The Value of Nothing: Out of Nothing Comes Something. That was an essay I wrote when I was 11 years old and I got a B+. (Laughter) What I'm going to talk about: nothing out of something, and how we create. And I'm gonna try and do that within the 18-minute time span that we were told to stay within, and to follow the TED commandments: that is, actually, something that creates a near-death experience, but near-death is good for creativity. (Laughter) OK.
Vlera e hiçit: diçka del prej hiçit. Eshte titulli i nje eseje qe shkrova kur isha 11 vjec Dhe mora nje B+ (Te qeshura) Ajo per cfare do te flas: asgje nga dicka, dhe menyra si krijojme. Dhe do perpiqem ta bej kete ne hapesiren kohore te 18 minutave brenda se ciles na kane udhezuar te qendrojme e gjithashtu do te ndjek urdheresat e TED tekstualisht:te flas per dicka qe krijon nje eksperience me afer-vdekjen por afer-vdekja ben mire per krijimtarine. (Te qeshura) OK.
So, I also want to explain, because Dave Eggers said he was going to heckle me if I said anything that was a lie, or not true to universal creativity. And I've done it this way for half the audience, who is scientific. When I say we, I don't mean you, necessarily; I mean me, and my right brain, my left brain and the one that's in between that is the censor and tells me what I'm saying is wrong. And I'm going do that also by looking at what I think is part of my creative process, which includes a number of things that happened, actually -- the nothing started even earlier than the moment in which I'm creating something new. And that includes nature, and nurture, and what I refer to as nightmares.
Dua gjithashtu te shpjegoj sepse Dejv Egerz tha se s'do te me linte te qete nese thosha ndonje genjehter apo ndonje te pavertete lidhur me krijimtarine universale. E kam bere ne kete menyre per gjysmen e audiences, ate shkencoren. Kur them ne, jo gjithmone ju nenkuptoj ju. Nenkuptoj mua, dhe trurin tim te djathte. I majti dhe ai qe eshte ne mes eshte sensor dhe me tregon se ku po gaboj tek flas. Do ta bej kete edhe duke iu referuar asaj cka mendoj se esht pjese e procesit tim krijues qe perfshin disa gjera qe ne fakt ndodhen, ekzistojne- sepse asgjeja nisi edhe me heret se casti ne te cilin krijoj dicka te re. Kjo perfshin natyren, kushtezimin, dhe ato te cilat i quaj makthe.
Now in the nature area, we look at whether or not we are innately equipped with something, perhaps in our brains, some abnormal chromosome that causes this muse-like effect. And some people would say that we're born with it in some other means. And others, like my mother, would say that I get my material from past lives. Some people would also say that creativity may be a function of some other neurological quirk -- van Gogh syndrome -- that you have a little bit of, you know, psychosis, or depression. I do have to say, somebody -- I read recently that van Gogh wasn't really necessarily psychotic, that he might have had temporal lobe seizures, and that might have caused his spurt of creativity, and I don't -- I suppose it does something in some part of your brain. And I will mention that I actually developed temporal lobe seizures a number of years ago, but it was during the time I was writing my last book, and some people say that book is quite different.
Tek flasim per natyren, i referohemi pranise te dickaje qe ne lindje, mbase ne tru, ndonje kromozom anormal qe shkakton kete efekt muze. E disa njerez do te thoshin se kemi lindur te tille, e te tjere, si mamaja ime do te thoshin se e marr lenden e pare nga jetet e shkuara. Disa njerez mund te thoshin se krijimtaria eshte fuksion i ndonje ceni neurologjik si sindroma Van Gogh- nje forme e lehte psikoze, apo depresioni. Ne fakt lexova se fundi se s'eshte e sigurt nese Van Gogh vuante nga nje psikoze. se mund te kete pasur epilepsi ne lobin temporal gjendje e cila ka shkaktuar shperthimin e tij krijues, dhe besoj se kjo ka njefare ndikimi ne ndonje pjese te trurit. Do permend se edhe une pesova kriza epileptike te lobit temporal disa vite me pare. Kjo ndodhi gjate kohes kur po shkruja librin tim me te fundit e disa njerez thone se ai liber ka nje ndjesi ndryshe.
I think that part of it also begins with a sense of identity crisis: you know, who am I, why am I this particular person, why am I not black like everybody else? And sometimes you're equipped with skills, but they may not be the kind of skills that enable creativity. I used to draw. I thought I would be an artist. And I had a miniature poodle. And it wasn't bad, but it wasn't really creative. Because all I could really do was represent in a very one-on-one way. And I have a sense that I probably copied this from a book. And then, I also wasn't really shining in a certain area that I wanted to be, and you know, you look at those scores, and it wasn't bad, but it was not certainly predictive that I would one day make my living out of the artful arrangement of words.
