New Year Vibe: Escape from Reality?

                                                            By Anonymous Nesibu

As I sat alone in my dimly lit apartment, the clock ticked closer to midnight, heralding the arrival of the dreaded New Year. The TV was on, but I paid little attention to the festive shows and celebrations that filled the screen. My thoughts were consumed by the stark reality of the world around me.

I couldn't help but reflect on the past, the way things used to be when I was just a child. It was a time when life was simpler, and the cost of living was within reach for most people. I remembered the days when a kilo of meat cost a mere 12 Birr, and a liter of milk was a luxury that only cost 2 Birr. Those were the times when three eggs could be bought for just one Birr. People lived by traditional values, and there was a deep sense of respect for one another. Crimes like rape, murder, theft, and burglary were rare, almost mythical occurrences.

But the world I inhabited now was a far cry from the one I grew up in. Every day seemed to bring a new wave of shocking news, as if the world had descended into chaos. People had become more divisive, angrier, and less tolerant of one another. It was as though a veil of darkness had descended upon society, obscuring the bonds that once held us together. The headlines weren't about something extraordinary happening; they were about the absence of normalcy.

I glanced out of my window at the city below. The New Year's Eve celebrations were in full swing, with fireworks lighting up the sky and revelers cheering in the streets. But it all felt so hollow to me, like a facade that masked the deeper issues plaguing our society.

As I took a sip from my glass, I couldn't help but wonder if the doomsayers were right. Some claimed that the end of the world was near, that salvation or judgment was imminent. It was as if people were searching for something to believe in, a glimmer of hope in these troubled times.

I sighed, my heart heavy with the weight of cynicism. I yearned for a return to simpler days, for a world where people were kinder and more genuine. The New Year was supposed to be a time for fresh starts and renewed hope, but it felt like a never-ending cycle of disappointment.

The clock finally struck midnight, and the cacophony of fireworks and cheering reached its peak. I forced a smile, lifted my glass, and joined in the celebration, if only for a moment. But deep down, I knew that the problems of the world wouldn't magically disappear with the turn of the calendar page.

As the fireworks faded into the night, I made a silent wish. I wished for a better year, not just for myself, but for all of humanity. I wished for a world where the promise of a new beginning was more than just an illusion, where the New Year's vibe would truly bring positive change. Only time would tell if my wish would ever come true, but for now, all I could do was hold on to a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

That Time in Freshman Year

 By Anonymous Nesibu

Yemane sprinted across the quad as Addis Ababa University's bustling campus passed by, his backpack bouncing and sneakers resonating against the cobblestone pathways. "Auditions Today - AAU Dramatics Club," read a bright poster on a bulletin board, sending his heart racing with anticipation.

He ran to the audition room where a group of excited young Ethiopian actors had already assembled without pausing for breath. Anxiety and spirited conversation filled the air.

As Yemane signed in, a student organizer questioned him, "What's your name?"

He said, "Yemane Tadesse," his voice trembling with an anxious and determined mixture.

Yemane received a screenplay as the auditions started. What was his function? an usher in a forthcoming romantic comedy that takes place in a busy Ethiopian café. Yemane was resolved to give it his all, even though it seemed like a small part. He devoted himself to the role in the weeks that followed, performing endlessly and even obtaining a part-time work at a nearby café to observe Ethiopian waiters in action.

Yemane was tasked with giving a moving monologue while bringing coffee to the key actors one evening at a crucial rehearsal. Ms. Tsegaye, the director, had high standards. Yemane walked confidently onto the stage while carrying a tray of steaming coffee cups.

He was excited to start his lines, but his nervousness eventually won. He stumbled on a loose cable by accident, which caused the tray of hot coffee to fly through the air. Most of the other cast members in the audience gasped in shock.

Fortunately, the performers avoided getting any coffee on them. Instead, it completely covered Yemane in rain. Coffee was dripping from his hair and clothes as he stood there in shock. Heard in the auditorium was boisterous laughing from his fellow actors, which broke the tense pause.

Yemane was shocked to hear laughing that wasn't mocking but was instead hearty and contagious. With her eyes sparkling, Ms. Tsegaye made the decision to include Yemane's coffee accident in the play, turning it into a recurring comic device that made the audience laugh out loud at every performance.

