...someone sent me this:
the letter "Waw", which in Arabic means "and." The Sufis call it the letter of Love, because without it, nothing can come together. We say "the sea and the sky," "Man andWoman." The "Waw" is the meeting place, thus it is the place of Love. It is also the letter of the traveler, because it gathers together things and beings.
&
There is too much sun here, by far; isn't one ray enough to get the picture?
The sun is naked
in autumn, nothing except a thread of cloud around her waist
This is how love arrives.
---Adonis.
There is too much light in this place so that you shield yourself from it with notebooks held at an angle; every corner of shade you seek out, a veritable oasis in a square inch, Mr. Blake, the world in miniature.
Yesterday you saw a man, face blackened with coal dust, his clothes worn thin with age and sweat, lifting a large wooden and crude wheelbarrow, as if it had been made for someone eight feet tall. Years of working with bare hands under the sun, in open fields or amidst the noise of the city. All that stuff about the dignity of labour is very appealing when you sip a cool mint and apple drink. You thought of Van Gogh's potato eaters.
The man carried grey slabs of the road, as if he was stitching it back together, or assembling a jigsaw puzzle. When the job was done dust was poured over the fixed bits, to give it a deathly powdered look.
For those who work day by day what gathering can there be?
~~~
You saw a man in a navy blue security uniform, stuck in the middle of the road. Probably finishing a night shift, or starting the morning one. But there he was, bewildered, frozen to the spot, his dark radiant head full of mystery, his thick glasses awash with images, his hands steadily holding his old basic bicycle in the midst of the traffic that passed him by on all sides. The huge frustration of the drivers meaningless to him, for nothing could catch his attention now...What had this man seen, what did he know?
the letter "Waw", which in Arabic means "and." The Sufis call it the letter of Love, because without it, nothing can come together. We say "the sea and the sky," "Man andWoman." The "Waw" is the meeting place, thus it is the place of Love. It is also the letter of the traveler, because it gathers together things and beings.
&
There is too much sun here, by far; isn't one ray enough to get the picture?
The sun is naked
in autumn, nothing except a thread of cloud around her waist
This is how love arrives.
---Adonis.
There is too much light in this place so that you shield yourself from it with notebooks held at an angle; every corner of shade you seek out, a veritable oasis in a square inch, Mr. Blake, the world in miniature.
Yesterday you saw a man, face blackened with coal dust, his clothes worn thin with age and sweat, lifting a large wooden and crude wheelbarrow, as if it had been made for someone eight feet tall. Years of working with bare hands under the sun, in open fields or amidst the noise of the city. All that stuff about the dignity of labour is very appealing when you sip a cool mint and apple drink. You thought of Van Gogh's potato eaters.
The man carried grey slabs of the road, as if he was stitching it back together, or assembling a jigsaw puzzle. When the job was done dust was poured over the fixed bits, to give it a deathly powdered look.
For those who work day by day what gathering can there be?
~~~
You saw a man in a navy blue security uniform, stuck in the middle of the road. Probably finishing a night shift, or starting the morning one. But there he was, bewildered, frozen to the spot, his dark radiant head full of mystery, his thick glasses awash with images, his hands steadily holding his old basic bicycle in the midst of the traffic that passed him by on all sides. The huge frustration of the drivers meaningless to him, for nothing could catch his attention now...What had this man seen, what did he know?
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