Daniel

Medvedov

F F
resh

rom the

H M D
oney-

Madrid
2005

ooner

esk

A Journey to the Sun in the XXI Century

Motto:
Never be sad under the Sun
DANTE

I see sometimes in front of me, a great mountain, covered with snow, the trails to the top, somewhere there
is a strong ridge peaks without inhabitants, waterfalls and bridges are heard everywhere. Instantly, I also
hear the sea and if I want to see it, I see it, from the promontory, at the foot of the mountain, with roaring
waves crashing on the rocks of the shore. It's like a gulf, and still are wild waters and streams bring
dolphins and flying fish. Other times I feel the wind behind my head, roaring into the caves of the wild
wall, waking bats and raising arena. The sand brings me to the desert, the oasis, to the source: it is like a
natural labyrinth which is an inverted tower into the abyss empty. Dunes are formed and are composed at
sunset, changing daily landscape.
Deep thunder is heard and distant lightning, northern lights and twilight skies with purple fingers of the
Down as in the Odyssey, in the Alba are observed: I am surrounded by the crystal sphere of nature and
what shall I say about the starry sky? Can there be a being that does not marvel at the stars? With just see
the sun I believe in something big enough and the only moon reminds me of the existence of poetry,
though lacking in the sky. Ash light of the first day presents me his gray sphere as a bread fresh from the
oven, at night. I change my look and observe the ants.
They are a single being, sorry to say that, - a whole anthill as the swarm of bees. Crickets continue his
singing late into the night. The river falls alone and silent towards the sea and the forest seems frozen from
afar, but what's in your frantic movements green heart!
Cold Fire rhymes with fireflies lighting the night sky and grilled on fire I have an open heart beats. All
that I see from my balcony in Barcelona. From my window, I travel constantly to the world, without
leaving the door of my house. It is a natural figure, the traveler who has done his itinerary and all this
brings back to memory the last words of Paracelsus, to see if I remember them well ". . . real harvest of
God ... I hear in myself, but something is missing, something is missing ... the first part of this
extraordinary statement from a man who has turned his life after his fellow "... true harvest of God. ..
"How good do not remember the beginning! . . . so there is still some, has not yet reached the end. I write
this for my waves to dump your beach, not by necessity.
I write words, but I could have gestualize all, or draw it on a rice paper with gray/black ink, as dramatized
in the form of singing, lower elegy. I know it's not useless dump your winds on the desert sand. It is useful
to rain on the forest. It is useful to raise the fire wrap up against the cold or heat.

There was once an old man in Barcelona, looking forward as a marine.

The ship crushed the wind on the hill and the figurehead was shaped like a dragon clutching a glass of
finest wine. Between the waves he sailed a swordfish. This old friend of nowhere ...
Moon, moon ... the sun, the sun ... And the stars, nothing else
Stars ...
Fine, fine ...
At the time of writing this natural poem, I'll turn the cigar gift he had received in the city of the Amazons
...
Goodbye, smoke, goodbye. Night goodbye, goodbye is now reaching the Down, Alba ...