The cast's sense of friendship grew stronger as the practices went on. They honed their comedic timing, and Yemane's unplanned but unexpected accidents provided an element of excitement to every act. When and if he would spill coffee again?

Yemane gained the loving moniker "Coffee Yemane" among his colleagues as his errors turned into the play's high points. The play itself was a smashing success, bringing in adoring crowds every night. The coffee disaster was always met with tremendous applause and howls of amusement.

Yemane came to the realization that often the most unforgettable events in life are the ones we least expect as the last curtain fell on the final performance. His adventure at Addis Ababa University had started with the straightforward goal of being well-known in theater, and he had succeeded in doing so—though not for his lines, but for his coffee-soaked antics.

 

When Yemane reconnected with his college buddies years later, they enjoyed talking about "That Time in Freshman Year," when a straightforward coffee mishap had turned a little role into a renowned performance. Everyone who heard the story felt warm and amused, and it served as a reminder of how unpredictable and fun life was during their college years in Addis Ababa. Even though their paths had separated, the bonds of friendship, suspense, and humor would link them to their common experience at AAU for all time.

Ow, my shit!

 

By Edgar Alan Poe the Second

Let me take you on a trip, down memory lane to that day when "shin" became the source of my misery and my dear mom mistakenly thought I was using foul language.

Back when I was a kid with a knack for learning new words my first grade teacher, Mrs. Thompson decided to introduce us to the term "shin." You know, that part of your leg you never really think about until you accidentally bang it on a coffee table? Well I was genuinely excited to add this word to my vocabulary.

So one afternoon I was walking along the sidewalk with my mom. The sun was shining birds were singing—it felt like everything was perfect. That is until destiny played a prank on me.

I tripped over a pebble, on the path. Took quite a tumble. Like any normal kid would do in pain I exclaimed with an "OUCH! MY SHIN!". Here's where things took a turn—my vocal cords decided to be mischievous that day and turned my cry for help into something entirely different.

I stumbled over a rogue pebble on the path and took a tumble. As any self-respecting kid would, I yelped in pain, "OW, MY SHIN!" But here's the twist - my vocal cords were feeling particularly mischievous that day, and my cry for help turned into something altogether different.

 

To my mother's horror, what she heard was, "OW, MY SHIT!" She stopped dead in her tracks, her face turning an impressive shade of crimson. My innocent exclamation had transformed into a profanity bombshell, and she was convinced her sweet, innocent child had suddenly turned into a potty-mouthed hooligan.

 

Well, she was having none of it. In her eyes, I had crossed into forbidden territory, and she went into full "wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap" mode. I was bawling like a baby, both from the pain in my shin and the prospect of soap-induced suffering.

 

Now, this is where it gets funnier, if you can believe it. My pitiful cries didn't just attract the attention of my mother. Oh no, they were so loud and dramatic that they caught the ear of the neighborhood's resident drama queen, the director of our local amateur theater group.

 

The director, Mrs. Pringle, lived just down the street, and she always had her nose in everybody's business. When she heard my theatrical performance of "OW, MY SHIT!" echoing through the neighborhood, she decided she needed to get involved.

 

She marched over, megaphone in hand (I kid you not, she had a megaphone), and started directing my mother like she was starring in some epic soap opera. "You must discipline him, dear," she declared with a flourish. "He's been corrupted by outside forces!"

 

Now, here's where it got even crazier. My father, who was at work at the time, got wind of this soap opera-worthy scandal. He rushed home in a panic, thinking I had turned into a miniature delinquent.

 

And to top it all off, our local priest, Father O'Malley, heard about my supposed descent into vulgarity. He showed up, carrying a Bible in one hand and a bottle of holy water in the other, ready to perform an emergency exorcism on my potty-mouthed soul.

 

So there I was, a first-grader, caught in the crossfire of my mother's soap threat, the director's melodramatic directives, my father's bewilderment, and the priest's exorcism attempt - all because of a simple mispronunciation of "shin." My childhood had officially become a circus, and I was the star attraction.

The Social Media Circus: A Peek Behind the Virtual Curtain

 Written by Someone Who's Wondering Why You Need Their Name, Just Read!

