Love Letters of Great Men, Vol. 1

So I was watching SATC and absolutely loved some of the phrases read out by Carrie...Love Letters of Great Men, Vol. 1. Copied below for absolute reading pleasure, or use in general life.

Napolean to Josephine

I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart! Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried? ... My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for your lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! it was last night that I fully realized how false an image of you your portrait gives!You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in three hours. Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire.

Ludwig Van Beethovan

Even in bed my ideas yearn towards you, my Immortal Beloved, here and there joyfully, then again sadly, awaiting from Fate, whether it will listen to us. I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all. Yes, I have determined to wander about for so long far away, until I can fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, can send my soul enveloped by yours into the realm of spirits – yes, I regret, it must be. You will get over it all the more as you know my faithfulness to you; never another one can own my heart, never – never! O God, why must one go away from what one loves so, and yet my life in W. as it is now is a miserable life. Your love made me the happiest and unhappiest at the same time. At my actual age I should need some continuity, sameness of life – can that exist under our circumstances? Angel, I just hear that the post goes out every day – and must close therefore, so that you get the L. at once. Be calm – love me – to-day – yesterday.

What longing in tears for you – You – my Life – my All – farewell. Oh, go on loving me – never doubt the faithfullest heart of your beloved.
L
Ever thine.
Ever mine.
Ever ours.

Lord Byron to Lady Caroline Lamb

‘Byronic’ has become shorthand for a particular type of romantic hero – pale, dark-haired, hollowcheeked, cruel, reckless, irresistible to many women and therefore a source of deep irritation to the better behaved and more reliable sort of man so often and so inexplicably overlooked. Byron’s behaviour, and his poetry, scandalized large parts of Europe to the extent that in 1924, a hundred years after his death, a petition for a memorial to him in Westminster Abbey was refused by the dean, whose opinion it was that ‘Byron, partly by his openly dissolute life and partly by the influence of his licentious verse, earned a world-wide reputation for immorality among English-speaking people’.Of the many entanglements of Byron’s life, one of the most notorious was with the married Lady Caroline Lamb; in July 1813, it was rumoured that following a quarrel with him at a party, she tried to stab herself first with a knife, then with a broken glass. Eventually, she withdrew to Ireland, and the letter that follows was written to her there.

My dearest Caroline,
If the tears, which you saw, and I know I am not apt to shed; if the agitation in which I parted from you – agitation which you must have perceived through the whole of this nervous affair, did not commence till the moment of leaving you approached; if all I have said and done, and am still but too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved what my feelings are, and must ever be, towards you, my love, I have no other proof to offer. God knows I never knew till this moment the madness of my dear dearest and most beloved friend. I cannot express myself, this is no time for words – but I shall have a pride, a melancholy pleasure, in suffering what you yourself can scarcely conceive, for you do not know me.
I am about to go out with a heavy heart, for my appearing this evening will stop any absurd story to which the events of the day might give rise. Do you think now I am cold and stern and wilful? Will ever others think so? Will your mother ever? The mother to whom we must indeed sacrifice much more, much more on my part than she shall ever know, or can imagine.‘Promise not to love you’? Ah, Caroline, it is past promising! But I shall attribute all concessions to the proper motive, and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed, and more than ever can be known, but to my own heart – perhaps, to yours. May God forgive, protect and bless you ever and ever, more than ever. –Your most attached.
Byron
P.S. –These taunts have driven you to this, my dearest Caroline, and were it not for your mother, and the kindness of your connexions, is there anything in heaven or earth that would have made me so happy as to have made you mine long ago? And not less now than then, but more than ever at this time God knows I wish you happy, and when I quit you, or rather you, from a sense of duty to your husband and mother, quit me, you shall acknowledge the truth of what I again promise and vow, that no other, in word nor deed, shall ever hold the place in my affections which is and shall be sacred to you till I am nothing. You know I would with pleasure give up all here or beyond the grave for you, and in refraining from this must my motives be misunderstood? I care not who knows this, what use is made of it – it is to you and to you only, yourself. I was, and am yours, freely and entirely, to obey, to honour, love and fly with you, when, where, and how, yourself might and may determine.

