Culture & ArtsWeekly Article

Far from you.. near you

Here we meet

To escape your chronic grief, stretch out, embrace the music,
You don’t need to put the hard drive in the dark room,
Close your eyes, open your heart, put your palms under your belt, no further, and pretend to be dead.
Leave your body little by little to whatever sky you want..
When you penetrate the sky of the room, you will find a range that embraces thousands of complete orchestras, its members young and old, male and female, in front of them are all the instruments, all waiting for you, you will see them close, and if you come close, they will be far away, do not chase them, and be calm until reverence.
Stand a distance from all of them and raise your arms.
The male and female musicians will be prepared when they appear, they will not be happy or sad,
It is not your business to discover their states, start gently dragging the violins, as if you are swimming above them all, continue your swimming in the infinite, some of you will return sound on the same path, it will reach you lighter and more exhausted, it will stretch at your absent shadow, it will unite with it and it will stretch without limits..
Don’t get caught up in the search for an answer to strangeness, you are not a stranger.
Never stop suggesting female musicians..
Enter the nerve of the flutes as if you are swimming in an endless tunnel, on both sides of it are shepherds, pastures and livestock, let it consume all the air, close the nozzles of the sad reeds, so the melody will not return to the windpipe, let it be lost..
not looking for it,
don’t block it,
don’t explain it,
Don’t get caught up in the white holes that attract whining,
It will move to the other side, it will not disappear, it will still touch your closed eyes.
You are now ready to see your mother..
You will find her sitting on her old bed, by the window overlooking the giant mulberry tree, do not touch her feet, no time for blessings, do not talk to her, do not ask her why she moves her arms like a cloud maestro, she will not answer you, she may make you rain that wets your meaning, do not express to her your longing ..
No one longs for the dead.
The dead don’t miss anyone..
Fill your lungs with its aroma, basil, sage and basil, it will rise higher and fly, you will see the spirit of the flute and what it blew in front of you, do not tire yourself with defining the shape, no shape for the groaning of infinity, you will find twenty violins all intersected and formed a star in the sea, each violin is one potter..
Don’t tell her to play, don’t swim in her turn, no one swims in the tangle of instruments.
You are now saturated with the unseen and the hidden..
Prepare every sense in you to return, do not count at once,
No one survives at once,
Kiss the soles of your mother’s palms, do not prostrate in front of her, she will not feel you if you kiss or prostrate, you do everything for yourself..
untangle the violins,
Insert the flute from its other hole,
get rid of tears gradually,
He smiled at the shepherds, the sheep, and the grass,
Open your windpipe, feel your navel softly,
Stretch out your arms, slowly open your heart, and sing in it the songs of the lute that accompanied you on your journey.
Now, open your eyes,
Have you survived now..?

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