An old word rooted in Latin often forgotten or misused.
The gift of kindness, the act of helping that seeks nothing in return but the wellness of others.
A humble blue flower that keeps on giving amidst the chaos of the world. Yes, a fragile flower with the divine potential of awakening.
Inspiration: despite the rise of unrestrained individualism, there are gestures of kindness that create hope and can inspire us to do the same.
Come to my garden.
The one where the roses open in the silence of the night.
The one where my secret sorrows gently wash away the dust from the path,
so that your feet may step onto it.
The garden where tears also water the roses
– the ones that open in the silence of the night.
You will feel your sorrows leave you,
just like the dust on the path.
near the roses that open in the silence of the night.
Performance— it is all about it these days.
But what is it for?
To be better than another? To earn more so as to buy more? Then it is akin to getting a watch that runs faster.
Rather absurd I would think.
Now, if performance means products or actions that help the general interest, and especially the most precarious among us, then it makes sense.
Inspiration: observing the world.
“¡Qué necio y pueril es el mundo! ¡Cómo nos alegra un trapo y nos entristece una nube!”
Rafael Arnáiz Barón (1911-1938), Monje trapense español, uno de los grandes místicos del siglo XX. Canonizado en el 2009. Cita de “Dios y mi alma,” su diario.
“How ignorant and puerile is the world! A piece of cloth brings us joy, while a cloud brings us sadness!”
Rafael Arnáiz Barón (1911-1938), Spanish Trappist Monk considered one of the great mystics of the 20th century. He was canonized in 2009.
Letters are just that – lines and curves and dots.
They are conventions.
They are traces of ink.
Letters have no existence, no transcendence.
The only reality is the ink.
and your step will be light upon the earth.
Inspiration: Philosopher and Sufi Master, Ibn Arabi (Al Andaluz, 1165 – Damascus, 1240).
Nowruz when Spring gently knocks at the door baring the gift of light, illuminating the house and encouraging me to clean it meticulously.
I listen to the swallows’ early morning songs and the quiet opening of the hyacinth.
I set up the haft seen, the seven items of the altar. This year it is lavender, eggs, garlic, an apple, a silver plate, a candle and the poetry of Omar Khayyam and Hafez, showering us with their blessings.
You are cordially invited to our house to sit under the blooming jacaranda and listen to the gentle conversation of the violet, the pansy and the tulip. Believe me, they always have a lot of interesting things to say if you listen carefully.
Please come and come early, so that together we may dance amidst particles of light and smile at Khayyam and Hafez’s witty and eternal poetry.
Several flocks of ducks flew over the house this morning, going north to their summer dwellings.
I thought of counting them. There must have been more than 200 birds in each flock.
And then I came to my senses.
Why this need to count? To appropriate something by putting it into a category or a number? Why compare or count?
Let the birds fly north! Enjoy them as they are!
And most importantly, take in the beauty of their ways in silence just as they leave no traces in the sky.
Inspirations: Spring, morning sky and birds.