ART & WRITING

 

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The Tulip and the Comet.

A Tulip meets a Comet and longs to see the world.

( click on picture to purchase )

                                                          

The Apple Tree on the Hill

An apple tree grew up alone, until settlers arrived, and a French village bloomed.

( written by Marco Aurélio based on a painting by Lucas Aurélio. Front cover. )

Coming Soon!

( original painting - The Apple Tree on the Hill by Lucas Aurélio )

                                                          

BLUE MOON and the inner world

 

Every once in a blue moon, I know my place in this world, as if my GPS was roaming and it found me: my precise parallels, coordinates, latitude, and longitude, set to now. I feel that there is nothing beyond myself.

I feel like a tree or mountain would feel if it could feel present in time, place, and purpose. 

I ask if a tree or mountain would feel less, want more, or desire, as we do, to be elsewhere in order to do what it can perfectly do right here.

For all the analogies we have for flying, it is on the stillness of these moments that I find myself utterly grounded, paradoxically one with the vastness of our universe.

Flying is aimlessly seeking for oneself outside of itself.

A monk sitting still in meditation and thankfulness needs no wings to fly further than a bird of any kind; nothing material can connect the vastness of the soul and oneself.

The invisible is not only essential as the Little Prince taught us, but also the only portal to ourselves, for we can't be found elsewhere than ourselves.

Every once in a blue moon we don't reflect light; light is the source within and shines until we again forget to be blind to our place and time. Without our inner light, all we have left is our social climb.

                                                    

"Why can't you feel for us?" RAZAN AHMAD ALRIFI

"My mother was a martyred?"

"My father was a martyred?"

"My brother was martyred?"

"My nephew was martyred?"

"My sister was martyred?"

"We are exhausted!"

"Why can't you feel for us?"

The Babies Didn't Die Alone: They Had Each Other.

I am a writer. I will place you there. 

You wander inside an abandoned hospital. Just imagine yourself a ghost, an ethereal being. You have no body mass, just soul and consciousness.

You hear loud screams. Crying. And the babies hear each other. Too little to understand that the others cry, too. Too little to even have an expectancy to be picked up. Comforted. Fed.

They cry in pain. There's no sadness. Too little to experience so many emotions. Their bodies hurt for nutrients, for water, for their mother's milk, drying in their breast under one of the thousands of collapsed buildings. 

So the little creatures cry and cry. They hear each other. That's the last thing they hear in this world: each other. And the loud sounds of the bombs from the Fourth Reich of The Terrorist State of Israel.

And no one comes for them. They cry and cry and cry, and little by little, it begins to subside; all that crying, one by one until only one baby cries. No one is coming. The IDF has condemned them to death. Their crime is being of Palestinian descent.

I don't believe there's a God of any kind in the universe, except all the ones my fellow human beings invented. Each one more murderous than the other. But they need them. I'm left with empathy.

With God in your heart, you imagine angels coming to take them home. An atheist like me imagines the hungry dogs arriving there before they were dead. 

And a single thought soothes my soul: Marco Aurélio, they are too little to understand the screams of the ones being eaten alive.

My heart hurts for the Palestinians. And I have no faith in anything. That, for an atheist, is death itself.

A Mother's Womb

     The place you don't remember, is the safest place you've been; your very existence is proof of that. A heartbeat away from yours is your mother's own heartbeat, pumping life into every part of your tiny body.

     Your mother; the being that creates you, feeds you and gives birth to you, eventually will expose you to this world.

     The israelis, after killing Palestinians for six months, have perfected the art of Genocide and invented THE DEAD WOMB;  a place life seizes to exist.     

     The Palestinians can always be found near death itself; with nothing but faith, resilience and an inexplicable will to live;  side stepping our eternal foe and valiantly saving their families, friends and neighbors.

     While the israelis were busy perfecting the art of killing, the Palestinians have found their way into our collective nightmares and we watch them perfecting the art of living: 

without food, without water, without love, without all that makes life worth living.

     The Palestinians seem to be whispering to us the greatest secret of all: a human being can outlive almost anything except the necessity of having each other.

🍉  LONG LIVE THE Palestinians!   🍉