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Léo Dangel On Memoriam

9BE90FAE-D426-4C04-BF81-ED512BAF3A09Leo Dangel (1941 – 2016)

In the early afternoon my mother
was doing the dishes. I climbed
onto the kitchen table, I suppose
to play, and fell asleep there.
I was drowsy and awake, though,
as she lifted me up, carried me
on her arms into the living room,
and placed me on the davenport,
but I pretended to be asleep
the whole time, enjoying the luxury—
I was too big for such a privilege
and just old enough to form
my only memory of her carrying me.
She’s still moving me to a softer place.

Erich Fromm On Understanding

D78C6F1B-21B6-4274-A066-0D0153D3DC2DErich Fromm (March 23, 1900 – March 18, 1980)

To understand another means to love him — not in the erotic sense but in the sense of reaching out to him and of overcoming the fear of losing oneself…Understanding and loving are inseparable. If they are separate, it is a cerebral process and the door to essential understanding remains closed.

Elizabeth Alexander On Art

BC828254-6245-44A2-B543-400C2BA12725Elizabeth Alexander (May 30, 1962 -)

Art replaces the light that is lost when the day fades, the moment passes, the evanescent extraordinary makes its quicksilver. Art tries to capture that which we know leaves us, as we move in and out of each other’s lives, as we all must eventually leave this earth.

Barbara Ras On You Can’t Have It All

2D5B7F0A-E375-47A7-B121-042CA53BBF5BBarbara Ras (1949 -)

But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands
gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger
on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back.
You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look
Of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite
every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August,
you can have it be August and abundantly so. You can have love,
though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam
that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys
until you realize foam’s twin is blood.
You can have the skin at the center between a man’s legs,
so solid, so doll-like. You can have the life of the mind,
glowing occasionally in priestly vestments, never admitting pettiness,
never stooping to bribe the sullen guard who’ll tell you
all roads narrow at the border.
You can speak a foreign language, sometimes,
and it can mean something. You can visit the marker on the grave
where your father wept openly. You can’t bring back the dead,
but you can have the words forgive and forget hold hands
as if they meant to spend a lifetime together. And you can be grateful
for makeup, the way it kisses your face, half spice, half amnesia, grateful
Mozart, his many notes racing one another towards joy, for towels
sucking up the drops on your clean skin, and for deeper thirsts,
for passion fruit, for saliva. You can have the dream,
the dream of Egypt, the horses of Egypt and you riding in hot sand.
You can have your grandfather sitting on the side of your bed,
at least for a while, you can have clouds and letters, the leaping
of distances, and Indian food with yellow sauce like sunrise.
You can’t count on grace to pick you out of a crowd
but here is your friend to teach you how to high jump,
how to throw yourself over the bar, backwards,
until you learn about love, about sweet surrender,
and here are periwinkles, buses that kneel, farms in the mind
as real as Africa. And when adulthood fails you,
you can still summon the memory of the black swan on the pond
of your childhood, the rye bread with peanut butter and bananas
your grandmother gave you while the rest of the family slept.
There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother’s.
It will always whisper, you can’t have it all,
but there is this.

Marie Corelli On Soul Mates

FE39D495-CD20-4CA6-96DD-A88ADAFAABF4Marie Corelli (May 01, 1855 – April 21,  1924)

Now realize that there is no soul on this earth that is complete, alone. Like everything else, it is dual. It is like half a flame that seeks the other half, and is dissatisfied and restless till it attains its object. Lovers, misled by the blinding light of Love, think they have reached completeness when they are united to the person beloved… but the majority of people are content with the union of bodies only, and care little or nothing about the sympathy or attachment between souls. There are people, however, who do care, and who never find their Twin-Flame or companion Spirit at all on earth, and never will find it. And why? Because it is not imprisoned in clay; it is elsewhere.

Nayib Bukele On Migration

Reunión Presidente Sánchez Cerén con alcalde de San Salvador.Nayib Bukele President of El Salvador (July 24, 1981 -)

It is our fault…  I think migration is a right, but it should be an option, not an obligation. And right now it’s an obligation for a lot of people… Why? Because they don’t have a job, because they are being threatened by gangs, because they don’t have basic things like water, education, health… People don’t flee their homes because they want to, people flee their homes because they feel they have to.

 

Michael Champlin On Creative Space

0D851A98-CE49-46C3-BAFB-03E4B452E2E4Michael Champlin

Creative space isn’t about putting up walls or hiding from the outside world, nor is it a simple desire to be away from people. Creative space is about finding solace and silence in the external world, so that we may adequately listen to our own minds. This can mean different things to different people: writers may want time to read and jot down thoughts, painters time to paint, designers time to sketch, process, and brainstorm.