Adopting Babies and puppies

I have changed my mind...I always thought I wanted to get pregnant and go through the cycle of giving birth...but I know I cannot. So I am serious about adopting children.

I was just looking at some celebrities who have adopted and I found some encouraging ones -
"My life is definitely richer," says Sheryl Crow of having adopted son Wyatt "and he's the first thing I think of in the morning, and the first thing I think of before I go to sleep."
What makes the Aussie actor Hugh Jackman happiest is "being with my family, definitely, without a doubt..".Family for Jackman is wife of 15 years Deborra-Lee Furness and their two adopted children Oscar, 9, and Ava, 4. The hands-on dad says adopting is "phenomenal, and there are so many kids in need. It's the greatest thing that's ever happened to us."
"Wanting a big family is one of things that brought us together," says Angelina Jolie, whose adopted children hail from Cambodia, Vietnam and Ethiopia. Adds partner Pitt, "Always said if I were to do it, I'd do it big."
"I never felt like I was on a rescue mission or anything like that," Meg Ryan says. "I was on a mission to connect with somebody."
"Motherhood was not an urge I couldn't resist," Diane Keaton has said, "it was more like a thought I'd been thinking for a very long time." In 1996 at age 50, the actress adopted daughter Dexter, and son, Duke. The famously press-shy star says, "I do feel now that the love of my children is all-encompassing."
Through all her ups and downs, Kristy Alley's counted on two very important people: son William True, 17, and daughter Lillie Price, 15, "They are very protective of me."
In 1968, when Barbara Walters brought home a 4-day-old baby girl, she told no one. "I didn't really want people to know because there was a whole question of the biological mother," Walters told Larry King in 2001. "When you have an adopted child, people can't understand that it's yours. ... I've said [she's] born in my heart. Maybe not in my uterus, but in my heart," Walters said. "And so, I can't think of not having Jackie."
When... saw then 7-year-old Nathen at an L.A. adoption fair in 2008, he knew he'd found his son. "He has a spark. He was balancing himself on a curb, and I was like, 'That's my kid,'" "Most people want infants, but I fell in love with Nathen."


As I was browsing, I came across this site where apparantly Sandra Bullock has two handicapped dogs - one three legged one and another two legged one.

"Where I go, they go.Who's going to walk a two-legged dog?"
"If it has four legs and is perfectly okay, it's got to have some emotional problems!"
- I have learnt this about people, the most seemingly-perfect people have some serious problems somewhere or the other.
By virtue of not having her front legs, Ruby enjoys being carried. "She was born with, like, a little flipper here, and a little flipper here. She's like a little dinosaur, a velociraptor."

It's a wonderful thing, as time goes by, to be with someone who looks into your face, when you've gotten old, and still sees what you think you look like.

How to tick people off...HAHA

HOW TO TICK PEOPLE OFF

1. Leave the copy machine set to reduce 200%, extra dark, 17 inch paper, 99 copies.
2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sexual favors."
3. Specify that your drive-through order is "TO-GO."
4. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others.
5. Stomp on little plastic ketchup packets.
6. Insist on keeping your car windshield wipers running in all weather conditions "to keep them tuned up."
7. Reply to everything someone says with "that's what you think."
8. Practice making fax and modem noises.
9. Highlight irrelevant information in scientific papers and "cc" them to your boss.
10. Make beeping noises when a large person backs up.
11. Finish all your sentences with the words "in accordance with prophesy."
12. Signal that a conversation is over by clamping your hands over your ears and grimacing.
13. Disassemble your pen and "accidentally" flip the ink cartridge across the room.
14. Holler random numbers while someone is counting.
15. Adjust the tint on your TV so that all the people are green, and insist to others that you "like it that way."
16. Staple pages in the middle of the page.
17. Publicly investigate just how slowly you can make a croaking noise.
18. Honk and wave to strangers.
19. Decline to be seated at a restaurant, and simply eat their complimentary mints at the cash register.
20. TYPE IN UPPERCASE.
21. type only in lowercase.
22. dont use any punctuation either
23. Buy a large quantity of orange traffic cones and reroute whole streets.
24. Repeat the following conversation a dozen times.
    "DO YOU HEAR THAT?"
    "What?"
    "Never mind, it's gone now."
25. As much as possible, skip rather than walk.
26. Try playing the William Tell Overture by tapping on the bottom of your chin. When nearly done, announce "No, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.
27. Ask people what gender they are.
28. While making presentations, occasionally bob your head like a parakeet.
29. Sit in your front yard pointing a hair dryer at passing cars to see if they slow down.
30. Sing along at the opera.
31. Go to a poetry recital and ask why each poem doesn't rhyme.
32. Ask your co-workers mysterious questions and then scribble their answers in a notebook. Mutter something about "psychological profiles."