Mendoj se ne njefare mase kjo buron nga nje krize identiteti te tipit: kush jam?; perse jam pikerisht ky person? pse s'jam e zeze si gjithe te tjeret? E ndonjehere te jane dhene aftesi por ato s'jane ato qe duhen per te mundesuar krijimtarine. Vizatoja dikur. Mendoja se do te behesha piktore. Kisha nje qen barboncino nano . Nuk isha keq por jo shum krijuese. Sepse gjithcka qe beja ishte nje perfaqesim shume identik Dhe kam ndjesine se e kam kopjuar nga nje liber. Per me teper nuk eshte se po shkelqeja ne fushen ku doja te isha, ne fakt kur vjen puna tek notat, nk ishin shume keq, por ishte e qarte se nuk parashikonin qe nje dite do ta nxirrja buken nga arranxhimi artistik i fjaleve.
Also, one of the principles of creativity is to have a little childhood trauma. And I had the usual kind that I think a lot of people had, and that is that, you know, I had expectations placed on me. That figure right there, by the way, figure right there was a toy given to me when I was but nine years old, and it was to help me become a doctor from a very early age. I have some ones that were long lasting: from the age of five to 15, this was supposed to be my side occupation, and it led to a sense of failure.
Nje parim i krijimtarise eshte te kesh ndonje trauma nga femijeria. Une pata ate lloj qe mendoj se e kane pasur shume njerez: kishte njerez qe prisnin dicka nga une. Sa per ate figuren aty eshte nje loder qe mu dha kur isha vetem 9 vjec qellimi i se ciles ishte te me ndihmonte te behesha doktoreshe ne nje moshe te njome. Kam disa qe qene me jetegjate: nga mosha 5 deri ne 15 ky duhej te ishte zanati im i dyte qe me shtyu te provoja shijen e deshtimit.
But actually, there was something quite real in my life that happened when I was about 14. And it was discovered that my brother, in 1967, and then my father, six months later, had brain tumors. And my mother believed that something had gone wrong, and she was gonna find out what it was, and she was gonna fix it. My father was a Baptist minister, and he believed in miracles, and that God's will would take care of that. But, of course, they ended up dying, six months apart. And after that, my mother believed that it was fate, or curses -- she went looking through all the reasons in the universe why this would have happened. Everything except randomness. She did not believe in randomness. There was a reason for everything. And one of the reasons, she thought, was that her mother, who had died when she was very young, was angry at her. And so, I had this notion of death all around me, because my mother also believed that I would be next, and she would be next. And when you are faced with the prospect of death very soon, you begin to think very much about everything. You become very creative, in a survival sense.
E megjithate ne jeten time perjetova dicka mjaft reale qe ndodhi kur isha 14 vjec. Zbuluam se im vella ne 1967, e me pas im ate, 6 muaj me vone, kishin tumore ne tru. Ime me besonte se dicka kish shkuar keq dhe ajo do gjente se cfare. Dhe do ta ndreqte. Babai ishte nje klerik Baptist, u besonte mrekullirave besonte se Zoti do te merrej me situaten. Ata, sigurisht, vdiqen brenda 6 muajve. Dhe ime me besonte se ky qe fati, apo nje mallkim dhe kerkoi per tere arsyet e mundura ne bote qe mund te kishin sjelle fatkeqesine. Githcka pervec rastesise. Nuk u besonte rastesive. Duhej nje arsye per cdo gje. Dhe nje arsye, sipas saj, ishte se e ema e cila kish vdekur shume e re, qe zemeruar me te bijen. Me rrethonte vdekja sepse nena ime mendonte gjithashtu se rradhen e kisha une, e me pas ajo. Kur perballesh me perspektiven e vdekjes, shpejt fillon shume mbi gjithcka. Behesh shume krijues, ne nje sens te mbijeteses.
And this, then, led to my big questions. And they're the same ones that I have today. And they are: why do things happen, and how do things happen? And the one my mother asked: how do I make things happen? It's a wonderful way to look at these questions, when you write a story. Because, after all, in that framework, between page one and 300, you have to answer this question of why things happen, how things happen, in what order they happen. What are the influences? How do I, as the narrator, as the writer, also influence that? And it's also one that, I think, many of our scientists have been asking. It's a kind of cosmology, and I have to develop a cosmology of my own universe, as the creator of that universe.
Kjo pastaj nxiti pyetjet e mia me rendesi. Jane te njejtat qe kam edhe sot. Pse ndodhin disa gjera, dhe si ndodhin? Ndersa pyetja e nenes sime ishte: Si i shkaktojme gjerat? Te shkruash eshte nje menyre e mrekulluesme per t'u angazhuar me keto pyetje. Tek e fundit, ne nje kornize, midis faqes se pare dhe se 300es, duhet te shpjegosh pse ndodhin gjerat, si ndodhin, cfare rendi ndjekin. Cilat jane ndikimet? Gjithahshtu si ndikoj une si rrefimtare tek to? Eshte edhe dicka te cilen shume nga shkencetaret tane jane perpjekur ta shpjegojne. Eshte nje lloj kozmologjie, dhe une duhet te zhvilloj nje kozmologji per uuniversin tim njelloj si krijuesi i universit.
