Once there was a boy,” said Jace.Clary interrupted immediately. “A Shadowhunter boy?”“Of course.” For a moment a bleak amusement colored his voice. Then it was gone. “When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. Falcons are raptors – killing birds, his father told him, the Shadowhunters of the sky.“The falcon didn’t like the boy, and the boy didn’t like it, either. Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him. It would slash at him with beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were always bleeding. He didn’t know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus was nearly impossible to tame. But the boy tried, because his father told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father.“He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird was meant to be easier to tame. He learned the equipment: the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist. He was meant to keep the falcon blind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it – instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him. Hee fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later it ate so savagely that its beak cut the skin of his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if the bird had to consume his blood to make that happen.“He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that its slim wings were built for the speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like likght. When it learned to circle and come to his wrist, he neary shouted with delight Sometimes the bird would hope to his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud.“Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck. ‘I told you to make it obedient,’ his father said, and dropped the falcon’s lifeless body to the ground. ‘Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.’“Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he’d learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.

Դոկտոր Շտրաուսն ասում է, որ լավ է որ գրումեմ իմձ հետ եղած ամեն ինչի մասին բայց պիտի ավելի շատ պատմեմ թե ինչեմ զգում ուինչեմ մտածում: երբ ասացի որ չգիտեմ ոնց են մտածում ինքը ասաց ոչինչ փորցիր: երբ վիրակապերը աչքերիս վրա էին ես անընդհատ փորցում էի մտածել: ոչ մի բան չստացվեց: ես չգիտեմ, թե ինչ մասին մտածեմ:երևի եթե իրեն հարցնեմ ինքը կասի թե ոնց մտածեմ:հիմա պիտի որ արդեն կամաց կամաց սկսեմ խելացի դառնալ:հետաքրքիր է ինչ են մտածում խելացի մարդիկ:ինձ թվում է շատ սիրուն բաներ: ես էլ կուզենայի սիրուն բաներ իմանալ:

How are you coming with your home library? Do you need some good ammunition on why it's so important to read? The last time I checked the statistics...I think they indicated that only four percent of the adults in this country have bought a book within the past year. That's dangerous. It's extremely important that we keep ourselves in the top five or six percent. In one of the Monthly Letters from the Royal Bank of Canada it was pointed out that reading good books is not something to be indulged in as a luxury. It is a necessity for anyone who intends to give his life and work a touch of quality. The most real wealth is not what we put into our piggy banks but what we develop in our heads. Books instruct us without anger, threats and harsh discipline. They do not sneer at our ignorance or grumble at our mistakes. They ask only that we spend some time in the company of greatness so that we may absorb some of its attributes.You do not read a book for the book's sake, but for your own.You may read because in your high-pressure life, studded with problems and emergencies, you need periods of relief and yet recognize that peace of mind does not mean numbness of mind.You may read because you never had an opportunity to go to college, and books give you a chance to get something you missed. You may read because your job is routine, and books give you a feeling of depth in life.You may read because you did go to college.You may read because you see social, economic and philosophical problems which need solution, and you believe that the best thinking of all past ages may be useful in your age, too.You may read because you are tired of the shallowness of contemporary life, bored by the current conversational commonplaces, and wearied of shop talk and gossip about people.Whatever your dominant personal reason, you will find that reading gives knowledge, creative power, satisfaction and relaxation. It cultivates your mind by calling its faculties into exercise.Books are a source of pleasure - the purest and the most lasting. They enhance your sensation of the interestingness of life. Reading them is not a violent pleasure like the gross enjoyment of an uncultivated mind, but a subtle delight.Reading dispels prejudices which hem our minds within narrow spaces. One of the things that will surprise you as you read good books from all over the world and from all times of man is that human nature is much the same today as it has been ever since writing began to tell us about it.Some people act as if it were demeaning to their manhood to wish to be well-read but you can no more be a healthy person mentally without reading substantial books than you can be a vigorous person physically without eating solid food. Books should be chosen, not for their freedom from evil, but for their possession of good. Dr. Johnson said: "Whilst you stand deliberating which book your son shall read first, another boy has read both.

Closing The CycleOne always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through. Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters - whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished.Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents' house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden?You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened. You can tell yourself you won't take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that. But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister, everyone will be finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.None of us can be in the present and the past at the same time, not even when we try to understand the things that happen to us. What has passed will not return: we cannot for ever be children, late adolescents, sons that feel guilt or rancor towards our parents, lovers who day and night relive an affair with someone who has gone away and has not the least intention of coming back.Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away. That is why it is so important (however painful it may be!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home. Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts - and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place.Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them. Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood. Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else.Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the "ideal moment." Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back. Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person - nothing is irreplaceable, a habit is not a need. This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life. Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust. Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.