Loosing a friend over love

From the movie Chasing Amy, one of the most endearing confessions of love -

I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. I love you. Very, very simple, very truly. You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't, I can't look into your eyes without feeling that, that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship but I had to say it, because I've never felt this way before, and I don't care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn't allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And, you know, I'll accept that. But I know... I know that some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. All I ask, please, is that you just, you just not dismiss that - and try to dwell in it for just ten seconds. Alyssa, there isn't another soul on this fucking planet who has ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it is there between you and me. You can't deny that. Even if, you know, even if we never talk again after tonight, please know that I'm forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me

Rules of life from the Bees

Life's lessons are the same everywhere - with people, with nature...with the bees. And since there is one law - you can learn life's most profound lessons from some of nature's creations.

I guess I realized this just now...but I sensed it when I watched The Secret Life Of Bees. In one part where August Boatwright is explaining to Lily the Bee Yard etiquette, she says -

See, the world is just one big bee yard...same rules work in both places. Don't be afraid, cause no life-loving bee wants to sting you. But, don't be an idiot, thats why we wear long sleeves and long pants. And don't swat. Don't even think about swatting. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

And May Boatwright talks about people who feel and people who don't feel. She says -

The worker bee weighs less than the flower petal...but she can fly with a load heavier than her. But she only lives four or five weeks. Sometimes not feeling is the only way you can survive.

The most interesting character was May Boatwright. She feels too much. But was most profound sometimes. Whenever she saw a cockroach, she'd make a trail of marshmallows and bread crumbs leading outside...which is the coolest way to get a roach out of the house!!

Annie Oakley

I was reading this blog called Isle Dance, when a small quote along the side caught my attention.

She was bold, and yet she was reserved. She was sensual and girlish, but she was
never coy ... she projected ... a vitality and freshness ... demureness, that
suggested ... she was in charge of herself and not to be had.

This was about Annie Oakley written by Paul Fees. Annie Oakley was an unusual feminist who was known for her shooting skills. I copy the whole thing -

Annie Oakley managed to combine both demureness and voluptuousness in her costume... She never showed any skin. Her ankles were never bare. But her costumes were form- fitting. She wore leggings under short skirts so people could see the shape of her legs as she ran out into the arena. She was, in that sense. appealing to the best instints in the men her audience - men who were attracted to her sexuality while still not having to feel guilty about being attracted, because at the same time she was ladylike and she was demure.

Hitchhikers Guide

I remember once looking through BBC's list of the 100 Greatest Books of All time and Douglas Adam's Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy topped the list. I remember thinking it must be some boring science fiction that people had loved because it was all quirky.

So when a friend passed it on to me, I decided to give it a try. And I can honestly say that it's topped my list. I just copied off the few lines I had remembered to note down...buy the book. It's full of -

This was the gist of the notice. It said “The Guide is definitive. Reality is frequently inaccurate.”
This has led to some interesting consequences. For instance, when the Editors of the Guide were sued by the families of those who had died as a result of taking the entry on the planet Traal literally (it said “Ravenous Bugblatter Beasts often make a very good meal for visiting tourists” instead of “Ravenous Bugblatter often make a very good meal of visiting tourists”), they claimed that the first version of the sentence was the more aesthetically pleasing, summoned a qualified poet to testify under oath that beauty was truth, truth beauty and hoped thereby to prove that the guilty party in this case was Life itself for failing to be either beautiful or true. The judges concurred, and in a moving speech held that Life itself was in contempt of court, and duly confiscated it from all those there present before going off to enjoy a pleasant evening’s ultragolf.

