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Love’s memories, love recalling itself in letters lost and found over an interval of forty years: Cixous’s writer-narrator advances here far into a labyrinth of passions long ago delivered and yet still arriving through the mail, through letters and literature, in other words, the poetry of the post. As for the lovers’ returning scenes, they have their addresses in Paris (rue Olivier de Serres, Avenue de Choisy, street names that endlessly feed love’s unconscious language) and in New York, but also in a lost oasis of the Egyptian desert during the Napoleonic wars, in Athens and along the shores of a great lake centuries ago in the country of myth. The lovers are poets or soldiers, philosophers or students madly in love with poetry and poets. They are as well mermaids or panthers. Panthers? Yes, for it is the passion of the animal that drives all these lovers to bare themselves, and sometimes their claws, before the beloved. Misunderstandings are often, even inevitably the result. Seconded and witnessed by her passionate, truth-telling cats, Cixous’s narrator-writer returns unerringly to moments of errancy inflicted on address and language, those errors and faults when love, perhaps, is listening only to itself, without subject or object, lover or beloved, just love itself, l’amour même, l’amour m’aime, love loving me, in the letter box of memory.
The latest novel by likely the greatest living Slovenian writer
A book of poetic essays written in English, Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet is full of religious inspirations. With the twelve illustrations drawn by the author himself, the book took more than eleven years to be formulated and perfected and is Gibran's best-known work. It represents the height of his literary career as he came to be noted as ‘the Bard of Washington Street.’ Captivating and vivified with feeling, The Prophet has been translated into forty languages throughout the world, and is considered the most widely read book of the twentieth century. Its first edition of 1300 copies sold out within a month.
Hans Urs von Balthasar (1905–1988) sets out to reunite Truth and holiness by returning the saints to their proper place at the heart of philosophy, theology, and metaphysics. Love Itself is Understanding is one of the first systematic treatments of Balthasar’s theology of the saints. Matthew Rothaus Moser presents Balthasar as an alternative to Idealist philosophy, a thinker who develops a religious metaphysics in which the saints’ practices of prayer and contemplation are the chief mode of knowing that the Truth of Being is divine love. Love Itself is Understanding casts new light on dominant themes in Balthasar’s thought and invites a renewed vision of the theological and metaphysical significance of the spiritual practices of prayer, obedience, and charity.
“A spiritual innovator for the new millennium.” —Time “Byron Katie’s Work is a great blessing for our planet.” —Eckhart Tolle Inspirational quotes to help you along your journey of self-inquiry as you navigate love and relationships; sickness and health; work and money; and much more. The profound, lighthearted wisdom embodied within is not theoretical; it is absolutely authentic. Here, she discusses the most essential issues that face us all: • Love, Sex, and Relationships • Health, Sickness, and Death • Parents and Children • Work and Money • Self-Realization Not only will this book help you with you these specific issues, but it will point you toward your own wisdom and will encourage you to question your own mind, using the 4 simple yet incredibly powerful questions of Katie’s process of self-inquiry, called The Work. 1) Is it true? 2) Can you absolutely know that it’s true? 3) How do you react when you believe that thought? 4) Who would you be without the thought? Katie is a living example of the clear, all-embracing love that is our true identity. Because she has thoroughly questioned her own mind, her words shine with the joy of understanding. “People used to ask me if I was enlightened,” she says, “and I would say, ‘I don’t know anything about that. I’m just someone who knows the difference between what hurts and what doesn’t.’ I’m someone who wants only what is. To meet as a friend each concept that arose turned out to be my freedom.
In this stunning collection of new poems, Mary Oliver returns to the imagery that has defined her life’s work, describing with wonder both the everyday and the unaffected beauty of nature. Herons, sparrows, owls, and kingfishers flit across the page in meditations on love, artistry, and impermanence. Whether considering a bird’s nest, the seeming patience of oak trees, or the artworks of Franz Marc, Oliver reminds us of the transformative power of attention and how much can be contained within the smallest moments. At its heart, Blue Horses asks what it means to truly belong to this world, to live in it attuned to all its changes. Humorous, gentle, and always honest, Oliver is a visionary of the natural world.
From Amanda Lovelace, a poetry collection in four parts: the princess, the damsel, the queen, and you. The first three sections piece together the life of the author while the final section serves as a note to the reader. This moving book explores love, loss, grief, healing, empowerment, and inspiration. the princess saves herself in this one is the first book in the "women are some kind of magic" series.
Introducing us to the most famous poems of the Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran, Osho takes the reader into a mystical world, addressing essential issues in everybody’s life. The famous verse that gives the title to this book is about “love”—but not the ordinary love we know from novels and movies. Speak to us of Love gives a taste of a contemporary mystic at work, trying to disrupt our dreams, illusions, and the state of unconsciousness that prevents us from enjoying life to the fullest. This is about and for the millions of people in the world who have killed their love with their own hands, and who are now miserable. They never wanted to kill it, there was no intention to kill their love, but in their unconsciousness they started possessing. Husbands possess their wives, wives possess their husbands, and parents possess their children. Teachers are trying in every possible way to possess their students. Politicians are trying to possess countries. Religions are trying to possess millions of people and control every aspect their lives. This book shows that life can only thrive in freedom. Love never allows anyone to possess it, because love is our very soul. For Osho, the basis of all our neuroses or psychoses is simple: our souls are not nourished. Love, the basic nourishment, is missing. Osho comprehensively trounces the so-called religious and philosophical approaches to life. All that is of worth is to be found, not in the extraordinary, but in the ordinary; not in fantastical ideas of the “other world” beyond death, but in this very world that we find ourselves in here and now. In short, this book shows that making a simple yet utterly basic shift in our lives will awaken the silence in our beings and bring joy into our every moment.
Love’s memories, love recalling itself in letters lost and found over an interval of forty years: Cixous’s writer-narrator advances here far into a labyrinth of passions long ago delivered and yet still arriving through the mail, through letters and literature, in other words, the poetry of the post. As for the lovers’ returning scenes, they have their addresses in Paris (rue Olivier de Serres, Avenue de Choisy, street names that endlessly feed love’s unconscious language) and in New York, but also in a lost oasis of the Egyptian desert during the Napoleonic wars, in Athens and along the shores of a great lake centuries ago in the country of myth. The lovers are poets or soldiers, philosophers or students madly in love with poetry and poets. They are as well mermaids or panthers. Panthers? Yes, for it is the passion of the animal that drives all these lovers to bare themselves, and sometimes their claws, before the beloved. Misunderstandings are often, even inevitably the result. Seconded and witnessed by her passionate, truth-telling cats, Cixous’s narrator-writer returns unerringly to moments of errancy inflicted on address and language, those errors and faults when love, perhaps, is listening only to itself, without subject or object, lover or beloved, just love itself, l’amour même, l’amour m’aime, love loving me, in the letter box of memory.