Spiral Linearity does not come naturally. It kills the imagination and nothing happens. No bell rings, no moment of here and now, no moment saying yes. Without these, where is alive ? I prefer the pleasure of the journey through the spiral. Relax. If you miss something on the first time around, don't worry. You might pick it up on the second - or third - or tenth ; it doesn't matter. Relax. Timing is everything. If the bell does ring, it will resonate through all the rungs of your spiral. If it doesn't it is the wrong spiral - or the wrong time - or there is no bell.
He first went there with his school, long ago. The teachers had told the classes that the stone work was from Roman times; remnants from hundreds of years back. It turned out that it wasn’t Roman at all. It was an old mill first used for smelting lead in the late 1600s and then between around 1760 and 1850 fine paper was produced there to wrap the products of the nearby iron and steel industry - often cutlery and probably the pins, needles and wire made in the local area. All that remained today was the pond which had provided power by supplying a water wheel and some and some ruinous buildings. Romantic maybe – but not Roman. When they had met years later, he could not wait to take her to this place, high up on the hillside in the depths of the forest with the stream trickling, then rushing down from the tops. Tawny, hazel, mustard and coral tainted leaves and ferns painted the background for the scene. And she had loved it too.
The Nakba - the "disaster" or "catastrophe" was the destruction of Palestinian society and homeland in 1948 and the permanent displacement of Palestinian Arabs. The term is used to describe both the events of 1948 and the ongoing occupation of Palestinians in the occupied West Bank and Gaza Strip, as well as their displacement in refugee camps throughout the region and beyond. The Nakba was the result of the partition of Mandatory Palestine after World War Two ended as the United Nations and world powers realigned the borders of the Middle East. The following story is by Neveen Abuelola, my 'step -niece' through marriage. I am reblogging this from when she first wrote it, around 2012 I am Neveen. I am Palestinian. This is my story. This is the Palestinian Story. I'd like to take you back to 64 years ago, to the fertile rolling hills of Palestine. To the land of orange, lemon and olive trees, to around mid May1948. My Grandmother, heavily pregnant qu
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