The night before brain surgery, I thought about death. I searched out my larger values, and I asked myself, if I was going to die, did I want to do it fighting and clawing or in peaceful surrender? What sort of character did I hope to show? Was I content with myself and what I had done with my life so far? I decided that I was essentially a good person, although I could have been better--but at the same time I understood that the cancer didn't care.I asked myself what I believed. I had never prayed a lot. I hoped hard, I wished hard, but I didn't pray. I had developed a certain distrust of organized religion growing up, but I felt I had the capacity to be a spiritual person, and to hold some fervent beliefs. Quite simply, I believed I had a responsibility to be a good person, and that meant fair, honest, hardworking, and honorable. If I did that, if I was good to my family, true to my friends, if I gave back to my community or to some cause, if I wasn't a liar, a cheat, or a thief, then I believed that should be enough. At the end of the day, if there was indeed some Body or presence standing there to judge me, I hoped I would be judged on whether I had lived a true life, not on whether I believed in a certain book, or whether I'd been baptized. If there was indeed a God at the end of my days, I hoped he didn't say, 'But you were never a Christian, so you're going the other way from heaven.' If so, I was going to reply, 'You know what? You're right. Fine.'I believed, too, in the doctors and the medicine and the surgeries--I believed in that. I believed in them. A person like Dr. Einhorn [his oncologist], that's someone to believe in, I thought, a person with the mind to develop an experimental treatment 20 years ago that now could save my life. I believed in the hard currency of his intelligence and his research.Beyond that, I had no idea where to draw the line between spiritual belief and science. But I knew this much: I believed in belief, for its own shining sake. To believe in the face of utter hopelessness, every article of evidence to the contrary, to ignore apparent catastrophe--what other choice was there? We do it every day, I realized. We are so much stronger than we imagine, and belief is one of the most valiant and long-lived human characteristics. To believe, when all along we humans know that nothing can cure the briefness of this life, that there is no remedy for our basic mortality, that is a form of bravery.To continue believing in yourself, believing in the doctors, believing in the treatment, believing in whatever I chose to believe in, that was the most important thing, I decided. It had to be.Without belief, we would be left with nothing but an overwhelming doom, every single day. And it will beat you. I didn't fully see, until the cancer, how we fight every day against the creeping negatives of the world, how we struggle daily against the slow lapping of cynicism. Dispiritedness and disappointment, these were the real perils of life, not some sudden illness or cataclysmic millennium doomsday. I knew now why people fear cancer: because it is a slow and inevitable death, it is the very definition of cynicism and loss of spirit.So, I believed.

[Robert's eulogy at his brother, Ebon C. Ingersoll's grave. Even the great orator Robert Ingersoll was choked up with tears at the memory of his beloved brother]The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower.Dear Friends: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me.The loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where manhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were falling toward the west.He had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest point; but, being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and, using his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust.Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For whether in mid sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death.This brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but in the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic souls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below, while on his forehead fell the golden dawning, of the grander day.He loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to tears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly gave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully discharged all public trusts.He was a worshipper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand times I have heard him quote these words: 'For Justice all place a temple, and all season, summer!' He believed that happiness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers.Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of death hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, 'I am better now.' Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead.And now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust.Speech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler, stronger, manlier man.

-اذا كانت القوه شر .,كما يبدو انها كذلك فلنرفضها من قلوبنا ,ففي هذا الرفض تكمن حريه الانسان الحقيقيه في تصميمه علي عباده الاله الذي خلقه و في ضميره حبه للخير., وفي احترام السماء التي تلهمنا بالبصيره في افضل اوقاتنا. في الفعل وفي الرغبه في اننا لا يجب ان نستسلم دائما لطغيان القوي الخارجيه, ولكن في التفكير وفي الالهامات, نحن احرار من رفاقنا من البشر ,أحرار من الكوكب الصغير الذي تزحف عليه اجسادنا بعجز,أحرار حتي ونحن لا نزال أحياء بعيدا عن قبضه الموت . فلنتعلم اذن أن قوه اليقين هي التي تمكننا من الحياه باستمرار وفق رؤيتنا للخير, ولننزل ففي افعالنا الي عالم الحقيقه بتلك الرؤيه دائمأ نصب اعيينا

