the story of the little cloud

children have their own world, not regulated rigidly like that of adults, but still, there is something common, something that we adults still share a little with that world, and through which we can enter into that world often, luckily.

when my niece was about two years old, I read her a tale, a story of a little cloud who decided to leave his parents and travel the world, as a nap time reading. her attention span was short and she was distracted after a while, I thought that the five page story was too long for her. we reverted to well known stories. many days later when it was time for nap, she asked me to read her the story of the cloud, amazed that she remembered the story I nevertheless asked which story she is talking about, I wanted her to tell me about it. "you know, the little cloud that you read me" she said. I read the story from the beginning again and this time she was more patient. later, I would make her tell me the story, she would look at the few drawings and narrate the story in her own way of liking. this was two years ago and I only see her during the summer time not for a very long time. yesterday I was talking to her before she went to bed on webcam and I asked her how the cloud is doing? she didn't ask me which cloud. she asked whether I would like to see it and brought me the book with the drawings of the scenes about the adventures of the little cloud.

children are curious things, like little clouds.

in search of the dream

What’s the price?
“Is the price of living a dream much higher than the price of living without daring to dream?” asked the disciple.
The master took him to a clothes store. There, he asked him to try on a suit in exactly his size. The disciple obeyed, and was very amazed at the quality of the clothes.
Then the master asked him to try on the same suit – but this time a size much bigger than his own. The disciple did as he was asked.
“This one is no use. It’s too big.”
“How much are these suits?” the master asked the shop attendant.
“They both cost the same price. It’s just the size that is different.”
When leaving the store, the master told his disciple, “Living your dream or giving it up also costs the same price, which is usually very high. But the first lets us share the miracle of life, and the second is of no use to us.”
from In Search of the Dream, Paulo Coelho

a definition of dreams

Unauthorized appearance of suppressed longings behind a false face and under a false name.

Cark Spitteler - "My Earlier Experiences," 1913

Basho on poetry

Learn from the pine

Learn about pines from the pine, and about bamboo from the bamboo.

Don't follow in the footsteps of the old poets, seek what they sought.

The basis of art is change in the universe. What's still has changeless form. Moving things change, and because we cannot put a stop to time, it continues unarrested. To stop a thing would be to halve a sight or sound in our heart. Cherry blossoms whirl, leaves fall, and the wind flits them both along the ground. We cannot arrest with our eyes or ears what lies in such things. Were we to gain mastery over them, we would find that the life of each thing had vanished without a trace.

Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things --mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-- and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.

One should know that a hokku is made by combining things.

The secret of poetry lies in treading the middle path between the reality and the vacuity of the world.

One must first of all concentrate one's thoughts on an object. Once one's mind achieves a state of concentration and the space between oneself and the object has disappeared, the essential nature of the object can be perceived. Then express it immediately. If one ponders it, it will vanish from the mind.

Sabi is the color of the poem. It does not necessarily refer to the poem that describes a lonely scene. If a man goes to war wearing stout armor or to a party dressed up in gay clothes, and if this man happens to be an old man, there is something lonely about him. Sabi is something like that.

When you are composing a verse, let there not be a hair's breadth separating your mind from what you write. Quickly say what is in your mind; never hesitate aa moment.

Composition must occur in an instant, like a woodcutter feeling a huge tree, or a swordsman leaping at his enemy. It is also like cutting a ripe watermelon with sharp knife or like taking a large bite at a pear.

Is there any good in saying everything?

...

Eat vegetable soup rather than duck stew.

Matsuo Basho

secret

best dreams are --
kept secret

I am There

I come from there and remember,
I was born like everyone is born, I have a mother
and a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends and a prison.
I have a wave that sea-gulls snatched away.
I have a view of my own and an extra blade of grass.
I have a moon past the peak of words.
I have the godsent food of birds and an olive tree beyond the kent of time.
I have traversed the land before swords turned bodies into banquets.
I come from there, I return the sky to its mother when for its mother the sky cries,
and I weep for a returning cloud to know me.
I have learned the words of blood-stained courts in order to break the rules.
I have learned and dismantled all the words to construct a single one:
Home 

Mahmoud Darwish