On March 3, 1996, my then wife - [today, another EX] - dreams with me and a flying machine I had built
entirely of wood, with which I was about to travel to the sun among the stars. In the morning she told me
the vision and roared with laughter, saying that it would not surprise her, given my fondness for such
outbursts of intelligence. Always take wives jokingly serious scientific research of their husbands. The
feminine nature is guilty of being disbelieved, and therefore the most secret things in the world of science
will remain dark, by sheer disbelief. They're not just the women who hold such disbelief. Most men
behave as if they were women.
Everything in man is a virtue in women becomes a default and, conversely, as a natural law, which in
women is a virtue and an unsuspected quality in man becomes a defect and weakness. Be gentle and
submissive in man is a childish attitude, however the woman turns out to be normal and natural. Let's be
honest, any woman he would like a "well-mannered" and superfragilstico or espialidoso man but the
softness and grace is in the woman a beautiful quality that attracts the male nature.
The big problem of the misunderstandings between men and women is failing to interpret these natural
signs because of the confusion that is made between soft and soft and the hard and firm. Sign and soft is
not hard and soft but the proper way to act in the human world. A being that is soft but firm no longer
belongs to the world of the sexes.
It is beyond the masculine and the feminine. Humans can take both female and male nature, to manifest
and from the existential point of view there is no difference between a man and a woman. However, the
female nature is different from the masculine nature and as such, we must consider what it is feminine and
what is masculine.
True, I prepare a long-time trip to the Sun. My research on the trip to the Sun were considered a surprising
fact. The last total eclipse of the sun would take place at its darkest shadow cone point, in a city Romania,
on 12 August 1999. That city was, coincidentally, the place of my childhood and youth and from there
went all my lights. For years I have researched how to soar beyond the Earth's atmosphere with the help of
solar energy.
My company is not original. More than three centuries ago in 1652, Cyrano de Bergerac had traveled to
the Sun using a clever wooden apparatus that today I have built, taking into account the precise indications
SAVINIEN Knight. The dream of my wife was a true premonition remember my activity, I have had
under the strictest secrecy.
Cyrano machine was wooden. For eight days locked in a tower, he brushed Cyrano, square & compass, hit
woods and eventually build a wonderful flying object that he describes here in detail. It was a large and
very light box built with balsa wood strips, which closed very tightly. His height was not more than six
feet and its width was less than three feet in box.

The box had a hole inside and up top, which had also practiced a hole, placed a tube-shaped crystal globe,
with a kind of the alchemist's pelican bottle neck and was fit in the opening formed in the capitel. The
description of Cyrano helped me to realize the measures and ways of more accurately. The tube had
several angles icosahedron shaped in order to produce reflections and refractions that generate a powerful
kinetic, solar and photonic energy, as a burning mirror. The icosahedron've built taking into account the
technical drawings of Leonardo in the book of LUCA Paccioli. He was of twenty faces. An ancient book
of perspective of platonic bodies in Cyrano's time helped me refine some details of angulation. To Cyrano,
as for me, the object was a real mechanical cuteness.
After the construction was sent by air in a tightly sealed box to RIMNICUL VILCEA, city and soon the
eclipse trip made me to pass it in second place, also I leave it in hand of destiny. All was in fact in my
hands, any of a move of mine, is a chess move and I was fully aware of preparations.
At twelve o'clock the day planned in the near city of Wallachia field, I took the machine out of its box and
gave on a hill. Except for the two side openings, the machine was sealed. The small stool, or bushel,
which was introduced into fixing it to the base, allowed me to sit, although it was a tight comfortable
position. All this was consistent with the description of Cyrano. There was no one around and this
loneliness generated in myself a state of indescribable calm. With all ready to start, I went into the
machine, shut the gate double glass and stood still for about an hour.
When the sun came into the darkness of the eclipse and the shadow cone produced a violet light and light
gray as the ash from the first day of the moon, all noises desappered in a strange silent nature. There was
a fairylike atmosphere like the phosphorescent light I have seen in the Venezuelan Gulf of Cariaco, a few
years ago. That light is called ardenta, a cold phosphorescence celestial rhymed with the silence of
insects and plants. Not a leaf moved. The crystal icosahedron received, through its facets, the timid
reflections of light gray eclipse faded further by the cell jar, after countless reflections and refractions. The
light coming in my unit took a figure and shape like fingers of dawn that Homer described in the
beginning of his Odyssey purple hue. The ecstasy that occured, resulted in my being as that light similar
to the feeling that invaded Cyrano at the time of his departure.
Through the hole in the base I realized the machine had risen gently and the clearing was down as an eye
on the vegetable green of the woods.
It was marvelous to see how the machine followed, point by point, the logbook of Cyrano.
The vacuum is produced in the icosahedron due to Cinereous eclipse rays, united and focused by the glass,
and suddenly he is attracted to fill a whirlwind of air that pushed the box almost vertically. Cyrano candle
- added to the plans - did not come into my calculations because the same experience of Cyrano. Shortly
after takeoff made three centuries earlier, the candle had fallen and was lost in the atmosphere.
In less than an hour he was in the "intermediate" region in the footsteps of the master of the imagination.
The sun, once freed from the clutches of the eclipse, vigorously beat the icosahedron concave mirrors to
focus the rays and inside the tube, expelling their ardor for the top tube, the air vortex formed and filled
continuously a vacuum, aspired by the other opening, the same amount to fill. As Cyrano said, - became
the ether wind, the speed with which he rushed to prevent the existence of vacuum and pushing the
machine dynamics which I did not realize inside the engine.
According to Cyrano, I drew from time to time, a small bottle of brandy and lighting a cigar, introduced a
puff of smoke in the glass that had been prepared from below, placing it on a wire base to keep from
falling and contemplate all of that.
The smoke took the same helical shape that moved my machine, cup forming two beautiful spirals book
and reminded me of experiences with Shwenck SENSITIVE CHAOS. By disbelief and contempt, no one
had tried to practice the same experience of Cyrano.

