of meaning, and meaning was the soft living stuff inside a fact. Fact and meaning were the driving cogs of living. If the gear of fact drove the gear of meaning, then they revolved in opposite directions, but put the gear of fantasy between the two and they both revolved in the same direction. Fantasy was and is important; it leads to heaven knows where, but follow it and see. Sometimes it pays off.

Fynn, you can love better than any people that ever was, and so can I, can’t I? But Mister God is different. You see, Fynn, people can only love outside and can only kiss outside, but Mister God can love you right inside, and Mister God can kiss you right inside, so it’s different. Mister God ain’t like us; we are a little bit like Mister God, but not much yet.

All the universe has got a sex-like quality about it. It is seminal and productive at the same time. The seeds of words produce ideas. The seeds of ideas produce goodness knows what. The whole blessed thing is male and female at one and the same time. In fact, the whole thing is pure sex. We’ve taken one aspect of it and called it sex, or made it self-conscious and called it Sex. But that was our own fault, wasn’t it? – Fynn, Mister God, This is Anna

The difference from a person and an angel is easy. Most of an angel is in the inside and most of a person is on the outside." These are the words of six- year old Anna, sometimes called Mouse, Hum, or Joy. At five years, Anna knew absolutely the purpose of being, knew the meaning of love, and was a personal friend and helper of Mister God. At six, Anna was a theologian, mathematician, philosopher, poet, and gardener. If you asked her a question you would always get ananswer in due course. On some occasions the answer would be delayed for weeks or months; but eventually, in her own good time, the answer would come: direct, simple, and much to the point.

Fynn, I love you.' When Anna said that, every word was shattered with the fullness of meaning she packed into it. Her 'I' was a totality. Whatever this 'I' was for Anna it was packed tight with being. Like the light that didn't fray, Anna's 'I' didn't fray either; it was pure and all of one piece. Her use of the word 'love' was not sentimental or mushy, it was impelling and full of courage and encouragement. For Anna, 'love' meant the recognition of perfectibility in another. Anna 'saw' a person in every part. Anna 'saw' a 'you'. Now that is something to experience, to be seen as a 'you', clearly and definitely, with no parts hidden. Wonderful and frightening. I'd always understood that it was Mister God who saw you clearly and in your entirety but then all Anna's efforts were directed to being like Mister God, so perhaps the trick is catching if only you try hard enough.

Anna had bypassed all the nonessentials and distilled centuries of learning into one sentence: "And God said love me, love them, and love it, and don't forget to love yourself." The whole business of adults going to church filled Anna with suspicion. The ide a of collective worship went against her sense of private conversations with Mister God. As for going to church to meet Mister God, that was preposterous. After all, if Mister God wasn't everywhere, he wasn't anywhere. For her, churchgoing and "Mister God" talks had no necessary connection. For her, the whole thing was transparently simple. You went to church to get the message whenyou were very little. Once you had got it, you went out and did something about it. Keeping on going to church was because you hadn't got the message or didn't understand it or it was "just for swank.

I suppose to some extent all children have a touch of magic about them – like some mysterious living lens they seem to have the capacity to focus the light into the darkest and gloomiest of places – and this one had it in a very high degree. Perhaps it’s the very newness of the young, or perhaps it’s just because the shine hasn’t worn off, but they can and do, if you give them half a chance, make a dent in the toughest armour of life. If you’re very lucky they can dissolve away all those protective barricades so carefully erected over years of living.

After it had all been explained to me, my first thought was for poor old Mohammed. He had to go to the mountains, but not Anna. She neither went to the mountains nor did she fetch the mountain to her she merely said "Scat." And they scatted. Mind you, although I knew by then that the mountains were not really there, and that I could move about freely and unhampered, there are occasions not many, I'm glad to say when I get the distinct feeling that I've been brought up pretty sharpish-like by a clunk on the head. It certainly feels as if I have walked into a mountain, even though I can't see it. Perhaps one day I shall be able to walk about freely, without ducking occasionally. As for my problem about the heres and the theres, the explanation went like this : "Where are you?" she had said. "Here, of course," I replied. "Where's me then?" "There!" "Where do you know about me?" "Inside myself someplace." "Then you know my middle in your middle." "Yes, I suppose so." "Then you know Mister God in my middle in your middle, and everything you know,every person you know, you know in your middle. Every person and everything that you know has got Mister God in his middle, and so you have got his Mister God in your middle too. It's easy.