*****

And suddenly he saw it.
“You see it?”
He saw it.
His mouth started to speak, but his brain decided it hadn’t got anything to say yet and shut it again. His brain then started to contend with the problem of what his eyes told it they were looking at, but in doing so relinquished control of the mouth, which promptly fell open again. Once more gathering up the jaw, his brain lost control of his left hand which then wandered around in an aimless fashion For a second or so the brain tried to catch the left hand without letting go of the mouth and simultaneously tried to think about what was buried in the ice, which is probably why the legs went and Arthur dropped restfully to the ground.

*****

Then he had thought about what his position actually was and the renewed shock had nearly made him spill his drink. He drained it quickly before anything serious happened to it. He then had another quick one to follow the first one down and check that it was alright.

"I can’t cope with freedom,” he said darkly, and sent a third drink down to see why the second hadn’t yet reported on the condition of the first. He poured a drink down his other throat with the plan that it would head the previous one off at the pass, join forces with it, and together they would get the second to pull itself together. Then all three would go off in search of the first, five it a good talking to.

He felt uncertain as to whether the fourth drink had understood all that so he sent down a fifth to explain the plan more fully and a sixth for moral support. They drifted up, spiralling slowly around each other, like sycamore seeds falling from sycamore trees in the autumn, except going the other way.

*****

And as they drifted up, their minds sang with the ecstatic knowledge that either what they were doing was completely and utterly and totally impossible or that physics had a lot of catching up to do. Physics shook its head and, looking the other way, concentrated on keeping the cars going along the Euston Road and out toward the Westway flyover, on keeping the street lights lit and on making sure that when somebody in Baker Street dropped a cheeseburger it went splat upon the ground.

*****

Beautiful flowers

I have reached a point in my life where I believe I have nothing...nothing that would allow anyone to love me. NOTHING. And I cannot really live all my life..always enduring, always being pushed to the brink of sadness. I don't want a miserable life. I need happiness...really really badly. More badly than I want fame, wealth or anything. Is that too much to ask for everything life has hammered me with?

At such times, I have no consolation. Who knows the future? Maybe life is meant to be difficult and sad for some people. I don't know. I don't want my life if it is going to be just misery and sadness. I found this quote in Mulan and pray that someday I will find happiness.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.

My, what beautiful blossoms we have this year. But look, this one's late. But I'll
bet that when it blooms, it will be the most beautiful of all.

War cry

You know how before an army goes out into battle, the king/prince/leader gives a speech to inspire the crowd...and I am all for inspirational speeches. And since I have not lived from time immemorial, I have had to rely on he movies. Here are a list of my favorite -

**Achilles, Troy***

Myrmidons! My brothers of the sword! I would rather fight beside you than any army of thousands! Let no man forget how menacing we are! We are lions! Do you know what's there, waiting beyond that beach? Immortality! Take it! It's yours!

***Odysses, Troy**

If they ever tell my story, let them say that I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. Let them say I lived in the time of Hector, tamer of horses. Let them say I lived in the time of Achilles.

**Aragorn, Lord of the Rings***

Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of Men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!

Elie Wiesel

I have never appreciated an author for his honesty. Elie Wiesel accuratly describes something so painfully unflattering...and it has probably made me aware of mistakes I never want to make. In NIGHT, he describes his father's death.

“Listen to me, kid. Don’t forget that you are in a concentration camp. In this place, it is every man for himself, and you cannot think of others. Not even your father. In this place, there is no such thing as father, brother, friend. Each of us lives and dies alone. Let me give you good advice: stop giving your ration of bread and soup to your old father. You cannot help him anymore. And you are hurting yourself. In fact, you should be getting his rations…”

I listened to him without interrupting. He was right, I thought deep down, not daring to admit it myself. Too late to save your old father…You could have two rations of bread, two rations of soup…

It was only a fraction of a second, but it left me feeling guilty. I ran to get some soup and brought it to my father. But he did not want it. All he wanted was water.

“Don’t drink water, eat the soup…”

“I’m burning up…Why are you so mean to me, my son?...Water…”

I brought him water. Then I left the block for roll call. But I quickly turned back. I lay down on the upper bunk. The sick were allowed to stay in the block. So I would be sick. I didn’t want to leave my father.

