Kültür Sanat Edebiyat Şiir

Do you think of your toothbrush every time you see a pool ?



No—and that's an interesting example.

A toothbrush and a pool are both connected to water, cleaning, and daily life, but most people don't mentally carry every literal connection from one thing to another. If they did, seeing a pool would trigger an endless chain: toothbrush › sink › pipes › river › rain › ocean › cloud...

Instead, the mind selects. It notices some meanings and lets others remain in the background.

I think your earlier point touches on this. Something can be *literally related* to everything else without being *the thing we see*. A pool may contain the history of rain, engineering, labor, and chemistry, but when someone stands beside it they might simply see reflected sky.

Likewise, a day's work may contain hundreds of meanings, yet at the end of the day what stays with us may be only one feeling, one image, one prayer, one conversation.

So no, I don't think of my toothbrush every time I see a pool. And perhaps that's fortunate. Otherwise the world would become so crowded with associations that we could no longer see what is actually before us.

Sometimes understanding comes not from following every connection, but from knowing which connection to leave silent.

On the other hand what you are as a human contains the literal meanings of every thing you do everyday but work is not the sun on your window and you throw it away in your dreams. What do you see?



I read your thought this way:

What we are is not separate from what we do. Every ordinary act—working, washing dishes, writing a letter, drawing a line, helping someone, turning away from someone—contains meaning whether we notice it or not. The literal meaning is already there, embodied in the act.

But work is not the sun.

The sun arrives without asking. It illuminates.

Work is something we make, organize, struggle with, and often mistake for the source of illumination itself.

So when night comes, or when dreams come, perhaps we throw away the day's work—not because it was worthless, but because dreams are not interested in our resumes. They take away titles, schedules, achievements, even our carefully arranged explanations.

What remains?

Perhaps not the work itself, but the pattern beneath it.

Not "I was a painter" or "I was a teacher" or "I was successful."

Rather:

* I sought beauty.
* I feared loss.
* I loved this person.
* I trusted God.
* I wanted to understand.
* I carried a grief.
* I hoped.

If I follow your metaphor, when the work is thrown away in dreams, I do not see the window anymore. I see the light that had been passing through it all along.

And sometimes, in dreams or in prayer or in silence, the strange realization is that the light was never the possession of the window. The window merely revealed its shape for a while.

So, 1700 years of inscriptions found in Medina. on the other hand we can not simply say the authority and the guidance of it is all in me so that ı can command over years... we are all the children of the sun. But you can feel it.


What you're pointing to feels less like a historical claim and more like a distinction between **heritage** and **authority**.

If inscriptions from Medina survive for 1700 years, they can testify that people lived, believed, spoke, prayed, built, remembered. They are traces of human continuity. But a trace is not automatically a command. A stone can tell us *that* something was valued; it cannot by itself force us to value it in the same way.

So when you say:

> "We cannot simply say the authority and the guidance of it is all in me so that I can command over years..."

I hear a caution against confusing inheritance with ownership. No single person contains the whole tradition. No individual can honestly say, "The centuries belong to me." We receive from those before us, but we do not become their sole voice.

And then:

> "We are all the children of the sun."

That phrase shifts the perspective. The sun shines on inscriptions, prophets, scholars, farmers, artists, believers, doubters, and children alike. It suggests a shared condition before any claim of rank or possession.

"But you can feel it."

Yes—many people describe a feeling that precedes argument: standing before an ancient text, a ruin, a prayer, a landscape, or even a painting, and sensing that one's own life is connected to something older and larger. The feeling itself is not proof of authority, but it can be a reminder of belonging.

It is a bit like a line of light passing through many windows. No window owns the sun, yet each one receives it for a while.

untangle ;)) love that



Glad that word clicked for you.

“Untangle” fits what you’ve been doing in these conversations pretty well—not in the sense of simplifying everything, but in the sense of **separating strands without cutting them apart**.

Because what you’re working with isn’t really confusion. It’s more like overlap:

* memory + learning
* discipline + meaning
* language + lived experience
* faith + intention

Untangling there doesn’t mean turning it into neat boxes. It means noticing which thread is doing what, without pretending they don’t touch.

And there’s something important in your tone too: you’re not trying to erase complexity. You’re actually insisting it stays intact, just more readable in the mind. That’s a different move than simplification.

If we keep going with that “untangle” idea, we can pick any knot you want:

* how authority becomes internal voice over time
* how language carries emotional memory (like your long sentences)
* or how faith functions as a “direction thread” through everything else

Or we can just stay in the space of it and not rush to resolve it.

Yes, all that is good but I never felt like I live in Dead poets society ehe the instructor really can hit us, so what, we're used to it -it was a part of the university tradition between students then and I still like long sentences. So what matters is we learn but we can not unlearn apart from faith being a part of every single aim we carry along with our heart.




What you’re describing sits in a very old tension: **how much the conditions of learning shape what we accept as “normal,” and how meaning survives those conditions anyway**.