And you see, there's a lot of back and forth in trying to make that happen, trying to figure it out -- years and years, oftentimes. So, when I look at creativity, I also think that it is this sense or this inability to repress, my looking at associations in practically anything in life. And I got a lot of them during what's been going on throughout this conference, almost everything that's been going on.
Eshte nje rruge me shume kthesa kjo perpjekje per te pare qarte me vite e vite te tera, shpesh-here. Keshtu kur mendoj krijimarine, gjithashtu them se eshte ky sens pazotesie per te mposhtur ate obsesion qe me ben te shoh lidhje mes gjithckaje ne jete. Bera shume te tilla gjate perpjekjes per te shpjeguar thuajse gjithcka qe ndodh
And so I'm going to use, as the metaphor, this association: quantum mechanics, which I really don't understand, but I'm still gonna use it as the process for explaining how it is the metaphor. So, in quantum mechanics, of course, you have dark energy and dark matter. And it's the same thing in looking at these questions of how things happen. There's a lot of unknown, and you often don't know what it is except by its absence. But when you make those associations, you want them to come together in a kind of synergy in the story, and what you're finding is what matters. The meaning. And that's what I look for in my work, a personal meaning.
Do te perdor, ne rolin e metafores, kete lidhje: mekanika kuantike, dicka qe s'e kuptoj aspak, por qe do ta perdor ne procesin per te shpjeguar si funksionon si metafore. Ne mekaniken kuantike sigurisht, flitet per energji te erret dhe lende te erret. E njejta gje ndodh kur u drejtohemi pyetjeve se si ndodhin gjerat. Ka shume te panjohura, dhe shpesh s'dallon ate qe eshte vecse nepermjet mungeses se saj. Por kur ben keto shoqerime, deshiron qe ato te vijne se bashku ne nje tregim permes nje sinergjie dhe cfare gjen eshte ajo qe ka rendesi. Kuptimi. Kete kerkoj ne punen time. Nje kuptim vetjak.
There is also the uncertainty principle, which is part of quantum mechanics, as I understand it. (Laughter) And this happens constantly in the writing. And there's the terrible and dreaded observer effect, in which you're looking for something, and you know, things are happening simultaneously, and you're looking at it in a different way, and you're trying to really look for the about-ness, or what is this story about. And if you try too hard, then you will only write the about. You won't discover anything. And what you were supposed to find, what you hoped to find in some serendipitous way, is no longer there. Now, I don't want to ignore the other side of what happens in our universe, like many of our scientists have. And so, I am going to just throw in string theory here, and just say that creative people are multidimensional, and there are 11 levels, I think, of anxiety. (Laughter) And they all operate at the same time.
Pastaj eshte parimi i pasigurise, qe eshte edhe pjese e mekanikes kuantike, ashtu sic e kuptoj une. (Te qeshura) Ndeshem me te rendom tek shkruaj. Eshte pastaj, edhe i shume druajturi, i tmerrshmi efekt i vezhguesit ne te cilin kerkon dicka, dhe gjerat po ndodhin njekohesisht, ti sheh nga nje kendveshtrim tjeter perpiqesh te shohesh se per cfare behet fjale. Do te gjesh mesazhin, kuptimin e pergjithesuar . Po u mundove shume do te shkruash vetem mesazhin. S'do te zbulosh asgje Dhe ajo cfare duhet te gjesh cfare shpresoje te gjeje, ndonje rastesi me fat s'eshte me aty. Por nuk dua te anashkaloj anen tjeter te medaljes ne univers sic kane bere shume shkencetare. Kestu do te fus ne diskutim teorine e kordave, e do te shtoj vetem se njerezit krijues jane shume-permasore dhe sipas meje ka 11 nivele ankthi. (Te qeshura) Dhe te gjitha ato veprojne ne te njejten kohe.
There is also a big question of ambiguity. And I would link that to something called the cosmological constant. And you don't know what is operating, but something is operating there. And ambiguity, to me, is very uncomfortable in my life, and I have it. Moral ambiguity. It is constantly there. And, just as an example, this is one that recently came to me. It was something I read in an editorial by a woman who was talking about the war in Iraq. And she said, "Save a man from drowning, you are responsible to him for life." A very famous Chinese saying, she said. And that means because we went into Iraq, we should stay there until things were solved. You know, maybe even 100 years. So, there was another one that I came across, and it's "saving fish from drowning." And it's what Buddhist fishermen say, because they're not supposed to kill anything. And they also have to make a living, and people need to be fed. So their way of rationalizing that is they are saving the fish from drowning, and unfortunately, in the process the fish die.