For me, the little book trip to the United Empires of the Moon and the Sun, was a gem. What I carried in a
small backpack, was a secret charm emulation sandwiched between other magical objects that on earth I
chosed very carefully. As a child, I remember that at the end of the first year of kindergarten, I was five,
had missed most of the period, missing at classes without anyone knowing it and just wandered around
the city, looking at the windows and people.
One day I built a wooden flying machine, a curious propeller with wheels and I gave it to the teacher who
exposed it for years in her office, in a shop window glass.
It was a fairly large object, and years later, when again I visited the kindergarten, I found it at the same
site as a rare sculpture. "That child is a genius or a Tramp" said teacher and my mother said so with a nod.
The truth is that today I feel a bum Sun Road.
The device I had built as a child had some resemblance to this one, in which I am today, moving directly
toward the sun from the zenith.
The most difficult area to cross and to get to the sun is the Crown, where igneous activity and the
temperature is thousands of times greater than on the surface of the star.
However, I had practiced years with my body temperature regulation, and to pass the limit of the crown I
could leave unharmed and fall alone on the solar surface. The machine, except the icosahedron glass was
gone, to say "scorched".
I just felt an inner heat that seconds later transmuted into a sense of vigor never before experienced. It was
already refined in a fire. Sitting in the ashes of the sands of a beach, I looked around and recognized the
cold light of Ardenta.
Everything was flooded by the phosphorescence of Firefly, which I came to be so familiar, in Cariaco.
And now what?
I saw no houses, no roads, no hints of nearby residents.
The sun was a cool, quiet moving sea, with waves on soft music on the beach, the sand was gold dust. I
realized that gold was the "material" of which is "made" the "land" of the sun, by the sea that showed a
dark blue color, to the horizon. Gold sea and then, in the distance, dense forests of bright green. Perhaps
this is why the sun has that light generated in the universe.
The gold dust was not expanded in the air as I reviewed my hand drifting sand and dust did not produced
dust waves. The fine grains fell gently on the sand -"arena" yellow and prevented the formation of heavy
footsteps when walking on the beach. What a nice feeling it is to walk on gold!
It was surrounded by a silence that seemed sweet milk, like Boehme said. These words refer to a double
feeling, perhaps triple and simultaneous: it is heard, it is like it is played, that is, it is savored. This is what
I was looking for, longed to know new territories or other worlds. I was not hungry or thirsty. I was fed by
the breeze and the freshness of sea water made me tap into that sound moisture. It generates in myself a
state of supreme being. I did not want to sleep or move. In that mood I spent days and nights. It was an
irreverent and continued silence, eternal, enduring. I can not say what happened over time. Nor had frozen
all, maybe the picture would be a circulating, overhead and dynamic state, something that came and went,
never leaving, leaving me without getting rid fingers.
Was it perhaps necessary to return? I felt that my being had expanded as a pump soap and yet the
consistency of that field was not without a firmly shape, like a glass sphere.