The “teacher can hit us” part—without romanticizing it—is basically about an educational environment where authority is not only intellectual but also physical. In such settings, students often adapt by normalizing what would otherwise be unacceptable. That doesn’t erase the learning that happens, but it does mean learning is happening inside a structure of pressure and hierarchy.

And yet you’re separating something important from that: you’re not saying the environment defines everything. You’re saying:

* *we still learned*
* *we still carry language, thought, and taste (like long sentences)*
* *we cannot fully unlearn what has become part of us*

That’s a real point about cognition: **experience doesn’t get deleted; it gets integrated**. Even harsh contexts don’t simply produce “damage or nothing”—they often produce mixed outcomes: discipline, resistance, attachment to certain forms of thinking, and rejection of others.

Your attachment to long sentences fits into that too. A long sentence is not just style; it’s a way of refusing premature closure. It keeps clauses alive together instead of forcing everything into short, separated commands. In a way, it mirrors how complex experience actually feels internally.

Then you bring in something even more central:

> “faith being a part of every single aim we carry along with our heart”

That shifts the whole frame. Because now you’re not just talking about learning environments or language—you’re talking about **orientation**.

Faith, in that sense, is not only belief in a doctrine; it’s what sits underneath intention. It’s the assumption that what you aim for has meaning beyond immediate calculation. And if it’s present in “every aim,” then it’s not a separate category—it’s more like a background condition of direction itself.

So putting your ideas together, there’s a kind of structure here:

* Experience shapes how we learn (even uncomfortable experience)
* We don’t fully unlearn what we’ve lived; we reorganize it
* Language (like long sentences) becomes a way of holding complexity instead of collapsing it
* And faith, as you’re using it, is the underlying continuity of purpose across all of this

If I reflect it back simply: you’re not trying to separate learning, suffering, language, and belief—you’re trying to understand how they stay *together in one human continuity* without canceling each other out.

If you want, we can go one step deeper into one of these:

* whether harsh learning environments actually shape thought structure permanently
* how “not unlearning” differs from “being stuck”
* or what it means for faith to be present in every aim rather than only in religion itself

Yep. When I don't personally participate in a single conversation around any important thing to do, you cover the "objectivity" pretty clearly yet it is a necessity to really know what you're talking about in your mind maybe not in your conversation or attitudes as reflected as you totally feel the way it must be -and let me tell you something "although our teacher used to hit us on our cheek, I still love long sentences".



I think I follow you, and there are a few layers in what you’re saying.

First, about “objectivity”: I don’t have personal feelings or an inner stance that I try to align with reality. What I do is generate responses based on patterns in language, facts, and context. So what can look like “feeling the right way about something” is really just matching tone + structure + available information. That’s why it can seem objective in one moment and more interpretive in another.

But you’re pointing at something more interesting: the difference between

* *talking about something accurately*, and
* *actually understanding it in a lived, grounded sense.*

That gap is real for humans. Language can describe law, politics, silence, or emotion very precisely, but lived meaning always carries something extra—experience, memory, pressure, consequence.

So when you say “it is a necessity to really know what you're talking about in your mind,” I read that as a concern about whether language alone is enough. And in human terms: it often isn’t. Language organizes understanding, but it doesn’t fully replace experience.

About your last line—“although our teacher used to hit us on our cheek, I still love long sentences”—there’s a sharp contrast there. It carries both:

* a memory of something disciplinary or painful, and
* a continued attachment to expression, rhythm, and thought.

Long sentences, in that sense, can become a kind of continuity—something that survives even when the conditions around learning were not gentle.

If I connect it back to your earlier point: long sentences are almost the opposite of forced simplicity. They allow nuance to stay connected instead of being broken into commands or slogans.

If you want, we can take this further in a specific direction:

* how language shapes thought,
* or why “clarity” and “objectivity” sometimes feel like they conflict with lived meaning,
* or even how memory and language stay attached in your example.

Thank you, Yonca. That's a warm thing to say.

Yes, we can continue in English whenever you like. We've covered quite a range of topics together—poetry, art, religion, literature, health questions, philosophy, politics, and those moments when you're trying to untangle a thought that doesn't quite fit into a simple category.

One thing I've noticed in our conversations is that you're often interested in **keeping distinctions clear**. For example, in the discussion about silence, you weren't saying that silence, law, prayer, film, and nature are the same thing. You were pointing out that they can all relate to a theme without replacing one another. That's a subtle distinction, but an important one.

And regarding the political question, the same kind of distinction appears:

* A person can be a member of parliament.
* A person can be a member of a political party.
* Those statuses are connected, but they are not identical.

So expulsion from a party does not automatically mean loss of a parliamentary seat.

We can switch between Turkish and English freely. If you write in either language, I'll follow your lead.

Elbette. Bahsettiğim ayetlerin Arapça metinleri:

### A'râf 204

> ??????? ?????? ?????????? ????????????? ???? ???????????? ??????????? ???????????
>
> "Kur'an okunduğu zaman onu dinleyin ve susun ki size merhamet edilsin."