Ekzison nje pyetje rreth dickaje qe mbetet e paqarte. Dua ta lidh kete me dicka qe quhet konstantja kozmologjike. Nuk kuptohet se c'po vepron por dicka po vepron atje. Paqartesia per mua eshte teper e sikletshme dhe e kam ne jeten time. Paqartesi morale. Eshte aty ne menyre te vazhdueshme. Thjesht si shembull, kjo me ndodhi kohet e fundit. E lexova ne nje kryeartikull nga nje grua qe po fliste rreth luftes ne Irak. Dhe tha, "Shpeto nje njeri nga mbytja, dhe je pergjegjes ndaj tij gjithe jeten". Nje thenie shume e famshme kineze, tha ajo. Do te thote se meqe shkuam ne Irak, duhet te qendrojme deri sa gjerat te zgjidhen. E keni parasysh? Ndoshta edhe 100 vjet. Ndodhi qe te hasja edhe 1 shprehje tjeter, "te shpetosh nje peshk nga mbytja" E perdorin peshkataret Budiste sepse nuk u lejohet te vrasin asgje. Por edhe ata duhet te sigurojne 1 jetese, te ushqejne njerezit e tyre. Dhe gjejne arsyetimin se po shpetojne peshqit nga mbytja, por fatkeqesisht ata vdesin gjate procesit.
Now, what's encapsulated in both these drowning metaphors -- actually, one of them is my mother's interpretation, and it is a famous Chinese saying, because she said it to me: "save a man from drowning, you are responsible to him for life." And it was a warning -- don't get involved in other people's business, or you're going to get stuck. OK. I think if somebody really was drowning, she'd save them. But, both of these sayings -- saving a fish from drowning, or saving a man from drowning -- to me they had to do with intentions.
Kuptimi qe vjen i mbartur ne te dyja keto metafora mbytjeje --ne fakt nje prej tyre eshte interpretimi i nenes sime, dhe eshte nje shprehje e famshem kineze sepse ma tha ajo: "Shpeto dike nga mbytja, e do te jesh i pergjegjshem per te gjithe jeten." Ishte nje kercenim-- mos u perfshi ne punet e te tjereve ose do te ngecesh ne to. Ok. Mendoj se po te shihte verte dike duke u mbytur, ajo do ta shpetonte. Por te dyja shpehjet, te shpetosh nje peshk nga mbytja, apo nje njeri nga mbytja, sipas meje kane te bejne me qellimet.
And all of us in life, when we see a situation, we have a response. And then we have intentions. There's an ambiguity of what that should be that we should do, and then we do something. And the results of that may not match what our intentions had been. Maybe things go wrong. And so, after that, what are our responsibilities? What are we supposed to do? Do we stay in for life, or do we do something else and justify and say, well, my intentions were good, and therefore I cannot be held responsible for all of it? That is the ambiguity in my life that really disturbed me, and led me to write a book called "Saving Fish From Drowning."
Dhe te gjithe ne jete kane pergjigje per situata te ndryshme ne jete. Pastaj kemi qellime. Ne fillim jemi te pasigurt se c'duhet te bejme por pastaj bejme dicka. Dhe rezultati mund te mos perkoje me me qellimet tona. Mbase gjerat shkojne keq. E me pas cilat jane pergjegjesite tona? C'duhet te bejme? Mbetemi fajtore perjete, apo bejme dicka tjeter per tu justifikiuar dhe themi, epo mire, qellimet i kisha te mira kshtuqe s'jam pergjegjes une per cdo gje. Kjo eshte paqartesia ne jeten time qe me shqetesoi shume dhe me beri te shkruaj librin "Te shpetosh peshq nga mbytja"
I saw examples of that. Once I identified this question, it was all over the place. I got these hints everywhere. And then, in a way, I knew that they had always been there. And then writing, that's what happens. I get these hints, these clues, and I realize that they've been obvious, and yet they have not been. And what I need, in effect, is a focus. And when I have the question, it is a focus. And all these things that seem to be flotsam and jetsam in life actually go through that question, and what happens is those particular things become relevant. And it seems like it's happening all the time. You think there's a sort of coincidence going on, a serendipity, in which you're getting all this help from the universe. And it may also be explained that now you have a focus. And you are noticing it more often.