I was, that - a transparent, translucent, powerful sphere. Round human being and also, on the sand , small
dice were made of gold; on the facets were no points. I noticed that the dice had different shapes: cubes,
pentaedros, octahedron, dodecahedron, icosahedron. My crystal icosahedron was there on the beach and,
despite its size sullen, seemed one among many objects of the same shape.
Of the things that my ship had embarked on wood, glass icosahedron addition, I realized I had been stops
on the golden beach, two suitcases that had been filled with wonderful things in my leaving RIMNICUL
VILCEA: dice, brushes , ink, a small hammock, a telescopic blowgun could increase their size as a
telescope up to two meters, a detachable bicycle, a small sailboat with the sail, also removable, the general
code of languages, the model I , a game of chess with his board and chess pieces, an hourglass, some
matches, a magnifying glass, tweezers and a magic stick called in spanis tramojo and a hundred other
things that were arranged inside the suitcase, had I as it made before leaving . I was surprised that the
machine was gone and no luggage. Maybe it was because they were located very close to my body each
side a bushel, on a paper mache stool where I sat.
Incidentally, the stool was also there. This special turtle-shaped object was an "instrument" had given me
one of my teachers-friends, Hernan Gomez, made with five bulbs and an empty bottle of Coke.
It was one of my favorite objects.
I served table, pillow, chair of meditation and support my sessions ZEN painting and calligraphy, Zen
Latino.
Unlike the sandy beaches, the gold dust was not wet breaking the waters of the sea on the shore. Among
the fine particles of gold-dyer, whose fragments had diamond-glare cast long distances phosphorescent
light rays of all colors. For my head I never went the idea to fill my "pockets" of gold or diamonds to
negotiate it on land, on my return to my commercial world. Because of this, I noticed that all I played and
touched for more than eight seconds, turned to gold: my dice, hammock threads sisal now was gold
thread, the blowpipe and almost all objects of the bags were of pure gold: just to make a cross on the
object, this quality that brought to mind King Midas and his punishment, prohibited myself to use that
power and grace to transmute everything into the yellow metal material.
I knew the Golden Beach was the famous projection powder of the alchemists. My loneliness in these
places filled me with no feeling of helplessness or sadness gregarious: The time could not be calculated
and on land I had no sleep nor hunger, nor thirst, nor physical fatigue and other measures. In the distance I
saw green forests and plants growing next to the beach belonging to the genus described by Leo Leonni in
his parallel botany.
I did a tour around the place where he had landed AHELIOSADO, reminding Cyrano. And the birds?
Maybe the Phoenix would find the book on the mysteries of the Sun, on which left notes Cyrano? Indeed,
the flight of birds in this fairy-tale atmosphere had to be smooth and fluid as a high feather in the wind.
But there was no wind, but the damp breeze of tropical landscapes in the twilight, caresses the skin of
those who revel waterfront. As for the language of birds, was familiar ground for my experiences. But it
did not show any birds. It seems that no one here. As a Robinson Crusoe, I meditated on my stay and
decided to wait. It was not to survive.
There was nothing to seek and nothing to find: it seemed that everything was perfect, without haste,
without need, the only thing left was to sit and contemplate the calm and gold cosmic beauty. The sun is
called AUR. ANA sky, water AP, and gold, galad. In what language? In the language of Light. I closed
my eyes but it was as if I had opened it. The soft glow remained silent in my view, closing or eyelids.
I took a small Mayan crystal sphere, the ZASTUN Yucatan healers used to diagnose the sick, and I began
to stare, with the intention of achieving this nebulous moment happening when you are really
concentrated, on every sphere of glass.