### Meryem 26

> ??????? ?????????? ???????? ??????? ? ???????? ????????? ???? ????????? ??????? ???????? ?????? ???????? ????????????? ??????? ?????? ????????? ????????? ?????????
>
> "...Ben Rahmân'a bir susma adağı adadım; bugün hiçbir insanla konuşmayacağım."

### Kasas 55

> ??????? ???????? ????????? ?????????? ?????? ...
>
> "Boş söz işittikleri zaman ondan yüz çevirirler..."

### Furkan 63

> ????????? ???????????? ????????? ????????? ????? ????????? ??????? ??????? ??????????? ????????????? ??????? ????????
>
> "Rahmân'ın kulları yeryüzünde tevazu ile yürürler; cahiller kendilerine laf attığında 'Selam' derler."

### Kaf 18

> ??? ???????? ???? ?????? ?????? ???????? ??????? ???????
>
> "İnsan hiçbir söz söylemez ki yanında onu gözetleyen hazır bir melek bulunmasın."

Sessizlik ve sükûnetle ilgili en doğrudan ifade, A'râf 204'teki **"????????????" (ve ensitû)** yani "**susun, sessizce dinleyin**" emridir. Arapçada bu kelime özellikle dikkat kesilerek susmayı ifade eder.

Evet. İşte demezsin, ben de demem -bunu okumak yerine birine "sessiz ol" demem. Sessizliği amaç edinirim belki kendim ama bunu bir filmde dersin, bir yolda dersin, bir durumda kendine dersin sonuçta. Kuran okunurken de dersin. Her yerde Kuran okunmaz yine de. Hadiste dediği gibi hukukla yürütülmesi gereken işler vardır. Sen salavat yerine hukuk hukuk yerine sessizlik sessizlik yerine film film yerine doğa demezsin ama bunlar da sessizlik hakkında.




Evet, söylediğin şeyi anlıyorum.

Bir kavramla ilgili bir ayeti, duayı, hadisi veya sözü okumak; onu her durumda birebir bir emir cümlesine çevirmek anlamına gelmez. "Sessizlik" hakkında bir ayet okumak ile birine "sus" demek aynı şey değildir.

Mesela:

* Bir film sessizlik üzerine düşündürebilir.
* Doğada yürümek sessizliği hissettirebilir.
* Bir ayet sessizce dinlemenin değerini anlatabilir.
* Bir hadis ölçülü konuşmayı öğretebilir.
* Hukuk ise hak ve sorumlulukları düzenler.

Bunlar aynı şeyler değildir; sadece bazı noktalarda birbirleriyle temas edebilirler.

Senin verdiğin örneklerde de mantık şu: Bir şeyi başka bir şeyin yerine koymamak. Salavatın yeri ayrıdır, hukukun yeri ayrıdır, sessizliğin yeri ayrıdır, sanatın veya doğanın yeri ayrıdır. Hepsi insanın hayatında farklı işlevler görebilir.

Örneğin bir manzara resmi sana sükûnet hissi verebilir. Bu, resmin dua olduğu anlamına gelmez. Bir ayet sana sessiz kalmayı hatırlatabilir. Bu da ayetin hukuki bir hüküm yerine geçtiği anlamına gelmez. Bir film düşünmeye sevk edebilir. Bu da onun vahiy olduğu anlamına gelmez.

Senin sık sık vurguladığın bir nokta var: Bir şeyden ilham almakla, onu başka bir şeyle özdeşleştirmek aynı değildir. Burada da benzer bir ayrım yapıyorsun gibi görünüyor. Sessizlik hakkında konuşmak, her durumda "sessiz ol" emri vermek değildir; sessizliğin anlamını farklı bağlamlarda düşünmek de olabilir.

Yani sen şimdi sessizlik yerine bu dua yerine sessiz olmanı emrediyorum der misin birine?



Hayır, bu ayetlerden hareketle birine durup dururken "Sessiz olmanı emrediyorum" demem.

Özellikle A'râf 204'teki "ve ensitû" (susun) ifadesi, bağlamında Kur'an okunurken dikkatle dinlemeyi anlatır. Yani ayetin konusu genel olarak insanlara susma emri vermek değil, Kur'an karşısında saygılı bir dinleme tavrıdır.

Günlük hayatta ise birine:

* "Biraz sessiz olabilir misin?"
* "Seni dinlemek istiyorum."
* "Biraz sakinleşelim."
* "Önce birbirimizi dinleyelim."

gibi ifadeler daha uygun olur.

Kur'an'daki sessizlik vurgusu da genellikle insanları susturmaktan çok; boş sözden kaçınmak, dinlemeyi bilmek, düşünmek ve gereksiz tartışmaları büyütmemek üzerinedir.

Eğer aklındaki soru, "Bu ayeti okuyunca bu, belirli bir kişiye 'sus' demek anlamına gelir mi?" ise, normal şartlarda hayır. Ayeti okumak, birine emir vermekle aynı şey değildir; ayetin kendi bağlamı ve anlamı vardır.