Pashe shembuj te kesaj pasi kisa identifikuar pyetjen. Ishte anekend, kudo. Gjeja gjurme te saj kudo. Pastaj ne njefare menyre, e kuptova se kishin qene gjithnje te pranishme. Kjo ndodh edhe kur shkruaj. Gjej shenja, sinjale, dhe kuptoj se kane qene te dukshme dhe te padukshme njekohesisht. Ajo cka me nevojitet ne fakt eshte nje fokus. Dhe nese kam nje pyetje, ajo eshte fokusi im. Dhe cdo gje qe duket se qendron pezull a thjesht lekundet ne rrymen e shpejte te jetes filtrohet permes kesaj pyetje, dhe pikerisht keto gjera marrin kuptim. Duket sikur kjo ndodh gjithmone. Mund te ngjaje sikut ka nje lloj koincidence, nje rastesi me fat, ku ti po merr ndihme nga gjithe universi. Po ashtu mund te shpjegohet se tani ke nje fokus. Dhe po e ve re me shpesh.
But you apply this. You begin to look at things having to do with your tensions. Your brother, who's fallen in trouble, do you take care of him? Why or why not? It may be something that is perhaps more serious -- as I said, human rights in Burma. I was thinking that I shouldn't go because somebody said, if I did, it would show that I approved of the military regime there. And then, after a while, I had to ask myself, "Why do we take on knowledge, why do we take on assumptions that other people have given us?" And it was the same thing that I felt when I was growing up, and was hearing these rules of moral conduct from my father, who was a Baptist minister. So I decided that I would go to Burma for my own intentions, and still didn't know that if I went there, what the result of that would be, if I wrote a book -- and I just would have to face that later, when the time came.
Por e aplikon kete. Fillon te shohesh gjerat qe kane te bejne me tensionet e tua. Vellai, qe eshte zhytur ne telashe, a te intereson? Perse, apo perse jo? Mund te jete dicka me serioze --sic thashe, te drejtat e njeriut ne Burma, Po mendoja se s'duhej te shkoja sepse nese po, mund te interpretohej se une aprovoja regjimin militar atje. E me vone, mu desh te pyesja veten, Perse bazohemi tek njohuri, dhe marrim te mireqena mendime qe na i kane dhene te tjere? Kete ndjeja edhe kur isha e vogel, dhe degjoja rregulla morale te sjelljes nga im ate si klerik baptist qe ishte. Keshtu vendosa qe do te shkoja ne Burma per qellimet e mia pa e ditur cilat do te ishin rezultatet po te shkruaja nje liber atje --do perballesha me kete me vone, kur t'i vinte koha.
We are all concerned with things that we see in the world that we are aware of. We come to this point and say, what do I as an individual do? Not all of us can go to Africa, or work at hospitals, so what do we do, if we have this moral response, this feeling? Also, I think one of the biggest things we are all looking at, and we talked about today, is genocide. This leads to this question. When I look at all these things that are morally ambiguous and uncomfortable, and I consider what my intentions should be, I realize it goes back to this identity question that I had when I was a child -- and why am I here, and what is the meaning of my life, and what is my place in the universe?
Te tere angazhohemi me gjerat ne bote per te cilat jemi ne dijeni. Arrijme ne nje pike e themi: "C'me takon te bej mua si individ?" Jo te tere mund te shkojne ne Afrike apo te punojne ne spitale -e pra, cfare bejme kur kemi kete reagim moral, kete ndjenje? Gjithashtu, mendoj se nje nder gjerat me te rendesishme qe po shqyrtojme te gjithe per te cilen folem edhe sot, eshte gjenocidi. Keshtu dalim tek kjo pyetje Kur shoh gjithe keto gjera te paqarta moralisht, jashte zones se komfortit dhe konsideroj cilat duhet te jene qellimet e mia kuptoj se dalim perseri tek ajo pyetja e identitetit qe nga femijeria --perse jam ketu, c'kuptim ka jeta ime, cili eshte vendi im ne univers?
It seems so obvious, and yet it is not. We all hate moral ambiguity in some sense, and yet it is also absolutely necessary. In writing a story, it is the place where I begin. Sometimes I get help from the universe, it seems. My mother would say it was the ghost of my grandmother from the very first book, because it seemed I knew things I was not supposed to know. Instead of writing that the grandmother died accidentally, from an overdose of opium, while having too much of a good time, I actually put down in the story that the woman killed herself, and that actually was the way it happened. And my mother decided that that information must have come from my grandmother.
Pergjigja duket tejet e kapshme, por nuk eshte e tille. Ne njefare sensi, te tere e urrejme paqartesine morale e perseri eshte absolutisht e domosdoshme. Tek shkruaj nje rrefim, kjo eshte dhe pika nga e nis. Ndonjehere duket se marr ndihme nga universi. Mamaja do te thoshte se ishte shpirti i gjyshes qe nga libri im i pare sepse me sa duket dija gjera te cilat normalisht s'duhej ti dija. Ne vend te shkruaja se gjyshja vdiq aksidentalisht nga nje mbidoze opiumi duke bere me shume qef se c'duhet hodha ne rreshta se ajo grua vrau veten sic kishte ndodhur ne te vertete ne fakt. Mamaja ime vendosi se informacioni duhej te kishte ardhur nga gjyshja.