و عندما تحس و أنت تقرأ بمثل حركة الرادار، فقف..إن عقلك قد وجد نفسه هنا.. و إنك الآن أمام كلمة أو عبارة تحمل لك فيضاً من الأسرار و الأفكار، إذا أنت تدبرتها و نحيّت الكتاب جانباً لتتأمل هذه العبارة التي اهتز لها وجدانك ، واختلج عقلك..لا تهمل هذه الومضات التي تواتيك و أنت تقرأ .. فإنها مفاتيح كنوز جليلة..عندما تبلغ عبارة تمس روحك مس الكهرباء ، و تحس فيها شيئاً يستوقفك و يبهرك، فنح الكتاب قليلاً ، و أصغ لما توحيه إليك، و فكر فيها. ستفتح بصيرتك إلى عالم من الأفكار جديد..و هذه مزية القراءة.فنحن لا نقرأ لنزيد معلوماتنا، و ننمي معارفنا فحسب، بل نقرأ لأن القراءة تلهمنا، و تطل بنا إلى أفكار عذراء تنتظرنا لنكشفها و نضيفها إلى تراث الفكر الإنساني.

If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

A woman in her thirties came to see me. As she greeted me, I could sense the pain behind her polite and superficial smile. She started telling me her story, and within one second her smile changed into a grimace of pain. Then, she began to sob uncontrollably. She said she felt lonely and unfulfilled. There was much anger and sadness. As a child she had been abused by a physically violent father. I saw quickly that her pain was not caused by her present life circumstances but by an extraordinarily heavy pain-body. Her pain-body had become the filter through which she viewed her life situation. She was not yet able to see the link between the emotional pain and her thoughts, being completely identified with both. She could not yet see that she was feeding the pain-body with her thoughts. In other words, she lived with the burden of a deeply unhappy self. At some level, however, she must have realized that her pain originated within herself, that she was a burden to herself. She was ready to awaken, and this is why she had come. I directed the focus of her attention to what she was feeling inside her body and asked her to sense the emotion directly, instead of through the filter of her unhappy thoughts, her unhappy story. She said she had come expecting me to show her the way out of her unhappiness, not into it. Reluctantly, however, she did what I asked her to do. Tears were rolling down her face, her whole body was shaking. “At this moment, this is what you feel.” I said. “There is nothing you can do about the fact that at this moment this is what you feel. Now, instead of wanting this moment to be different from the way it is, which adds more pain to the pain that is already there, is it possible for you to completely accept that this is what you feel right now?” She was quiet for a moment. Suddenly she looked impatient, as if she was about to get up, and said angrily, “No, I don't want to accept this.” “Who is speaking?” I asked her. “You or the unhappiness in you? Can you see that your unhappiness about being unhappy is just another layer of unhappiness?” She became quiet again. “I am not asking you to do anything. All I'm asking is that you find out whether it is possible for you to allow those feelings to be there. In other words, and this may sound strange, if you don't mind being unhappy, what happens to the unhappiness? Don't you want to find out?” She looked puzzled briefly, and after a minute or so of sitting silently, I suddenly noticed a significant shift in her energy field. She said, “This is weird. I 'm still unhappy, but now there is space around it. It seems to matter less.”This was the first time I heard somebody put it like that: There is space around my unhappiness. That space, of course, comes when there is inner acceptance of whatever you are experiencing in the present moment.I didn't say much else, allowing her to be with the experience. Later she came to understand that the moment she stopped identifying with the feeling, the old painful emotion that lived in her, the moment she put her attention on it directly without trying to resist it, it could no longer control her thinking and so become mixed up with a mentally constructed story called “The Unhappy Me.” Another dimension had come into her life that transcended her personal past – the dimension of Presence. Since you cannot be unhappy without an unhappy story, this was the end of her unhappiness. It was also the beginning of the end of her pain-body. Emotion in itself is not unhappiness. Only emotion plus an unhappy story is unhappiness. When our session came to an end, it was fulfilling to know that I had just witnessed the arising of Presence in another human being. The very reason for our existence in human form is to bring that dimension of consciousness into this world. I had also witnessed a diminishment of the pain-body, not through fighting it but through bringing the light of consciousness to it.

