jeudi 20 décembre 2012

10 Seconds

i will be always amazed how people get to meet , people from other countries , from other continent. you are in Africa , you are Moroccan , you have been struggling to find a meaning to your life , suddenly you found it in someone living miles away , someone with a different background ,different culture, different color . 

when you start talking everything makes sens and all those differences vanish , you find the truth ...the truth of faith , truth of surprise,truth of possibilities and probabilities, that moment you know that there is no boundaries only those that you made for yourself .

its obvious sometimes to know that its not a matter of setting or timing , its communication baby . we can be in the same city or just meters from each others , and decide not to talk to each other . why ? there is infinite reasons , but i guess the main reason is the "will", some people choose to stop talking to each other or just decide to avoid that communication .

As a new generation we have lost this notion of WILL and patience , we lost our ancestral values , rushing time in meaningless talk , talk that stand days , months if we are lucky . speedy life with no genuine feelings.
time is money , nowadays, relationships blossom under materialistic conditions . spirituality is gone with the wind .

Now with the internet you can have millions of relations and connections during your life , a union between two persons from two different parts of the world is so easy. just imagine how was that difficult in the past . with post and letters , pigeon post ,smoke and horns. Prior to 1840, letters were delivered by courier ,coach or horse ride.The receiver of the letter had to pay on its receipt and cost was dependable on the number of pages  and distance traveled . using a colored wax with ring or handheld seal . imagine writing a letter and wait for response days and days , then replied and wait ...hhhh . 

Imagine that people in the past used to spend years and years in writing and waiting the response , could you imagine doing that four a year , two, five ....some have done it for TWENTY without never meeting each other . let me give you one of my favourite examples the great minds May Ziadeh and Khalil Gibran : 

The first contact was established by May Ziadeh in 1912 when she sent a letter to Khalil Gibran showing how deeply she was moved with Selma Karameh’s story in Gibran´s one and only novel, “The Broken Wings” (Al Ajniha Al Moutakassira). Although she found the novel too liberal for her liking, she shared and acknowledged Gibran´s passion on women’s rights. From that moment on, they became close correspondents and devoted pen pals. In 1921, Gibran received her picture.

May Ziadeh was a champion of Gibran’s writings. By critiquing Khalil Gibran’s books, she spread his works across the Arab world and enhanced her own reputation as a literary critic. Gibran always replied to her letters and articles with utmost elegance and delicacy. For example, after she interpreted the main character of Khalil Gibran’s “The Madman” (Al Majnoun), he declared to her that the thoughts and feelings of the madman were not his own. Yet, in another letter to her, he affirms, “The soul, May, does not see anything in life save that which is in the soul itself. It does not believe except in its own private events and when it experiences something, the outcome becomes a part of it.”
Tragic Beauty
Khalil Gibran felt very close to and seemed to blindly trust May Ziadeh to reveal his deepest fears and emotions to her. To his pen pal, he admitted his fear of death, “I am, May, a small volcano whose opening has been closed.” Before his death, he wrote to her expressing his yearning to retreat back to his dearly beloved Lebanon, “My longing for my homeland almost destroys me.” In the early thirties, with the death of Gibran and her parents, May Ziadeh fell into a depression and was committed into a hospital for mental illnesses in Beirut.
Despite never meeting her, the Lebanese Khalil Gibran loved the Palestinian feminist writer for almost 20 years. And despite the rumors of May Ziadeh’s love affairs with other Arab artists and writers who attended her literary salon, she cherished and maintained an idealized love relationship with him by letters. Their letters bear witness to a profound and supportive relationship enduring and thriving across the oceans until the last days of their lives.
Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping
From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need?
Do you know the greatness of my patience?

Where are you, me beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!
i wanted to write more about this subject , but when you feel trapped in a superficial world , and all this stories , even if it is true stories with true characters ,seems fictional and surrealistic,you just stop and  Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from. 

let me wine in my room , wishing living in the past ,with heroes and fairy tales . all what we have in this century is a physical action of 11 minutes and a memory of 10 seconds .

2 commentaires:

  1. Réponses
    1. thank you ..i know it is too late ! but i hope that you had a wonderful christmas ! happy february :)



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