William I am proud to say that I own a signed copy of your book "The Painting of You", with the wonderful and heart tugging story of "Listening" on page 31. Your drawings all seem to be listening for the sounds that they want to hear...especially the sound of breathing.
Thanks, William. Your perceptions and words colour this web of thoughts we walk and weave in with some fine shades. ooh, that's a good title for post-hummus (just before falafel): "Fine Shades".
Thanks so much for sharing a lifetime of work and experience with us out here, William; appreciative. In a compounding sense as well.
Jan, you’ve pretty much described the session in which these were drawn. And what a wonderful thing it is for me to know you have the book. It really is a kind of lifeline.
Peter, thanks — which is a puny way of saying how much your comments mean to me. Lemon juice and garlic. Yep. I once enjoyed a small brick of falafel in Jerusalem’s Old City; it was the only thing the tiny shop served. It stuck to my teeth for three days, and on the third day I arose with a powerful thirst to return for seconds — a resurrection of meager proportions, fitted only for comment boxes and postcards.
We could, and probably should, publish an anthology called Falafel Stories. But not until after breakfast. And then we can play marbles with garbanzos.
15 comments:
love this very much William
with all the O's in your mouths
breathing the words to completion.
~robert
Thank you, Robert. We’re grateful, and a little surprised these days, to find that we’ve been here this long.
I saw God in there, or my image of him. He spoke completely...my ears bent.
Silence is an amazing, powerful language.
William I am proud to say that I own a signed copy of your book "The Painting of You", with the wonderful and heart tugging story of "Listening" on page 31. Your drawings all seem to be listening for the sounds that they want to hear...especially the sound of breathing.
Thanks, William. Your perceptions and words colour this web of thoughts we walk and weave in with some fine shades. ooh, that's a good title for post-hummus (just before falafel): "Fine Shades".
Thanks so much for sharing a lifetime of work and experience with us out here, William; appreciative. In a compounding sense as well.
Talk to you later -
Peter
Jan, you’ve pretty much described the session in which these were drawn. And what a wonderful thing it is for me to know you have the book. It really is a kind of lifeline.
Peter, thanks — which is a puny way of saying how much your comments mean to me. Lemon juice and garlic. Yep. I once enjoyed a small brick of falafel in Jerusalem’s Old City; it was the only thing the tiny shop served. It stuck to my teeth for three days, and on the third day I arose with a powerful thirst to return for seconds — a resurrection of meager proportions, fitted only for comment boxes and postcards.
That's a great falafel story, William. Darn it, I'm hungry now.
We could, and probably should, publish an anthology called Falafel Stories. But not until after breakfast. And then we can play marbles with garbanzos.
this is beautiful... for me it resulted in many ways i could respond. beautiful words William
Thank you, Rahina. And I offer them in that hope, and for that very reason.
great series. the words made me think of Alan Watts. or. at least, made me think of thinking of Alan Watts.
Thanks. I think I like the way you think, I think.
I listened like this the other day, my daughter moving like seaweed on my bed. Years passed like a mindless school of krill. It was chilling.
xo
erin
A bed’s as vast a sea as any;
a better ship than most.
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