There are also things, quite uncanny, which bring me information that will help me in the writing of the book. In this case, I was writing a story that included some kind of detail, period of history, a certain location. And I needed to find something historically that would match that. And I took down this book, and I -- first page that I flipped it to was exactly the setting, and the time period, and the kind of character I needed -- was the Taiping rebellion, happening in the area near Guilin, outside of that, and a character who thought he was the son of God.
Ka dhe disa gjera, disi rrenqethese, qe me sjellin informacionin qe do te me duhet tek shkruaj librin. Ne kete rast po shkruaja nje rrefim qe perfshinte nje lloj detaji, periudhe ne histori, nje vend te caktuar. Dhe duhej te gjeja dicka qe te perkonte historikisht me te. Nxorra nje liber dhe ne faqen e pare qe u hap pas shfletimit, gjeta saktesisht vendin dhe kohen. Cka kerkoja ishte rebelimi Taiping qe ndodhi ne nje zone prane Kualinit, jashte tij dhe nje personazh qe mendonte se qe biri i Zotit.
You wonder, are these things random chance? Well, what is random? What is chance? What is luck? What are things that you get from the universe that you can't really explain? And that goes into the story, too. These are the things I constantly think about from day to day. Especially when good things happen, and, in particular, when bad things happen. But I do think there's a kind of serendipity, and I do want to know what those elements are, so I can thank them, and also try to find them in my life. Because, again, I think that when I am aware of them, more of them happen.
Lind pyetja, a jane keto gjera shans rastesor? Po c'eshte rastesia? C'eshte shansi? C'eshte fati i mire? C'jane gjerat qe gjen ne univers e qe s'mund ti shpjegosh sic duhet? Ndodh edhe tek rrefimi. Ka gjera te cilat i mendoj nga dita ne dite ne menyre konstante. Sidomos kur ndodhin gjera pozitive dhe vecanerisht kur ndodhin gjera negative. E megjithate besoj ne nje rastesi fatlume, dhe dua shume te di se cilat jane keto elemente qe te mund ti falenderoj, e po ashtu ti kerkoj ne jeten time. Sepse, perseri, mendoj se kur jam e ndergjegjshme per to, me shume prej tyre ndodhin.
Another chance encounter is when I went to a place -- I just was with some friends, and we drove randomly to a different place, and we ended up in this non-tourist location, a beautiful village, pristine. And we walked three valleys beyond, and the third valley, there was something quite mysterious and ominous, a discomfort I felt. And then I knew that had to be [the] setting of my book. And in writing one of the scenes, it happened in that third valley. For some reason I wrote about cairns -- stacks of rocks -- that a man was building. And I didn't know exactly why I had it, but it was so vivid. I got stuck, and a friend, when she asked if I would go for a walk with her dogs, that I said, sure. And about 45 minutes later, walking along the beach, I came across this. And it was a man, a Chinese man, and he was stacking these things, not with glue, not with anything. And I asked him, "How is it possible to do this?" And he said, "Well, I guess with everything in life, there's a place of balance." And this was exactly the meaning of my story at that point. I had so many examples -- I have so many instances like this, when I'm writing a story, and I cannot explain it. Is it because I had the filter that I have such a strong coincidence in writing about these things? Or is it a kind of serendipity that we cannot explain, like the cosmological constant?
Nje tjeter takim i rastesishem ndodhi kur shkova diku thjesht isha me shoqeri, dhe i dhame makines per te shkuar diku ndryshe, dhe perfunduam ne nje zone joturistike, fshat piktoresk, i pashkelur. Ecem tre fusha me tutje fusha e trete ishte dicka misterioze, tersndjellese, nuk ndjehesha rehat. Pastaj kuptova se do te kishte te bente me librin tim. Tek shkruaja nje nga skenat, ndodhi ne fushen e trete. S'e di perse kisha shkruar mbi nje lapidar guresh, qe po ndertonte nje burre. S'e di perse e kisha perfshire por ishte shume jeteplote. Kisha ngecur dhe kur nje shoqe me pyeti nese doja te dilaj per te shetitur qente e saj me te i thashe: "Sigurisht". Rreth 45 minuta me vone, duke ecur pergjate bregut ja sec pashe: Ishte nje burre, nje burr kinez, qe po grumbullonte ca gjera mbi njera-tjetren, pa ngjites, pa asgje. Prandaj e pyeta se si qe e mundur. Dhe ai mu pergjigj se besonte qe me cdo gje ne jete eziston nje vend ekuilibri. Ky qe pikerisht dhe kuptimi i rrefimit tim ne ate pike. Kisha kaq shume shembuj--kam shume ilustrime te ketij nocioni kur shkruaj nje rrefim dhe s'mund ta shpjegoj dot. Mbase meqe kisha filtrin me ndodhin koincidenca kaq te fuqishme kur shkruaj mbi keto gjera? Apo eshte nje lloj rastesie me fat e veshtire per tu shpjeguar nga ne, si konstantja kozmollogjike?