Mister God made everything, didn’t he?” There was no point in saying I didn’t really know. I said “Yes.” “Even the dirt and the stars and the animals and the people and the trees and everything, and the pollywogs?” The pollywogs were those little creatures we had seen under the microscope. I said, “Yes, he made everything.” She nodded her agreement. “Does Mister God love us truly?” “Sure thing,” I said. “Mister God loves everything.” “Oh,” she said. “well then, why does he let things get hurt and dead?” Her voice sounded as if she felt she had betrayed a sacred trust, but the question had been thought and it had to be spoken. “I don’t know,” I replied. “There’re a great many things about Mister God, we don’t know about?” “Well then,” she continued, “if we don’t know many things about Mister God, how do we know he loves us?” I could see this was going to be one of those times, but thank goodness she didn’t expect an answer to her question, for she hurried on: “Them pollywogs, I could love them till I bust, but they wouldn’t know, would they? I’m million times bigger than they are and Mister God is million times bigger than me, so how do I know what Mister God does?” She was silent for a little while. Later I thought that at this moment she was taking her last look at babyhood. Then she went on. “Fynn, Mister God doesn’t love us.” She hesitated. “He doesn’t really, you know, only people can love. I love Bossy, but Bossy don’t love me. I love the pollywogs, but they don’t love me. I love you Fynn, and you love me, don’t you?” I tightened my arm about her. “You love me because you are people. I love Mister God truly but he don’t love me.” It sounded to me like a death knell. “Damn and blast,” I thought. “Why does this have to happen to people? Now she’s lost everything.” But I was wrong. She had got both feet planted firmly on the next stepping stone. “No,” she went on, “no, he don’t love me, not like you do, its different, its millions of times bigger.” I must have made some movement or noise, for she levered herself upright and sat on her haunches and giggled. The she launched herself at me and undid my little pang of hurt, cut from the useless spark of jealousy with the delicate sureness of a surgeon. “Fynn, you can love better than any people that ever was, and so can I, cant I? But Mister God is different. You see, Fynn, people can only love outside, and can only kiss outside, but Mister God can love you right inside, and Mister God can kiss you right inside, so its different. Mister God ain’t like us; we are a little bit like Mister God, but not much yet.” It seemed to me to reduce itself to the fact that we were like God because of the similarities, but God was not like us because of our differences. Her inner fires had refined her ideas, and like some alchemist she had turned lead into gold. Gone were all the human definitions of God, like Goodness, Mercy, Love, and Justice, for these were merely props to describe the indescribable. “You see, Fynn, Mister God is different because he can finish things and we cant. I cant finish loving you because I shall be dead millions of years before I can finish, but Mister God can finish loving you, and so its not the same kind of love, is it?

- Мистър Бог понякога е съвсем малък, нали? Иначе как ще знае, как живеят калинките? Разбира се. Беше като с Алиса в страната на чудесата. Анна хапваше от баницата и ставаше толкова малка или голяма, колкото искаше. - Когато си точно такъв, изобщо не го знаеш - каза тя изведнъж, без преход. - Не знаеш какво? - Не знаеш, че си мил и добър. Каза го с глас, сякаш се подразбираше, в пренебрегнато полуизречение. Познавах тази интонация. Когато говореша така, очакваше въпроси. Нещо непременно се опитваше да ми каже. - Добре, дребосъчке, я ми го обясни. Тя се ухили. - Ако знаеш, че си добър, изобщо не си като Мистър Бог, ама никак. Почувствах се като двойкаджията на класа и само поптах: - Защо? - Да не мислисш, че Мистър Бог знае, че е добър и мил и милосърден? - Дребосъчке, никога не съм мислил за това. Може би изобщо не му трябва да го знае? Един Господ знае, в какъв диалектичен спор се опитваше да ме оплете Анна. По-добре беше да не прекалявам с въпросите. Нещо се опитваше да нацели. Търсеше идея, израз, който да задоволи и двама ни. Накрая енергично отсече: - Мистър Бог изобщо си няма представа, че е добър или мил, Мистър Бог е съвсем... празен. Що се отнася до Анна, съм готов на всичко. Но "Мистър Бог е съвсем празен" - това надхвърли всички граници. Това изречение съкруши всичко, което някога бях учил, защото Мистър Бог беше пълен, натъпкан като коледна гъска със знание, любов, съчувствие. По дяволите, така беше! "Мистър Бог е съвсем празен" - колко нелепо! Днес не получих повече сведения от Анна, нито през следващите няколко дена. Остави ме да се пържа в собствен сос. Идеята за един съвършено празен Бог не ми излизаше от главата. Беше нелепо, но просто не можех да се отърва от нея.