All around me, there was silence now, broken only by moaning. In front of the block, the SS were giving orders. An officer passed between the bunks. My father was pleading:
“My son, water…I’m burning up…My insides…”

“Silence over there!” barked the officer.

“Eliezer,” continued my father, “water…”

The officer came closer and shouted to him to be silent. But my father did not hear. He continued to call me. The officer wielded his club and dealt him a violent blow to the head.

I didn’t move. I was afraid, my body was afraid of another blow, this time to my head.
My father groaned once more, I heard:“Eliezer…”

I could see that he was still breathing – in gasps. I didn’t move.

When I came down from my bunk after roll call, I could see his lips trembling; he was murmuring something. I remained more than an hour leaning over him, looking at him, etching his bloody, broken face into my mind.

Then I had to go sleep. I climbed into my bunk, above my father, who was still alive. The date was January 28, 1945.

-----------

I woke up at dawn on January 29. On my father’s cot there lay another sick person. They must have taken him away before daybreak and taken him to the crematorium. Perhaps he was still breathing…

No prayers were said over his tomb. No candle lit in his memory. His last word had been my name. He had called out to me and I had not answered.

I did not weep, and it pained me that I could not weep. But I was out of tears. And deep inside me, if I could have searched the recesses of my feeble conscience. I might have found something like: Free at last!....

His next book, DAWN was a fictional account of a Jewish terrorist who was to kill an English major. It describes his ordeal and his transformation from man to murderer. The one thing that made sense to me was this - it is easier to be killed than to kill, because the one who kills will have to bear the name of 'murderer'. It was intense but as a novel I liked only one part -

You mustn’t be afraid of the dark. Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking and loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning. The tragedy of man is that he doesn’t know how to distinguish between day and night. He says things at night that should only be said by day.

Remember Shakespeare in Love

One of my favorite movies. And one of the saddest endings I have ever heard of. But it ends with the most beautiful lines - lines full of hope and eternity.

My story starts at sea... a perilous voyage to an unknown land... a shipwreck... the wild waters roar and heave... the brave vessel is dashed all to pieces, and all the helpless souls within her drowned... all save one... a lady... whose soul is greater than the ocean... and her spirit stronger than the sea's embrace... not for her a watery end, but a new life beginning on a stranger shore. It will be a love story... for she will be my heroine for all time. And her name... Viola.

*****

Mad About You

This is exactly what I want to be able to say 40 years from now - hopefully married to someone I love.

"...Oh my god, don't ever die. I have so much more to tell you, and I'm not interested in telling it to anyone else. And I'm not saying I'd be helpless. I mean, I'm bright and fairly good with money. I mean, I guess I'm cute, right? You would say, 'What, are you kidding me? You, my little friend, are a perfect example of beautiful.' And so I am. ' Cause I am nothing more or less than what I see in your eyes when you look at me. Do you know how long I waited for you? My mother used to say I was too picky, or afraid of commitment, and that's why I was still unmarried by the age of almost 30. But the truth is, I was just looking for you. Do you know how close I came to being a narrow, cold, mistrustful woman? But you have given me a life so big and full and good... and fun! I don't even know what we do, really, besides clean up and complain and wish we were sleeping, but with you, somehow... fun. And I'll tell you a secret. When we got married, I couldn't imagine still wanting to be with anyone all this time later. But I do. It's a miracle to me. You are a miracle. You've made me happy. Which is something I never, ever thought I'd be. "

*****

Visthar in the wasteland

We all went for a picnic to this place called Visthar. It was a beautiful place and my favorite part was the conference hall - straw rool and cool marble flooring. We sat on the floor, bright sunshine outside..serene was the word. And while we talked, we were given introductions to the place. And to read such poems in such an environment is calming. I copy -

For that which is boundless in you
Abides in the mansion of the sky;
Whose door is the morning mist,
And whose windows are the songs
And the silence of the night
Kahlil Gibran

We must sleep with open eyes
we must dream with our hands
we must dream the dreams of a river seeking its course,
of the sun dreaming its worlds...
We must dream backward, towards the source...
we must find the lost word dream inwardly and also outwardly
Octavio Paz

To love.
To be loved.
To never forget your own significance.
To never get used to the unspeakable violence and
the vulgar disparity of life around you.
To seek joy in the saddest places.
To pursue beauty to its lair.
To never simplify what is complicated
or complicate what is simple.
To respect strength, never power.
Above all, to watch.
To try and understand.
To never look away.
And never, never to forget.
Arundhati Roy

Atonement

I have been waxing eloquent about this movie for days now. I saw it first about a month back and it has left a huge mark on me. It's one of those stories that are honest and show you the worst about yourself so you can change.

