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What we have here is a war—the war of matter and spirit. In the classical era, spirit was in harmony with matter. Matter used to condense spirit. What was unseen—the ghost of Hamlet’s father—was seen—in the conscience of the king. The spirit was trapped in the matter of theater. The theater made the unseen, seen. In the Romantic era, spirit overwhelms matter. The glass of champagne can’t contain the bubbles. But never in the history of humanity has spirit been at war with matter. And that is what we have today. The war of banks and religion. It’s what I wrote in Prayers of the Dawn, that in New York City, banks tower over cathedrals. Banks are the temples of America. This is a holy war. Our economy is our religion. When I came back to midtown a week after the attack—I mourned—but not in a personal way—it was a cosmic mourning—something that I could not specify because I didn’t know any of the dead. I felt grief without knowing its origin. Maybe it was the grief of being an immigrant and of not having roots. Not being able to participate in the whole affair as a family member but as a foreigner, as a stranger—estranged in myself and confused—I saw the windows of Bergdorf and Saks—what a theater of the unexpected—my mother would have cried—there were only black curtains, black drapes—showing the mourning of the stores—no mannequins, just veils—black veils. When the mannequins appeared again weeks later—none of them had blond hair. I don’t know if it was because of the mourning rituals or whether the mannequins were afraid to be blond—targets of terrorists. Even they didn’t want to look American. They were out of fashion after the Twin Towers fell. To the point, that even though I had just dyed my hair blond because I was writing Hamlet and Hamlet is blond, I went back to my coiffeur immediately and told him—dye my hair black. It was a matter of life and death, why look like an American. When naturally I look like an Arab and walk like an Egyptian. ↗
#arabs #fear #holy-war #humor #september-
It could be said that a single person has written all the books in the world such central unity is in them that they are undeniably the work of a single all-knowing master. ↗
The crack in your heart allows light in. ~ GOOD FORTUNE page 238 ↗
#chinese-wisdom #compassion #inner-wisdom #life-lessons #meditation
In the distance of my years I cover myself with time Like a blanket which enfolds me with the layers of my life. What can I tell you except that I have gone nowhere and everywhere? What can I tell you except that I have not begun my journey now that it is through? All that I ever was and am yet to be lies within me now this way. There is the Young Boy in me traveling east With the Eagle which taught me to see far and wide. The Eagle took his distance and said, There is a Time for Rising Above So that you do not think Your small world too important. There is a time for turning your vision toward the sky. There is the Young Girl in me traveling west With the Bear which taught me to look inside. The Bear stood by himself and said, There is a Time for Being Alone So that you do not take on The appearance of your friends. There is a time for being at home with yourself. There is the Old Man in me traveling north With the Buffalo which taught me wisdom. The Buffalo disappeared and said, There is a Time for Believing Nothing So that you do not speak What you have already heard. There is a Time for Keeping Quiet. There is the Old Woman in me traveling south With the Mouse which taught me my limitations. The Mouse lay close to the ground and said, There is a Time for Taking Comfort in Small Things So that you do not feel Forgotten in the night. There is a Time for enjoying the Worm. That is the way it was. That is the way it shall continue With the Eagle and the Bear With the Buffalo and the Mouse In all directions joined with me To form the circle of my life. I am an Eagle. The small world laughs at my deeds. But the great sky keeps to itself My thoughts of immortality. I am a Bear. In my solitude I resemble the wind. I blow the clouds together So they form images of my friends. I am a Buffalo. My voice echoes inside my mouth. All that I have learned in life I share with the smoke of my fire. I am a Mouse. My life is beneath my nose. Each time that I journey toward the horizon I find a hole instead. ↗
Columbus's real achievement was managing to cross the ocean successfully in both directions. Though an accomplished enough mariner, he was not terribly good at a great deal else, especially geography, the skill that would seem most vital in an explorer. It would be hard to name any figure in history who has achieved more lasting fame with less competence. He spent large parts of eight years bouncing around Caribbean islands and coastal South America convinced that he was in the heart of the Orient and that Japan and China were at the edge of every sunset. He never worked out that Cuba is an island and never once set foot on, or even suspected the existence of, the landmass to the north that everyone thinks he discovered: the United States. ↗
People in the West like to shoot things. When they first got to the West they shot buffalo. Once there were 70 million buffalo on the plains and then the people of the West started blasting away at them. Buffalo are just cows with big heads. If you've ever looked a cow in the face and seen the unutterable depths of trust and stupidity that lie within, you will be able to guess how difficult it must have been for people in the West to track down buffalo and shoot them to pieces. By 1895, there were only 800 buffalo left, mostly in zoos and touring Wild West shows. With no buffalo left to kill, Westerners started shooting Indians. Between 1850 and 1890 they reduced the number of Indians in America from two million to 90,000. Nowadays, thank goodness, both have made a recovery. Today there are 30,000 buffalo and 300,000 Indiands, and of course you are not allowed to shoot either, so all the Westerners have left to shoot at are road signs and each other, both of which they do rather a lot. There you have a capsule history of the West. ↗