In here was the image of God. It isn't the devil in humanity that makes man a lonely creature, it's his God-likeness. It's the fullness of the Good that can't get out or can't find its proper "other place" that makes for loneliness.Anna's misery was for others. They just could not see the beauty of that broken iron stump, the colors, the crystalline shapes; they could not see the possibilities there. Anna wanted them to join with her in this exciting new world , but they could not imagine themselves to be so small that this jagged fracture could become a world of iron mountains, of iron plains with crystal trees.It was a new world to explore, a world of the imagination, a world where few people would or could follow her. In this broken-off stump was a whole new realm of possibilities to be explored and to be enjoyed. Mister God most certainly enjoyed it, but then Mister God didn't at all mind making himself small. People thought that Mister God was very big, and that's where they made a big mistake. Obviously Mister God could be any size he wanted to be. "If he couldn't be little, how could he know what it's like to be a lady -bird?" Indeed, how could he? So, like Alice in Wonderland, Anna ate of the cake of imagination and altered her size to fit the occasion.After all, Mister God did not have only one point of view but an infinity of viewing points, and the whole purpose of living was to be like Mister God. So far as Anna was concerned, being good, being generous, being kind, praying, and all that kind of stuff had very little to do with Mister God. They were, in the jargon of today, merely "spinoffs." This sort of thing was just "playing it safe," and Anna was going to have none of it. No! Religion was all about being like Mister God and it was here that things could get a little tough. The instructions weren't to be good and kind and loving, etc., and it therefore followed that you would be more like Mi ster God. No! The whole point of being alive was to be like Mister God and then you couldn't help but be good and kind and loving, could you?

– Мистър Бог няма лице. Обърнах се към нея и повдигнах въпросително вежди: „Как така?“ Ана отново се допря до ухото ми: – Щото няма нужда да се обръща, за да види всички. Зат’ва! – после се облегна на пейката и, потвърждавайки с кимане своята увереност, скръсти ръце, с което показа, че слага точка по въпроса. На път за вкъщи я попитах какво бе искала да каже с думите „няма нужда да се обръща“. – Ами аз си имам „предница“, имам си и „задница“, зат’ва трябва да се обръщам, ако искам да видя какво има отзад. А Мистър Бог не трябва. – А какво прави той тогава? – Мистър Бог има само предница, той няма задница. – О – кимнах на свой ред аз, – разбирам. Идеята, че Мистър Бог няма задница, ми се стори удивително смешна и с все сила се опитах да потисна смеха си. Не успях и след малко избухнах. Ана бе леко озадачена от моя изблик. – За к’во се смееш? – Просто на идеята, че Мистър Бог няма задница. Ана присви за миг очи и прихна. Усмивката озари очите й и тя грейна като бенгалски огън. – Той си няма и онова, нали? – смехът й се разнесе по улицата, издигайки по нея малки барикади. Всички отявлени и самодоволни християни се спънаха в смеха и се намръщиха. – Мистър Бог си няма дупе – си пееше Ана по мелодията на един християнски химн. Намръщените физиономии гледаха все по-скандализирано и ужасено. – Отвратително! – каза Неделният Костюм. – Малка дивачка! – изскърцаха Неделните Обувки. – Дяволско изчадие! – отсече Джобният Часовник с полюляваща се от жилетката верижка, но Ана продължаваше, смеейки се заедно с Мистър Бог. По пътя към къщи тя упражняваше новооткритата си игра. Както се хвърляше с духовното си същество в обятията на Мистър Бог, така се хвърляше с физическото си същество в моите. „Мистър Бог няма дупе“ не беше шега, Ана не се държеше като непослушно или глупаво дете. Това бе просто изригване на нейния дух. С тези думи тя се спусна към Мистър Бог и той я улови. Ана знаеше, че ще я улови, знаеше, че нищо не я грози. Наистина нямаше друг начин, просто трябваше да се направи. Това бе нейният начин да бъде спасена. И с мен си играеше така. Заставаше на известно разстояние, затичваше се и се хвърляше в прегръдките ми. Затичването беше целенасочено и активно, миг след като отскочеше, оставаше напълно пасивна и неподвижна. Не полагаше никакво усилие да ми помогне, за да я хвана, никакво усилие за собствената си сигурност. Сигурността за нея не бе нито едно от тези неща, сигурността означаваше да се довериш на другия.