A big thing that I also think about is accidents. And as I said, my mother did not believe in randomness. What is the nature of accidents? And how are we going to assign what the responsibility and the causes are, outside of a court of law? I was able to see that in a firsthand way, when I went to beautiful Dong village, in Guizhou, the poorest province of China. And I saw this beautiful place. I knew I wanted to come back. And I had a chance to do that, when National Geographic asked me if I wanted to write anything about China. And I said yes, about this village of singing people, singing minority. And they agreed, and between the time I saw this place and the next time I went, there was a terrible accident. A man, an old man, fell asleep, and his quilt dropped in a pan of fire that kept him warm. 60 homes were destroyed, and 40 were damaged. Responsibility was assigned to the family. The man's sons were banished to live three kilometers away, in a cowshed. And, of course, as Westerners, we say, "Well, it was an accident. That's not fair. It's the son, not the father."
Dicka tjeter e rendesishme per te cilen mendoj jane aksidentet. Sic thashe, mamaja ime s'i besonte rastesise. Cila eshte natyra e aksidenteve? Dh si do te caktojme cilat jane pergjegesite dhe cilat shkaqet jashte mje gjykate ligji? Qeshe ne gjendje ta shihja kete ne menyre te drejteperdrejte, kur shkova ne fshatin e bukur Dong, ne Guizhu, provnca me e varfer e Kines. Dhe pashe kete vend te bukur. E dija se doja te kthehesha perseri. Pata shansin ta beja kur National Geographic e pyeti nese doja te shkruja ndonje gje per Kinen. Thashe se doja te shkruaja per ket fshatin Singing, minoritetin Singing. Rane dakort dhe midis heres se pare qe e pashe kete vend dhe heres se ardhshme kur shkova ndodhi nje aksident i tmerrshem. Nje burre i moshuar ra ne gjume dhe jorgani i tij reshkiti mbi rezistencen qe qe ngrohte. 60 shtepi u shkaterruan, 40 u demetuan Pergjegjesia iu la familjes. Djemte e te ndjerit u syrgjynosen 3 km larg, ne nje stalle lopesh. Sigurisht qe si Perendimore, do themi "Ishte aksident. Kjo eshte e padrejte. C'faj kane djemte?'
When I go on a story, I have to let go of those kinds of beliefs. It takes a while, but I have to let go of them and just go there, and be there. And so I was there on three occasions, different seasons. And I began to sense something different about the history, and what had happened before, and the nature of life in a very poor village, and what you find as your joys, and your rituals, your traditions, your links with other families. And I saw how this had a kind of justice, in its responsibility. I was able to find out also about the ceremony that they were using, a ceremony they hadn't used in about 29 years. And it was to send some men -- a Feng Shui master sent men down to the underworld on ghost horses. Now you, as Westerners, and I, as Westerners, would say well, that's superstition. But after being there for a while, and seeing the amazing things that happened, you begin to wonder whose beliefs are those that are in operation in the world, determining how things happen.
Kur punoj mbi nje rrefim, keto lloj konceptesh i le menjane. Duhet kohe, por me duhet t'i le menjane qe te shkoj atje e te qendroj atje. Ne fakt isha per tri raste, stine te ndryshme. Dhe nisa te ndjej dicka ndryshe rreth historise dhe asaj cka kishte ndodhur me pare, dhe natyren e jetes ne nje fshat fare te vobekte, dhe cfare sheh si gezime, rituale, tradita, e marredhenie me familje te tjera. Dhe pashe se si kishte nje fare drejtesie ne ate lloj pergjegjesie. Po ashtu mesova per ceremonine qe po benin, nje ceremoni qe s'e kishin bere ne rreth 29 vjet. Qe per te derguar disa burra- sepse nje mesues Feng Shui dergonte burra ne boten e pertejshme mbi kuaj-fantazme. Tani, ju si perendimore, dhe une si perendimore do thoshim: Supersticion! Por pasi qendrova atje ca kohe dhe pashe gjerat marramendese qe ndodhen fillova te pyes veten se besimet e kujt jane ate veprojne ne kete bote duke percaktuar se c'do te ndodhe.
So I remained with them, and the more I wrote that story, the more I got into those beliefs, and I think that's important for me -- to take on the beliefs, because that is where the story is real, and that is where I'm gonna find the answers to how I feel about certain questions that I have in life. Years go by, of course, and the writing, it doesn't happen instantly, as I'm trying to convey it to you here at TED. The book comes and it goes. When it arrives, it is no longer my book. It is in the hands of readers, and they interpret it differently. But I go back to this question of, how do I create something out of nothing? And how do I create my own life?