In the world of social media, sometimes I feel like taking a break. You know, like when you're at a party and everyone's dancing, but you just want to sit down and watch the show. It's the same feeling when I scroll through posts and pictures online. Some folks post selfies in weird places, like having dinner at a regular restaurant. I don't really care if they're dining at a fancy spot or the local diner – it's not my business. Then there are those who feel the need to show off their meals. I mean, do we really need to see their sandwich? The other day, I had this hilarious thought of writing "RIP" in the comments, like their food met a tragic end. But I'm not that mischievous… yet. Still, I fear I might become a bit of a jokester soon.

And don't even get me started on those who post about losing stuff – passports, cars, even their cat! I mean, seriously? I'm not the lost-and-found hotline. It's like they expect me to magically find their stuff. I've even had this wild idea of saying, "Hey, I found your passport and took it for a joyride to North Korea. Here's the number to Kim Jong-un's office." But come on, I'm not that brave.

Then there's the parade of kids' birthday parties. It's like they think we all want to see their little ones having a blast at a playground. Who knew that going down a slide could be such a production? And they're not shy about the cash they spent. Honestly, it's like watching a circus. I sometimes wonder if they know Facebook is like a giant bathroom wall where people scribble all sorts of nonsense.

But you know what's the real kicker? Some folks treat Facebook like a diary. They pour out their hearts and secrets like they're writing in a locked journal. Newsflash: this isn't your personal confessional! I've seen people spill their guts about everything from bad hair days to embarrassing moments. It's like they think everyone's their therapist.

So, here I am, on the sidelines of this digital circus, watching the show. It's like a comedy club mixed with a reality TV show. People are posting their life's drama, and I'm just here with my popcorn, enjoying the spectacle. Facebook, my friends, is a wild ride. It's a place where everyone's the star of their own sitcom, and we're all just waiting for the punchline.

Welcome to the grand show, folks – the virtual extravaganza where the stage is set, and we're all players in this digital circus. As I sit back and observe, I can't help but marvel at the colorful characters and their peculiar performances.

First, let's talk politics – a game where everyone's a strategist, yet the board keeps changing. It's like watching a bunch of clowns try to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. People argue, they debate, and they throw words like confetti. But guess what? The puzzle's never solved, and we're left in a maze of confusion.

And oh, the insulters! Those who hurl words like stones, thinking they're building castles. They downgrade celebrities as if they're on a quest to dethrone fame itself. It's like watching someone try to bring down a skyscraper with a water gun. Reality check: we're all just specks in this digital galaxy, so why the need to inflate your ego?

Then there are the freelance news reporters. Every minute, they bombard us with "breaking" news, each breaking our hearts a little more. It's like we're on a roller coaster of emotions, with every twist and turn designed to keep us hanging on. I half-expect them to pop up at breakfast, "Breaking: Toast Burnt, Nation Devastated!"

And let's not forget the religious preachers. You know, the ones who turn Facebook into a digital pulpit. It's as if they're trying to convert us one "Like" at a time. Hey, my friends, this isn't a holy sanctuary; it's more like a digital hangout. Save the sermons for the church or mosque, please!

Ah, the "Read This" enthusiasts. They want us to read every article, watch every video, and basically consume everything on the internet. It's like having a personal librarian who's convinced we're all knowledge-hungry bookworms. Sorry, I came here for memes and cat videos, not an online degree in quantum physics.

Of course, we can't forget the marketers. They're like digital hawkers, persistently pushing products like they're the cure for all our woes. They're the digital equivalent of a street bazaar, and our scrolls are the bustling market square. "Buy this!" they say. "But wait, there's more!" No, thank you, my virtual cart's full.

Lastly, the scammers – the digital swindlers who lure us in with promises of riches and glory. They're like the mirages in a desert, always shimmering just out of reach. They beckon us with tempting offers, only to vanish into thin air when we're about to take the bait. It's like playing a game of tag with ghosts.

So here we are, my friends, in the middle of this chaotic circus. It's a show filled with performers of every kind, each playing their part on the grand stage of social media. As I sit back, popcorn in hand, I can't help but chuckle at the spectacle. It's a wild ride, a digital escapade where the only constant is the unpredictability of human behavior. Welcome to the circus, where the clowns are real, the trapeze is a keyboard, and the acrobatics are purely mental. Enjoy the show! 🎪🤹‍♂️

The Enigmatic Frogs of Addis Ababa: A Tale of Literary Convergence

 

By Edgar Allen Poe the Second

On the eve of the Ethiopian New Year in 2016, in the bustling city of Addis Ababa, where tradition and modernity intertwined like a dance, an extraordinary scene unfolded in a vibrant tourist hotel. Here, destiny itself seemed to take center stage, skillfully weaving a seamless connection between fact and fiction.