- Фин. Мистър Бог не ни обича - тук се поколеба.- Не ни обича, разбираш ли? Само хората могат да обичат. Аз обичам Боси, но тя мен не. Аз обичам дребосъците, но те мен не. Аз те обичам Фин. И ти ме обичаш. Това беше удар под кръста. По дяволите, помислих си. Защо трябваше това да се случи? Сега е загубила доверието си, сигурността. Но се лъжех. Нищо не беше загубено. Анна вървеше с увереността на сомнамбул по въже. - Той не ме обича като теб, а другояче, милиони пъти по-голямо е. Явно бях помръднал. Тя се протегна, седна на петите си и се ухили. После се примъкна по-близо до мен. Дали знаеше за онази мъничка болка, която ме беше докоснала? С точността на хирург разряза раната, причинена ми от една искрица ненужна ревност. - Фин, ти ме обичаш повече от всеки друг. И аз те обичам повече от всеки друг. Но с Мистър Бог е различно. Виждаш ли, Фин, хората обичат отвън навътре и могат да целуват отвън. Мистър Бог обаче те обича отвътре и може там да те целува. Затова е различно. Мистър Бог не е като нас. Само ние сме малко като него. Но не много. Анна беше превърнала оловото в злато. Всички мъдри дефиниции на понятието "Бог" бяха напълно излишни. Милосърдието, любовта и справедливостта бяха само патерици, с които си служехме, за да опишем неописуемото. Анна нямаше нужда от тях. - Виждаш ли, Фин, Мистър Бог е различен, защото може да довършва нещата, а ние не можем. Аз изобщо никога не мога да престана да те обичам. Ще съм умряла милиони години, преди да престана да те обичам. Но Мистър Бог може да престане, когато поиска, разбираш ли? Затова е различен. Доста силен удар ми беше нанесла. Първо трябваше да обмисля всичко това, но Анна не ми спести нищо и не ми даде време. Просто продължи да ме обстрелва с тежката артилерия. - Фин, защо хората правят войни и се убиват? Простенах, започнах да заеквам. Беше малко множко наведнъж... - Фин, как се казва, когато искам да кажа, че мисля различно от теб? Няколко минути изпробвахме различни думи, докато най-накрая открихме тази, която търсеше: мнение. - Фин, това е разликата. всичко хора имат различни мнения, само Мистър Бог не. Той има всички мнения наведнъж. В този миг имах едно единствено желание: да се махна от нея, да се махна оттук. Една дълга разходка би свършила работа. Какво искаше това дете, какво беше направила? Бог можеше да довършва нещата, аз не. Е, добре, но какво означаваше всичко това? Струваше ми се, сякаш беше освободила идеята "Бог" от нейните ограничения. Неговото царство беше вечността и Анна разбираше всичко това. Хората имаха ограничен брой мнения, но Бог застъпваше всичките мнения и затова всяко едно от тях беше точно толкова правилно, колкото и всички останали. Дали искаше да каже това? Попитах я и тя доволно кимна. След това избухна в смях. - Хихи, сега и ти го знаеш, хихи - смееше се тя. - Обаче има и още една разлика. Мистър Бог познава всички неща и всички хора отвътре. А ние ги познаваме само отвън. Затова не можем да говорим отвън за Мистър Бог. Това не е правилно. Така продължи още четвърт час. Още аргументи, още обяснения. След това ме целуна по носа и каза: - Не е ли страхотно? Помниш ли книгата за 4те измерения...? - Да, защо? - Хихи, сега знам, къде е четвъртото измерение. То е вътре в мен. Чашата преля. Събрах си целия авторитет и я заплаших: - Стига толкова. Късно е. Лягай си. Ако не заспиш мигновено, ще те напердаша. Тя заквича, погледна ме и се ухили. След това се настани в прегръдките ми. - Ти никога не правиш такива неща - каза, докато заспиваше.