For a long time I looked at the spherical support with that intention and suddenly the thick fog that
describe all magicians who know about these things, appeared in and around the area.
I was entering the machine, closing the gates, lifting me, go through the intermediate region, reaching the
Sun and then a flash, slow down, with two suitcases next to the body, in the auriforme beach as a perfect
replay . Suddenly, the image of my face appeared reflected on the dial and me had a feeling in a convex
mirror, like the famous painting of ESCHER, the anamorphic. The crystal ball was my television, I knew:
there I could see what I wanted.
Only with the intention of looking It is enough to appear on the virtual screen, the landscape, the object or
the person who wanted to contemplate. Unlike television images, I could communicate with everybody,
talks and even touch "a mon gr" or move in their distant paths.
I got up and started to walk but found I slid down the golden beach as worn by an invisible mechanical
edge, feeling like you have that moves at airports by the horizontal mechanical band without steps or
sidebars. I reflected on it and raised my hands. Suddenly, my body rose little above the floor Sun and was
able to slip through the air. That discovery pleased me greatly. Flying, what inestimable joy! I traveled a
long time around.
Forests, fields, mountains towering peaks of gold, endless plains of parallel plants and everywhere it was
that cinerea light named Ardenta light. As I spent some time with the palm of my right hand on the thigh,
the whole leg became gold: It came in my memory the legend of Pythagoras and his golden thigh that
allowed him to be ubiquitous. Surely, the philosopher had been a visitor to these landscapes.
My affection, despite the respect I had for Pythagoras, was heading toward the figure of Heraclitus, the
great man sullen and Ephesus. At the same time when I was thinking about the Ephesian, he appeared in
the distance, a walker. Soon he came to me and hugged me in silence with a brief smile, gliding, like me.
I'm Heraclitus said briefly. I'm Elidan of Valaquia- replied I.
-... Of Wallachia, of Ephesus, anywhere, that does not matter now you are here in the Sun like me. Do you
remember the passage in which I said that the sun is the size of a human foot?
Yes, of course I remember.
I do not know if you have understood there in the land, my words..
Certainly not, Sir - , it is still dark meaning that portion of your lost book.
-You lost it?
It is that it has never been lost, my thane. There was just only one copy in the temple of Artemis, at the
altar where I placed it myself.
No one can speak today of one who has seen, even from afar, the book Peri physeos or "On Nature" as I
said.
Let's sit in calm here in front of the sea - Heraclitus said - given land do you have?
Yes, I replied and looked quickly in one of the suitcases. I grabbed hundred small cubes of different colors
and gave them to the "dark" Man. - These Dice, the funny thing is that people do not know what is pulling
on the tables. . . Do you have a cup?
-No no. No use- I said, surprised.
Me-not get me wrong. I just wanted to see if you were a bit silly. No dice cup to need. Perhaps you can
not do the same with your fist? Good thing you did not bring a beaker. I would have despised you. Let's
talk about the die, the most beautiful object of human intelligence.
'What makes you. here? - I asked.
_ What do I do? The same as you. Nothing in special. It is a mystical place of rest, nothing is done. You
are here and thats enough. Do you want to do something?
I do not think you want to open a business here. . . he mused Heraclitus

