On Christmas eve our pilgrim finds himself in a land far north of anything he has ever seen… Continue reading In The Advent of Stars
“ Love is extravagant, in the price, it is willing to pay, the hardship it is willing to endure, and the strength it is willing to spend. Love never thinks in terms of “how little”, but always in terms of “how much”. Love gives, love knows, and love last…”
-Unknown Continue reading Sir Gawain and The Perilous Bed
It’s the same story except the names change… Qais whose name means “falls in love” does exactly that except this time its with the moon princess, Laila, whose name means “sweetheart”.
Sadly her father marries her to another man. Qais love is so obsessive, that he’s deemed insane and forbidden from seeing his beloved Laila in the flesh again. Thus he sees her in everything else. Qais roams the streets known only as Majnu, which in Persian means, “love stricken, possessed, madness, a lunatic”. And as in all matters of the heart, as such to go the way of the foolish and where they rush to in accordance with the one true Source, a straighter course than one who has too much pulling on the heart.
Thus the fool, the simpleton, who is one sighted in love; and therefore blessed in his foolishness, is given to Divine vision; for his wisdom is direct and not diminished by the many facets of the mind. For to have too much levied against the heart leads to indecision which is worse than to not have loved at all. His simple direct desire for his beloved is strong even in the face of failure or tragedy.
To go the way of the foolish and where they rush to in accordance with the one true Source, a straighter course than one who has too much pulling on the heart. -Ganjavi (Persia)
“If you do not love too much, you do not love enough.”
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There are times when we try putting together life’s puzzles, assigning the pieces as neatly and securely as we can, into a box of our own subjective thinking; a box that hasn’t any room for fresh interpretation. The analysis is so in sync with the cerebral brain that we fail to enjoy the epiphanies that are present especially when the pieces of the puzzle seem not to fit as we think they should…if our narrative comes together, we call it a miracle, if not we’re disgruntled. We tend not to appreciate that in the perforations of this chaos there are considerations waiting for our attention. It is only when we trip into overload from this temporal way of thinking, thus spilling forth into the mysteries, do we expand our thoughts into the universe of a higher understanding. It is then, I come to realize that what I don’t know is more than I thought I knew and I’ll never know it all. Thus, I stand blessed and open to all there is on the road of perception raining down in the pale moonlight. This is mindfulness at its best, waiting to hand you something you didn’t have an inkling you were in need of.
*Image courtesy of Pixabay
There is nothing permanent except change… Heraclitus Continue reading Changes 2
“And all will meet at Twilight” Continue reading Twilight
Gahmuret and the Lady Herzeloyde are the parents of Parzival, who will one day find the Grail and ask the ‘noble question’ of the Fisher King. Upon the death of Gahmuret in battle, Herzeloyde abandons her kingdom, taking her son to a deep wood and raises him under nature’s cathedral in hopes that Parzival will never know the word ‘Knight’ or hears of this exclusive group out of fear that he’ll suffer the same fate as his father. But strange things happen in the dark woods especially when we find out that Merlin is lurking about. Continue reading Sir Gahmuret and the Lady Herzeloyde
The following passage is found in the notebooks of Nathaniel Hawthorne, dated Salem, October 4, 1836, Union Street. To me, it speaks volumes about the human heart and its longing that is every bit as present now as it was then. But what is most enchanting is it allows me to converse with the past as though Nathaniel was sitting right here, at this moment. It is the written word which allows this sublime bit of magic to take place. Everytime we open a book or write a letter to someone, we are emulating the philosopher’s long conversation across the miles. Continue reading The Chamber