Keshtu qe ndenja me ta, dhe sa me shume shkruaja rrefimin aq me thelle futesha ne besimet e tyre i pervetesoja, sepse aty eshte dhe historia e vertete dhe aty do te gjej pergjigjet per pyetje te caktuara qe kam mbi jeten. Vitet shkojne, sigurisht, dhe te shkruarit, nuk ndodh ne nje cast sic po perpiqem t'jua percjell juve ketu ne TED. Libri vjen, dhe libri shkon. Kur arrin, nuk eshte me libri im. Eshte ne duart e lexuesve dhe ata e interpretojne ne menyra te ndryshme. Por perseri i kthehem kesaj pyetje: si krijoj dicka nga asgje? Dhe si e krijoj jeten time?
And I think it is by questioning, and saying to myself that there are no absolute truths. I believe in specifics, the specifics of story, and the past, the specifics of that past, and what is happening in the story at that point. I also believe that in thinking about things -- my thinking about luck, and fate, and coincidences and accidents, God's will, and the synchrony of mysterious forces -- I will come to some notion of what that is, how we create. I have to think of my role. Where I am in the universe, and did somebody intend for me to be that way, or is it just something I came up with? And I also can find that by imagining fully, and becoming what is imagined -- and yet is in that real world, the fictional world. And that is how I find particles of truth, not the absolute truth, or the whole truth. And they have to be in all possibilities, including those I never considered before.
Mendoj se e bej duke vene pikeyetje dhe duke i thene vetes se nuk ka te verteta absolute. Une besoj tek specifikja, detajet specifike te nje rrefimi dhe tek e shkuara, tek detajet specifike te saj dhe se c' po ndodh ne rrefim ne ate pike Gjithashtu besoj, se tek mendoj per disa gjera mendimet e mia mbi fatin e mire, te keq, koincidencat dhe aksidentet, vullnetn e Zotit, sinkronine e forcave misterioze, do te arrij te konceptoj ne nje fare menyre se si krijojme. Duhet te mendoj per rolin tim. Ku jam une ne univers dhe a qe qellimi i dikujt qe un te jem aty ku jam, apo isha une krijuesja e vetes sime? Mund ta gjej edhe duke imagjinuar plotesisht, dhe duke u bere ajo qe imagjinohet e qe perseri ekziston ne ate bote te vertete, boten fiktive. Keshtu gjej une pjeseza te se vertetes, jo te verteten absolute apo gjithe te verteten. Dhe duhet te gjenden ne te gjitha mundesite perfshire ato qe s'i kisha konsideruar kurre me pare.
So, there are never complete answers. Or rather, if there is an answer, it is to remind myself that there is uncertainty in everything, and that is good, because then I will discover something new. And if there is a partial answer, a more complete answer from me, it is to simply imagine. And to imagine is to put myself in that story, until there was only -- there is a transparency between me and the story that I am creating.
Pra nuk ka kurre pergjigje komplete. Ose, nese ka nje pergjigje, eshte qe ta kujtoj veten se ka pasiguri ne cdo gje, dhe kjo eshte pozitive. Sepse pastaj do te zbuloj dicka te re. Dhe kur ka nje pergjigje te pjeshme, nje pergjigje e plote prej meje eshte thjesht te imagjinoj. Dhe te imagjinoj eshte ta ve veten ne ate rrefim deri sa te kete transparence midis meje dhe rrefimit qe po krijoj.
And that's how I've discovered that if I feel what is in the story -- in one story -- then I come the closest, I think, to knowing what compassion is, to feeling that compassion. Because for everything, in that question of how things happen, it has to do with the feeling. I have to become the story in order to understand a lot of that. We've come to the end of the talk, and I will reveal what is in the bag, and it is the muse, and it is the things that transform in our lives, that are wonderful and stay with us. There she is. Thank you very much! (Applause)
Keshtu kam zbuluar se nese e ndjej cfare ka ne rrefim -ne nje rrefim- atehere vij me prane se kurre diturise se c'eshte dashamiresia, apo vete ndjenjes se asaj dashamiresie. Sepse cdo gje, ne ate pyetjen se si ndodhin gjerat, ka te beje me ndjenjen. Une duhet te behem rrefimi qe te kuptoj shume prej tij. Erdhem ne fund te diskutimit dhe do te zbuloj se c'ka ne cante, eshte muza, dhe jane gjerat qe transformojne ne jeten tone, qe jane te mrekulli-plota dhe qendrojne me ne. Ja ku eshte. Shume, shume faleminderit! (Duartrokitje)