*****

I never made that journey to Balham. So the scene in which I confess to them is invented, imagined. And, in fact, could never have happened... .because Robbie Turner died of septicaemia at Bray Dunes on the first of June 1940, the last day of the evacuation...and I was never able to put things right with my sister Cecilia....because she was killed on the 15th of October, 1940 by the bomb that destroyed the gas and water mains above Balham tube station. So, my sister and Robbie were never able to have the time together they both so longed for... and deserved. Which ever since I've... ever since I've always felt I prevented. But what sense of hope or satisfaction could a reader derive from an ending like that? So in the book, I wanted to give Robbie and Cecilia what they lost out on in life. I'd like to think this isn't weakness or... evasion... but a final act of kindness. I gave them their happiness.

*****

Just do as I have asked of you. Write it all down. Just the truth. No rhymes, no embellishments, no adjectives. And then leave us be.

*****

Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man who once crossed the Surrey park at dusk, in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.

*****

DO NOT QUIT

Inspirational. It used to be displayed in my school...somewhere near the toilets. I remember reading it and thinking I had never heard anything that was so inspiring in so few words. I saw this again after 5 years...and I copy -

DON'T QUIT
When things go wrong as they sometimes will.
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest! if you must; but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up, though the pace seems slow;
You might succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out;
The silver tints of the clouds of doubt;
And you can never tell how close you are.
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit;
It's when things seem worst that you mus'nt quit.

Witch of Portobello 2

*****

My way of approaching Allah has been through calligraphy, and the search for the perfect meaning of each word. A single letter requires us to distill in it all the energy it contains, as if we were carving out its meaning. When sacred texts are written, they contain the soul of the man who served as an instrument to spread them throughout the world. And that doesn’t apply only to sacred texts, but to every mark we place on paper. Because the hand that draws each line reflects the soul of the person making that line.

*****

What is a teacher? It isn't someone who teaches something, but someone who inspires the student to give of her best to discover what she already knows.

*****

I can combine two things: movement and stillness, joy and concentration.

It is done with great technique but with soul as well. For that to happen, the intention of the write must in be in harmony with the word. In this case, the saddest verses cease to be clothes in tragedy and are transformed into simple facts encountered along the way.

*****

You have learnt what you need to learn. Your calligraphy is getting more and more individual and spontaneous. It’s no longer a mere repetition of beauty, but a personal, creative gesture. You have understood what all great painters understand: in order to forget the rules, you must know them and respect them.

You no longer need the tools that helped you learn. You no longer need paper, ink or brush, because the path is more important that whatever made you set off along it.

If words are joined together, they wouldn’t make sense, or, at the very least, they’d be extremely hard to decipher. The spaces are crucial. You have to understand the blank spaces.

*****

Ten minutes after the music had started, she stood up. What I saw next – or, rather, what everyone in the restaurant saw – was a goddess revealing herself in all her glory, a priestess invoking angels and demons.

Her eyes were closed and she seemed no longer to be conscious of who she was or where she was or why she was there; it was as if she were floating and simultaneously summoning up her past, revealing her presenting and predicting her future. She mingled her eroticism with chastity, pornography with revelation, worship of God and nature, all at the same time.

People stopped eating and started watching what was happening. She was no longer following the music, the musicians were trying to keep up with her steps, and that restaurant in the basement of an old building in the city of Sibiu was transformed into an Egyptian temple, where the worshippers of Isis used to gather for their fertility rites. The smell of roast meat and wine was transmuted into an incense that drew us all into the same trance-like state into the same experience of leaving the world and entering an unknown dimension.