Within this enchanting setting, two remarkable characters emerged. The first was Mr. Smiley, a flamboyant gambler with an eternal glint in his eye. The second was his enigmatic companion, veiled in shadows, a living embodiment of mystery.

How did these two disparate souls find themselves in Ethiopia, you may wonder? It was a meeting orchestrated by destiny, not of their own choosing.

Their creator, an elusive enigma, was the puppeteer behind their narratives, and it was this mysterious author who had ingeniously intertwined the fates of Mr. Smiley and his shadowy companion.

With a mischievous smile, Mr. Smiley leaned closer to his enigmatic companion and inquired, "Isn't it curious how we ended up here in Ethiopia? From which story do you hail?"

The enigmatic figure, concealed in the shroud of obscurity, responded with an air of intrigue, "I am a product of a tale marked by deception and cunning, spun from the same hand that crafts your adventures."

Their cryptic words left questions unanswered, their creator's identity a riddle that bound them together. In the heart of this convergence, where worlds collided and fiction merged seamlessly with reality, their journey had only just begun.

As they delved deeper into conversation, they explored the labyrinthine corridors of their creator's mind, a mind known to the world as Mark Twain. Over cups of rich Ethiopian coffee, they embarked on a quest to unravel the eccentricities of Mark Twain's genius.

Their discussion naturally veered toward criticism, sparking an intellectual debate.

With a playful glint in his eye, Mr. Smiley gently prodded their creator's habits. "Mark Twain," he remarked, "had a penchant for exaggeration, wouldn't you say? He transformed my frog-jumping contest into an extravagant spectacle!"

Engaging in the debate, the enigmatic companion responded skeptically, "And let us not forget how he portrayed moral decay. Corruption was but a minor subplot in my tale."

As the hours passed, their friendly banter gradually escalated into a fiery argument. Mr. Smiley firmly believed that Mark Twain had distorted the essence of his character, while the enigmatic companion argued the same about his own story.

Their voices soared and plummeted, turning the hotel's restaurant into an arena of literary conflict. Yet the other diners remained impassive, their smiles betraying their disinterest.

As tensions mounted, they turned to a wise Ethiopian seated at the bar, a figure reminiscent of Huckleberry Finn's father. Claiming familiarity with Mark Twain's works, he added his own embellishments to the unfolding narrative, intensifying the disagreement.

The zenith of their dispute captured the attention of the inn's patrons, but they remained passive observers.

Just when chaos seemed imminent, Mark Twain himself materialized in the hotel lobby, reborn as a humble bus driver in Ethiopia.

He comprehended that storytelling thrived on discourse and fervor, transcending the realms of facts and reality.

With a chuckle, Mark Twain joined the debate, blurring the lines between author and creation. In that lobby, reality and fiction interwove, paying homage to the everlasting charm of storytelling.

Mark Twain's presence in the hotel lobby sent waves of astonishment through the assembled crowd. The patrons, previously indifferent, now leaned forward with keen interest, drawn by the arrival of the literary legend himself.

Mr. Smiley and his enigmatic companion momentarily ceased their verbal sparring, stunned by Mark Twain's unexpected appearance. It was as though the characters had come face to face with their divine creator.

With a sardonic grin that resonated with the wisdom of the ages, Mark Twain broke the silence. "Well, well, it appears my creations have developed a taste for debate," he mused, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

The Ethiopian, his glass of tej held suspended mid-sip, gazed in awe at the embodiment of literary genius. He muttered in reverence, "Mark Twain himself, here in Addis Ababa."

Mark Twain's arrival did not quell the dispute; it intensified it. Now, the characters had their creator as the arbiter of their narratives. They each presented their arguments, passionately defending the integrity of their stories.

Mr. Smiley argued that Mark Twain had exaggerated the frog-jumping contest to an absurd degree, turning it into a spectacle of mythical proportions. He claimed that his character had been misrepresented.