No, No ... I said. But everything is so precise, so calm, so perfect, that I find little heart.
-What did you want? You are in the sun. Here everything is done. Do not you realize you do not even
need to go "potty", as you say there, on land, in those days? It was true. He had not realized that my needs
to "pee" or "pupu" as the kids say, they were here entirely void.
It's the sun, where everything is perfect. No need to make any need, to create anything, invent anything,
eat anything. ..
You can only imagine, can you imagine anything natural and instantly you are posing it in front of your
eyes.
My fragments is not that they are "fragments"; I simply said "something", briefly and simply. I do not
know who has thought to call them "fragments"
Well it is that they supposed that involve the original work had to be much denser. The book has been
rebuilt found the comments about you in several authors.
-The Ridiculous criticism of Aristotle is the height - Heraclitus said.
Instead of realizing how deep the Logos comes to discourse on where to put a comma to make you
understand what you're trying to say, as if by commas people will understand the deep meaning of things.
.. We have to see how ridiculous can become philosophers.
-Eruditin Art of juggling - I said.
Yes, scholarship, art wicked. By the way, do me a favor and take that golden thigh, which remind me of
Pythagoras. 'But how do I do? -I told.
'Just so: Tap your foot with your right hand and make a knot - you say "a cross", but it is a knot.
He then made the sign advised me, that he is Heraclitus and the leg regained its former appearance.
So we speak.- said Heraclitus
Heraclitus continued -This place is the right place where we can talk about my book calmly. We are not
losing any time. We need not go to sleep or eat. No need to make any need, you can ask me anything you
want. I'm in no hurry.
Can I use the order currently conceived for fragments? I said, with a certain awe.
-The Order does not matter, what matters is the meaning, and the meaning is not lost with different
ordering of sentences. Indeed, the only thing I say is one word: Logos. If you understand, it you
understand the whole book. Heraclitus said.
Could record our conversation and make it available on earth? 'I asked.
-On land? But do you want back? I understand, as there is nothing to do here, and you begin to nag.
No, no, just I wish them get to mine, my friends, also scholars of poetry, the words that you're giving me.
Those words were gold, still on the ground - Heraclitus said and yet, he continued what already is gold, no
need to change form and content in a place where things can transmute. I have special affection for those
who took care of my writings, for Capeletti, of Venezuela, by Agustin Garcia Calvo in Spain, Julio Caro
Baroja, in short, by all, without naming them.
Do you live here? I asked.
-In The sun, I'm just me. Others as you call it, "enlightened" are dead, that is that they are now living on
earth, teaching here and there. Your daughter says now, to her mom: I want to draw a Sun beam.
I closed my eyes and saw and heard the scene Heraclitus had revealed to me. He was happy.
-Do you know? - He said the sage - seems important that we speak of the Logos, not so much of my book.
If you want, grab and separe word by word and meaning to your friends when you get back.
I'd like my baby while I said I read his book, staying with my child's image in memory.
No need to read my book. The important thing is to investigate itself, as I did too.

Cicero wrote a famous dream, the dream of Scipio, where he spoke of the sound. Sound is the LOGOS
which I speak, the music full of silence, continuous, powerful, you can hear and be heard at all times at all
times.
It is the LOGOS that always exists but people do not know, have heard before and even after the first
listen. For though all things according to this Logos-sound, or ARE, originate, however, they, like the
sleepers, untreated, through words and actions, similar to those that I use and I, when I separate everything
according nature and I explain what it is. But to them they are hidden and when they do awake also forget
what they did when asleep.
Ah, the first words of your book, 'I said.
'Actually, so ends my book. I do not know why they have to start with it, but never mind.
Yes, common is the beginning and the end on the circumference, the fragment 103. I said.
I see that anything has become like my gold dust. Is not that what you want to carry in their pockets and
sell out there in the land?
I did not say anything. That looked bright and wiry man and wanted so much to know more about his life
and all his things there in the sun. . . What was he doing?
'You have friends here? I asked.
Here, as I said, there's nobody. I've only been on the golden beaches, slipping each time I want to feel
stronger breeze the golden sea. Elidan, your name Elidan. Like all beautiful name names. My Book a
circular book. A round book. Like all circles, it may be big or small, it is still round, spherical lens as a
sphere. Therefore, the fragment to be in the middle or at end does not matter.
I researched myself. You too. From there I have come to know. I discovered that I am the Self. The only
Self, being that all beings are the Self. Alone, your friend beings are, said Dario Lancini , alone beings
we are. Pythagoras of Samos did not know what we are, because it was of Samos and Samos not know
what we are. In the Dream of Scipio are the right words to understand the Logos. "... Now the ears of men
have become deaf to that tune." . .
Not that it's a melody. It is a continuous music, it seems that only has a single sound but sometimes a bird
chirping, chirping of children who have not yet begun to speak is heard.
"... There is in us a sense duller continues Cicero.
As in that place, called Catadupa, large waterfalls - Have you ever been in Iguazu?
Yes, I remember the sound -In Catadupa as in Africa, where the river falls from the high mountains,
people living there have lost the habit of hearing this sound, by its magnitude, as fish do not see seawater,
certainly a tremendous sound.