The string and wind instruments had given up, only the percussion played on. Athena was dancing as if she were no longer there, with sweat running down her face, her bare feet beating on the wooden floor. A woman got up and very gently tied a scarf around her neck and breasts, because her blouse kept threatening to slip off her shoulders. Athena, however, appeared not to notice; she was inhabiting other spheres, experiencing the frontiers of worlds that almost touch ours, but never reveal themselves.

The other people in the restaurant started clapping in time to the music, and Athena was dancing every faster, feeding on that energy, and spinning round and round, balancing in the void, snatching up everything that we, poor mortals, wanted to offer to the supreme divinity.

*****

We don’t posses the Earth, the Earth possesses us. We used to travel constantly, and everything around us was ours: the plants, the water, the landscapes through which our caravans passed. Our laws were nature’s laws: the strong survived, and we, the weak, the eternal exiles, learned to hide our strength and to use it only when necessary. We don’t believe that God made the universe. We believe tht God is the universe and that we are contained in Him, and He in us. Although in my opinion we should call “Him” “Goddess” or “mother” - like the woman in all of us, who protects us when we are in danger. She will always be with us while we perform our daily tasks with love and job, understanding that nothing is suffering, that everything is a way of praising Creation.

Our ritual – we sit around a fire that has just been lit; we play instruments, we sing, we dance, we tell stories.

Worshipping someone means placing that person outside our world. We are not worshipping anyone or anything; we are simply communing with creation.

The only thing that unites gypsies in religious terms is the worship of St. Sarah and making a pilgrimage, at least once in our lifetime to visit her tomb in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Some tribes call her Kali Sarah, Black Sarah. Or the Virgin of the Gypsies, as she’s known in Lourdes.

*****

The Witch of Portobello

Paulo Coelho as always was so profound - not in a truthful kind of way, but more in a mystic kind of way. I believe he propagates 'developing into more of oneself'. Becoming more of yourself. After this book, I see nature differently...and a small thing like calligraphy - how beautifully it has been described.

*****

We women, when we‘re searching for a meaning to our lives or for the path of knowledge, always identify with one or four classic archetypes.

The Virgin (and I’m not speaking here of a sexual virgin) is the one whose search springs from her complete independence, and everything she learns is the fruit of her ability to face challenges alone.

The Martyr finds her way to self-knowledge through pain, surrender and suffering.

The Saint finds her true reason for living in unconditional love and in her ability to give without asking anything in return.

Finally, the Witch justifies her existence by going in search of complete and limitless pleasure.

Normally, a woman has to choose from one of these traditional feminine archetypes, but Athena was all four at once.

*****

What did Athena do? She did a little of everything, but, if I had to summarize her life, I’d say: she was a priestess who understood the forces of nature. Or, rather, she was someone who, by the simple facts of having little to lose or to hope for in life, took greater risks than other people and ended up being transformed into the forces she thought she has mastered.

She was a supermarket checkout girl, a bank employee, a property dealer, and in each of these positions she always revealed the priestess within. I lived with her for eight years, and I owed her this: to recover her memory, her identity.

The most difficult in collecting together these statements was persuading people to let me use their real names. Some said they didn’t was to be involved in this kind of story; other tried to conceal their opinions and feelings. I explained that my real intention was to help all those involved to understand her better, and that no reader would believe in anonymous statements.

They finally agreed because they all believed that they knew the unique and definitive version of any event, however significant. During the recordings, I saw that things are never absolute; they depend on each individual’s perceptions. And the best way to know who we are is often to find out how others see us.

This doesn’t mean that we should do what other expect us to do, but it helps us to understand ourselves better. I owed it to Athena to recover her story, to write her myth.

*****

But the fact is that, to a greater or lesser extent, all creative human beings have such experiences, which are known as ‘possession by the sacred’. Suddenly, for a fraction of a second, we feel as if our whole life is justified, our sins forgiven, and that love is still the strongest force, one that can transform us forever.

But, at the same time, we feel afraid. Surrendering completely to love, be it human or divine, means giving up everything, including our own well-being or our ability to make decisions. It means loving in the deepest sense of the word.