The enigmatic companion, on the other hand, insisted that his story, revolving around the moral decay of Hadleyburg, had been unfairly sensationalized. He argued that his true essence had been overshadowed by the exaggeration.

Mark Twain listened patiently, his lips curling into a bemused smile. When both characters had presented their cases, he spoke, "My dear creations, you both misconstrue the essence of storytelling. Exaggeration and embellishment are the very tools that breathe life into tales. It is the art of storytelling to take a kernel of truth and weave it into a tapestry of wonder and intrigue."

Uncertainty passed between the characters. Mark Twain continued, "You see, in storytelling, it is not the accuracy of details that matter most; it is the emotions they stir, the debates they ignite, and the connections they forge with readers and listeners."

His words hung in the air, and a sense of enlightenment settled upon the characters. They realized that their creator had not distorted their narratives out of malice but had, in fact, infused their tales with the essence of storytelling.

The Ethiopian, who had observed the debate with rapt attention, spoke up. "In my homeland, we have a saying: 'The truth is like tej; it is best savored in moderation.' Perhaps, my dear storytellers, it is time to savor the beauty of your tales without dwelling on the minutiae."

A feeling of resolution pervaded the room as the characters and their creator embraced the wisdom of the Ethiopian's words. The literary conflict had transformed into a shared appreciation for the power of storytelling.

As the night deepened and the storytelling persisted, a subtle tension began to weave its way through the room. Mark Twain's tales took on a darker shade, delving into the intricacies of human nature and the haunting specters of truth and deception.

The patrons, once enchanted by the stories, now found themselves on edge, their mirth giving way to a sense of unease. Mr. Smiley and his enigmatic companion, ensnared in Mark Twain's narrative web, exchanged uneasy glances.

Mark Twain's voice, once filled with mirth, grew somber as he wove a tale of treachery and betrayal. The characters in his story were no longer heroes but flawed beings consumed by their own desires.

The Ethiopian, sensing the shift in the narrative's tone, leaned in and whispered to Mr. Smiley and his companion, "Beware, for in the hands of a master storyteller, reality and fiction blur, and the boundaries between them become treacherous."

The characters now found themselves ensnared in a tale they could not control. Mark Twain's storytelling had transcended mere entertainment; it had become a vessel for exploration and revelation.

As the night wore on, Mark Twain's narrative took a final, unexpected twist. He unveiled that Mr. Smiley and the enigmatic companion were not mere figments of his imagination but reflections of his own inner conflict.

With a haunting smile, Mark Twain confessed, "You see, I am both Mr. Smiley and the enigmatic companion, two facets of my own storytelling soul. I've wrestled with the duality of truth and fiction, and you, my characters, were born from that struggle."

The characters, now confronted with the existential revelation of their existence, were left in a state of bewilderment. The hotel's patrons, too, were gripped by the eerie revelation.

In a final twist, Mark Twain concluded, "And so, my dear characters, our journey together has reached its end. I leave you with the question that has haunted me all these years: What is the true essence of storytelling? Is it the reflection of reality, or is it the creation of new worlds that exist beyond facts?"

With those enigmatic words, Mark Twain vanished into the night, leaving behind a room filled with bewildered characters and a perplexed audience.

The hotel lobby, once alive with the promise of storytelling magic, now stood as a testament to the intricacies of the human imagination. Reality and fiction had merged, leaving everyone to grapple with the enigma of storytelling itself.

As dawn broke over Addis Ababa, the characters and patrons dispersed, each carrying with them the lingering question posed by the master storyteller. The night's events would forever haunt their thoughts, a reminder that in the world of storytelling, truth and fiction are eternally intertwined, and the boundaries between them are ever-shifting.

Thus, the story did not conclude with a tidy resolution but with a lingering sense of mystery and uncertainty, a testament to the modern short story's ability to provoke thought and challenge perceptions.

With Mark Twain's departure, the characters entered a state of profound introspection. As they grappled with the revelation of their existence, they began to question the very nature of storytelling and the boundaries that separated fact from fiction.

In the days that followed, Mr. Smiley and the enigmatic companion embarked on a journey of self-discovery, eager to understand their place in the world beyond the confines of their creator's narrative. They discovered that they were not confined by the words on a page but were free to forge their own destinies.