-حياه الانسان هي مشوار طويل عبر الليل , ملي بالمتاعب والالام,تحيطه الاشباح مغير المرئيه,تجاه هدف واحيأمل القليلون في الوصول اليه ولا يتمهل أحد طويلا قبالته.واحدا تلو الاخر , وبينما هم سائرون ,يختفي رفاقنا عن انظارنا ,تقبضهم الاوامر الصامته للموت القاهر, وقصير جدا ذلك الوقت الذي نستطيع فيه مسااعدتهم , والذي تتحدد فيه سعادتهم او شقاؤهم.فليكن اذن أن ننثر الضياء في طريقهم, ونخفف أحزانهم بأكف التعاطف, ونمنحهم الغبطه الخالصه للتعاطف الذي لا يفتر ,بأن نقوي العزائم المنهاره ونوفر لهم الايمان في ساعات اليأس , ولنتوقف عن قياس مزاياهم وعيوبهم بمقاييس جامده, ولنفكر فقط في احتياجاتهم, في الاحزان والصعوبات والقهر والعمي الذي يكتنف حياتهم ويسبب لهم البؤس , ولنتذكر انهم كانوا رفاق المعاناه في نفس الظلمات, وممثلين في نفس التراجيديا معنا.

Ти знаєш, чого вони шукають: простору, без якого газель - це не газель. Вони хочуть стати газелями й танцювати свої танці. З швидкістю сто кілометрів на годину вони хочуть мчати по прямій, іноді раптом високо стрибаючи, так, що здається, ніби то просто з піску шугає полум'я. Байдуже, що є шакали, адже у тому й полягає істина газелей, щоб боятися - від страху вони перевершать самі себе у карколомних стрибках. Байдуже, що є лев, адже у тому й полягає істина газелей, щоб упасти під сонцем, розірваною гострими пазурами. Дивишся на них і думаєш - їх мучить туга. Туга - це коли хочеш чогось, сам не знаєш чого... Воно існує, те, жадане, але немає слів, щоб про нього сказати.Ну, а ми - чого не вистачає нам?Мене мучить не те, що спотворено прекрасну людську глину. А те, що в кожній людині якоюсь мірою вбито Моцарта.Тільки Дух, торкнувшись глини, може сотворити Людину.

إن الحب كقيمة مطلقة سرٌ كبيرٌ من اسرار الدنيا ، لا يعيه إلا الإنسان المحظوظ النقي القادر دوماً على تجديد شباب قلبه بالعطاء والتسامح. يبدأ الإنسان منا حياته متدفقاً بالحب والحنان والتفاؤل والثقة ثم يجف هذا النبع العاطفي في قلبه كلما كبر ، ويتحول مع الزمن إلى عجوز أناني بخيل لا يحس إلا مصلحته ولا يجري إلا خلف منفعته ، والسبب أن أحلامه الصغيرة وعواطفه الصافية تصطدم مرة بعد مرة بما يخيب أمله ويزلزل ثقته في الدنيا وفي الناس -يتعثر الإنسان في مشوار حياته ومع تكرار العثرات والتجارب الفاشلة لا يجد في قلبه رصيداً يغطي هذا الفشل ، ويحفظ له ابتسامته وتفاؤله فيفقد النضارة ويجف ويقسو ، ويتحول سخطه إلى سخط على الدنيا كلها والسبب أنه لم يجد كفايته من الحنان ، لم يجده في الدنيا ولم يجده في قلبه فأفلس . والدليل على هذا أن القلب الكبير لا يحدث له هذا الجفاف مهما كبر وشاخ لأنه يجد في نفسه القدرة على بذل الحنان دائماً مهما حدث له ومهما تلقى من صدمات . وبهذه القوة وحدها يسترد حب الناس الذي فقده ويسترد ثقته في الدنيا

Писатель Джулиан Дюгид описывает процедуру, предложенную ему человеком, с которым он познакомился на борту корабля: «— Вы хотите писать рассказы? — спросил он. — Нет ничего легче. Ваш инстинктивный разум помнит каждое событие, когда-либо происходившее с вами... Он сам создаст из ваших переживаний сюжет. Вам нужно лишь потереть лампу.— А техника этого? — спросил я.— Наш инстинктивный разум никогда не спит. Это только высшие уровни мозга отключаются, когда мы ложимся спать. Вы достаточно легко можете проверить это на себе.— Звучит интересно. Что я должен сделать?— Это действительно интересно. Перед тем как отключиться, просто сообщите своему подсознанию, чего вы хотите. Наутро рассказ будет готов... Кстати, — сказал он чуть погодя, — здесь нечего бояться... Раб лампы — ваш слуга... И было бы неплохо звать его по имени.Я решил, что буду звать этого незнакомца, таящегося внутри меня, Помощником».Дюгид«Меня убедили», 1941