..Love arrives, moves in and starts directing everything. Only very strong souls allow themselves to be swept along, and Athena was a strong soul.

*****

As I later learned, music is as old as human beings. Music isn’t just something that comforts or distracts us, it goes beyond that – it’s an ideology. You can judge people by the kind of music they listen to.

As I watched Athena dance during her pregnancy and listened to her play the guitar to calm the baby and make him feel loved, I began to allow her way of seeing the world to affect my life too.

*****

A saint is someone who lives his or her life with dignity. All we have to do is understand that we’re all here for a reason and to commit ourselves to that. Then we can laugh at our sufferings, large and small, and walk fearlessly, aware that each step has meaning. We can let ourselves be guided by the light emanating from the Vertex.

Vertex is the top most angle of a triangle. In life too, it’s the culminating point, the goal of all those who, like everyone else, make mistakes, but who, even in their darkest moments, never loose sight of the light emanating from their hearts. The vertex is hidden inside us, and we can reach it if we accept it and recognize the light.

*****

There was a sect who believed that they found the remedy for all ills through a particular form of dance, because the dance brought the dancer into contact with the light from the Vertex.

“Dance to the point of exhaustion, as if you were a mountaineer climbing a hill, a sacred mountain. Dance until you are so out of breath that your organism is forced to obtain oxygen some other way, and it is that, in the end, which will cause you to lose your identity and your relationship with space and time. Dance only to the sound of percussion; repeat the process everyday; know that, at a certain moment, your eyes will, quite naturally, close, and you will begin to see a light that comes from within, a light that answers your questions and develops yours hidden powers"

*****

Although I get tired when I’m dancing, when I stop, I seem to be in a state of grace, of profound ecstasy. I want that ecstasy to last throughout the day and for it to help me find what I lack; the love of a man. I ca see the heart of that man while I’m dancing, but not his face. I sense that he’s close by, which is why I need to remain alert. I need to dance in the morning so that I can spend the rest of the day paying attention to everything that’s going on around me.

Ecstasy means ‘to stand outside yourself’. Spending the whole day outside yourself is asking too much of body and soul.

Do you know what I learnt? That although ecstasy is the ability to stand outside yourself, dance is a way of rising up into space, of discovering new dimensions while still remaining in touch with your body. When you dance, the spiritual world and the real world manage to coexist quite happily. I think classical dancers dance on pointes because they’re simultaneously touching the earth and reaching up to the skies.

During any dance to which we surrender with joy, the brain loses its controlling power, and the heart takes up the reins of the body. Only at that moment does the Vertex appear. As long as we believe in it of course.

*****

George Matheson's hymn

It's Easter and I as usual was reading a book in church. I felt the need for God so strongly, this poem seemed beautiful to me. I've copied it from Recapture the Wonder.

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not in vain
That morn shall tearless be.

Recapture the wonder

In 1996, Oscar-winning actor Haing Ngor was tragically murdered in Los Angeles. Ngor was not a household name but he became known and respected by those who saw the movie The Killing Fields. Dr. Ngor was actually a physician turned actor who feld his native country of Cambodia after he had lost every member of his family to the murderous Khmer Rouge. This man had lived on wild roots in the jungle, hiding from his tormentors. He had been tortured and imprisoned by the Communists. When he escaped Cambodia, he left with one precious possession: a gold locket that had belonged to his wife, from whose loss he was never able to recover. He wore that locket around his neck, with a lock of her hair placed inside it.

Arriving in the United States, he worked as a counsellor in his own commuity and did an enormous amount of humanitarian work. He became an accomplished actor and was well loved by all who knew him. One night, a band of young thugs cornered him and demanded everything he had. He parted with everything but the locked and explained why. It was all he had left of his wife's personal memory and he pleaded with themm to not take it from him. They would have nothing of such reasoning and because they had no imagination for such treasures of the heart. Instead, they mercilessly killed him in order to wrench the locket away from him. As the age of forty-six, Ngor died clinging to the locket bespeaking a value that those murderers did not understand.

To ascribe value to monetary things is to reduce one's own value to the same level. To lift the value of something beyond the monetary is to make it immeasurable. The one possessing the wealth must know its real value if the possession is to bring wonder.