Their adventures led them to the heart of Addis Ababa, where they encountered the vibrant tapestry of life in all its complexities. They found purpose in helping others and realized that their existence held meaning beyond the whims of a storyteller.

As for the Ethiopian, he continued to frequent the hotel's bar, regaling patrons with his own tales of adventure and intrigue. He became a local legend, a living embodiment of the power of storytelling to transcend time and place.

And so, the characters' journey continued, no longer constrained by the narrative that had birthed them. They had become the authors of their own stories, embracing the uncertainty of life with open arms.

In the end, they learned that storytelling was not just about the tales spun by a master storyteller but about the stories we each carry within ourselves. It was a reminder that, in the grand tapestry of existence, we are all both authors and characters, shaping our narratives with every choice we make.

As for the hotel in Addis Ababa, it remained a place where stories converged and diverged, where reality and fiction danced in a perpetual waltz. It was a testament to the enduring allure of storytelling, a force that could bring characters to life and set them free.

And so, the story of Mr. Smiley, the enigmatic companion, and the Ethiopian, intertwined with the wisdom of Mark Twain, continued to unfold in the bustling heart of Addis Ababa, a city that delicately pirouetted on the thin line between tradition and modernity.

 

ሄርሜቴክ ፍልስፍና ዳግም ውልደት፦ ፯ቱ ጥንታዊያን መርሆዎች

ሄርሜቴክ ፍልስፍና ዳግም ውልደት፦ ፯ቱ ጥንታዊያን መርሆዎች

ሄርሜቴክ ፍልስፍና ዳግም ውልደት፦ ፯ቱ ጥንታዊያን መርሆዎች
1. የሥነ አእምሮ (ሜንታሊዝም) መርሆ፦
ሁሉም ነገር አእምሮ ነው፤ ሕዋም አእምሮ ነች።
2. የተዛምዶ መርሆ፦
ልክ ከላይ እንዳለው፣ ልክ ከታች እንዳለው ተመሳሳይ ይሆናል። ልክ ከታች እንዳለው ከላይ ያለው ጋር ተመሳሳይ ይሆናል። በመሃል ያለው ከመሃል ይወጣል፤ ከመሃል የወጣው ከመሃል ይሆናል።
3. የንዝረት መርሆ፦
ምንም ባለበት የሚጸና የለም። ሁሉም ነገር ይንቀሳቀሳል፤ ሁሉም ነገር ይነዝራል።
4. የተቃርኖ መርሆ፦
ሁሉም ነገር በሁለታዊነት የተዋቀረ ነው፤ ሁሉም ነገር ተቃራኒ አለው፤ ሁሉም ነገር ተቃራኒ ተጣማጅ አለው፤ የሚመሳሰል እና የማይመሳሰል አንድ ናቸው፤ ተቃራኒዎች በተፈጥሮ ዐይን አንድ ናቸው፤ ሆኖም ግን በመጠን ደረጃ ይለያያሉ፤ ጽንፎች መጨረሻ ላይ ይገናኝሉ፤ ሁሉም እውነት ነው ግን ግማሽ እውነት ብቻ፤ ሁሉም ተቃርኖዎች ሊታረቁ ይችሉ ይሆን ይሆናል።
5. የሥልተ ምት መርሆ፦
ሁሉም ነገር ሥርዓቱን ጠብቆ ይፈሳል፤ ወደ ውስጥ እና ወደ ውጭ። ሁሉም ነገር የራሱ ሞገድ አለው፤ ሁሉም ነገሮች ይነሣሉ ደግሞ መልሰው ይወድቃሉ፤ የፔንዱለም ውዝዋዜ በሁሉም ነገር ውስጥ ይንጸባረቃል፤ በግራ በኩል ያለው የፔንዱለም ጉዞ ወደ ቀኝ ካለው የፔንዱለሙ ጉዞ ጋር እኩል ርቀት ነው፤ ሥልተ ምት ተቻችሎ ይቀጥላል።
6. የምክንያት እና ውጤት መርሆ፦
እያንዳንዱ ምክንያት የራሱ ውጤት አለው፤ እያንዳንዱ ውጤት የራሱ ምክንያት አለው፤ ሁሉም ነገር የሚሆነው “ዕድል ያልታወቀ ሕግ ስያሜ” ነው የሚለው ሕግ መሠረት ነው። በርካታ የተለዩ ምክንያቶች ሊኖሩ ይችላሉ ሆኖም ምንም ከዚህ ሕግ የሚወጣ ነገር የለም።
7. የሥነ ጾታ መርሆ፦
ጾታ በሁሉም ነገር ውስጥ አለ፤ ሁሉም ነገር የየራሱ ተባዕታይ እና አንስታይ መርሆዎች አሉት፤ ጾታ በሁሉም ነገር ላይ ይንጸባረቃል።
The Hermetic Revival: 7 Ancient Principles
1. The Principle of Mentalism:
The All is mind; The Universe is Mental.
2. The Principle of Correspondence:
As above, so below; as below, so above. As within, so without; as without, so within.
3. The Principle of Vibration:
Nothing rests; Everything moves; Everything vibrates.
4. The Principle of Polarity:
Everything is dual; Everything has poles; Everything has its pair of opposites; Like and unlike are the same; Opposites are identical in nature, but different in degree; Extremes meet; All truths, are but half-truths; All paradoxes may be reconciled.
5. The Principle of Rhythm:
Everything flows, out and in; Everything has its tides; All things rise and fall; The pendulum swing manifests in everything; The measure of the swing to the right is the measure of the swing to the left; Rhythm compensates.
6. The Principle of Cause & Effect:
Every cause has its effect; Every effect has its cause; Everything happens according to law’ Chance is but a name for law not recognized’ There are many planes of causation, but nothing escapes the law.
7. The Principle of Gender:
Gender is in everything; Everything has its masculine and feminine principles; Gender manifests on all planes.
ከሣቴ ብርሃን ቡሩክ በፍጥነት እንዳዘገጁት የዕለተ ፲፬ ጥር 2019 እሳቤ

