Maybe I could see it if I had eyes on the side of my head instead of looking straight, as if I’m a fish, perpetually suspicious about the possibility of water—as if I once knew of it but have forgotten. That is, if I, a fish, believed in existence.
Grief is a way of loving what has slipped from view. Love is a way of grieving what has not
The classic design of the vessels transporting the kidnapped, the brutalized and dispossessed, the colonized masses brought from Africa to
Reading Andrew Harvey’s 1994 book, The Way of Passion, about Rumi’s relationship with his teacher Shams i-Tabriz is a riveting and enlightening dive into the poetry Rumi produced from that time.