እንትን እና እንትና

እንደምን አለህ ጋሽ እንትን
እንደምን አለሽ እትዬ እንትን
አንተስ አቶ እንትና እንደምን ከርመሃል
አንቺስ ወይዘሮ እንትና እንደምን ይዞሻል
"ድሮስ እንትን" ብለህ ሰው የፈረጅከው
"ድሮም እንትን" ብለሽ ሰው የፈረድሽው
"እውነትም እንትን" ብለህ ነገር ያሳረግከው
"እውነትም እንትን" ብለሽ የደመደምሽው
እንትናን በእንትንነቱ አንተ እንትን ስትለው
እንትናን በእንትንነቱ አንቺ እንትን ስትይው
እንትናም ይህን ሰምቶ ለእንትንነትህ አንተን "እንትን" ካለህ
ያው እንትን ለእንትን ጥርስ ላይሳበር አንተስ ምኑ ነው የከፋህ?
እንትናም ያንን ሰምታ ለእንትንነትሽ አንቺን እንትን ካለችሽ
እንትን ለእንትን አብረህ አዝግም ነውና ምኑ ነው የከፋሽ?
እንትን ወቃሽ አያርገኝ እንዳላሉ በሥራ ሕያዋን ቀደምት አበው
እነ እንትናም እንትናን ሰርክ ካነሱ በቁም ሙታን እነማን ናቸው?
እና ይኼ ሁሉ እንትን ገብቶህ ከተረዳኸው
እና ይኼን ሁሉ እንትን ገብቶሽ ከፈታሽው
ወንድሜ ሙት ተመርመር ችግሩ ካንተ ነው
እህቴ ሙች ተመርመሪ ችግሩ ካንቺ ነው
አሊያም ከሌላ ፕላኔት ነው የመጣኸው
ከሌላ ዓለም ነው እዚህ የተገኘሽው
እንትንም እንትናም እንደ እንትን ሁሉ ነውና እንደ ፈቺው
አንተ እንትናን እንትን ብትለው እዛ ቤት ሌላ እንትን ነው
የሰው መጨረሻ፣ የነገር ጥማት አራራው ጥግ ሲደርስ
እንትን ማለት እንትን ብሎ ሞልቷል ታምሶ የሚታመስ
ሳይጠሩት አቤት ባይ ሳይልኩት ወዴት የሚል አብዝቶ
የእንትን ጎረቤት እንጂ ሌላ ምን ሊባል ነው ከቶ

በጥቅምት ሚካኤል ማግስት 2019
ከሰላሙ እምዬ እንትና ሰፈር።