Mikhail Naimy Home Museum

Now for discovering hidden corners in Lebanon, this was unthought of ! A treasure house and an initiative of the most delicate and passionate by Professor Suha Haddad Naimy. The home of Mikhaïl Naimy during the last 20 years of his life while living with his niece and grand-niece (and spiritual daughter) in Zalka is now transformed into a home-museum in Mtayleb. The spirit of those who depart are often kept alive by those who cherish them and continue their legacy with devotion. Suha is the most graceful host and generous guide, everyone must visit this humble home for inspiration and a different kind of connection with one of the most famous writers, philosophers and poets to have graced our land. A calligraphy inspired by the space.

Silent spaces

Today is a day to remember, revive and keep alive within and among us the significance of silent spaces of human devotion. Their key lies within us – our genuine most profound state of being where we are simply there, settled and simply silent, not caught up in a mode of reaction or compulsion. Many devoted beings have impacted spaces around them and such spaces have known to help many others also to connect with their own inner space. A memory comes to my mind, I can’t help but think about how my grandma maintained her kitchen space or how my grandpa maintained his garden on a Sunday afternoon for example.In the case of seekers whose family expanded beyond the confines of a household, such spaces are referred to as temples but I use the word temple here with discretion because I am also aware of general perceptions and reactions and how a word has also come to be interpreted as religious or archaic – so many connotations and accumulations over time. I see “a temple” as a very humble place which was set up for human seeking, “human being” and at times harmonious communal living… It is essentially just a reminder of that space within ourselves first and foremost and it is essential for our lives.And I find a very beautiful zen story to illustrate this.The zen story goes like this: A priest was in charge of the garden within a famous Zen temple. He had been given the job because he loved the flowers, shrubs, and trees. Next to the temple there was another, smaller temple where there lived a very old Zen master. One day, when the priest was expecting some special guests, he took extra care in tending to the garden. He pulled the weeds, trimmed the shrubs, combed the moss, and spent a long time meticulously raking up and carefully arranging all the dry autumn leaves. As he worked, the old master watched him with interest from across the wall that separated the temples.When he had finished, the priest stood back to admire his work. “Isn’t it beautiful,” he called out to the old master. “Yes,” replied the old man, “but there is something missing. Help me over this wall and I’ll put it right for you.”After hesitating, the priest lifted the old fellow over and set him down. Slowly, the master walked to the tree near the center of the garden, grabbed it by the trunk, and shook it. Leaves showered down all over the garden. “There,” said the old man, “you can put me back now.”

How do you understand this story?

And here is a beautiful drawing and a quote not related to the story but in so many way related to the message of temples.

Remembering Vaughn Oliver and Ian Noble

A few days back, I was invited to offer a design workshop. Some of the design teachers who inspired me along the way came to my mind or rather started surfacing.

I remembered Vaughn Oliver when I joined a course in design at Kingston back in 2008 for a few weeks before moving to central London. I was divided about leaving this institution only because of him! I was very touched by his strong yet gentle presence, his sense of perception and the depth of his being – he was a mentor who left a mark on me in a very short period of time. Behind the figure of the very influential designer who had created powerful, complex and in many ways groundbreaking artworks lied an extremely sensitive “artist” (even if his quote says otherwise), a being who loved all visual arts and music. His work was thought-provoking, multi-layered, sophisticated and full of texture and stories. A thought goes to you today for the passion for design and music and design for music which you have left in our hearts!

During the workshop, another mentor and wonderful being came to my mind – Ian Noble from the London College of Communication days. Interestingly enough, he joined Kingston at a later stage. Thank you Ian for your passion for design and research, research for design, research about design, research through design!! Many of your words still guide me and resonate within me. I will never forget two messages from you, one when I couldn’t stop playing with triangular patterns and grids and Ian said “Greta, you seem to do too much and never enough!” and another time when I went back to classical calligraphy and somehow got stuck in research about the past and Ian told me “You have too much reverence!” and something along the lines of making sure that my work remains genuinely new and contemporary, relevant to the present times and audiences. He was the first teacher to invite his students to join the teaching team also – I remember the day when he openly invited me and was too shy to accept! It was an honour to have met you and received your very energetic guidance, you are missed. Many thoughts go to you Sir Noble Ian.

Fihi ma fihi

‘Fihi Ma Fihi’ (roughly translated to ‘In It What Is in It’) is the title of a book of discourses by the famous poet Jalal Eddin Rumi. I read somewhere that these are three words picked from a poem of Ibn Arabi the great Andalusian mystic.

It is said that the one who understands what this message is, knows the secret of life. “Beware of saying I have understood! The real understanding is to not understand, this understanding for you is but an impediment, you must run away from it…”

It seems to be all in ‘it’ and so are we…
It inspired a calligraphy

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Worry and healing

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Ibn Sina [Avicenna]

First published Thu Sep 15, 2016

 

Abū-ʿAlī al-Ḥusayn ibn-ʿAbdallāh Ibn-Sīnā [Avicenna] (ca. 970–1037) was the preeminent philosopher and physician of the Islamic world. In his work he combined the disparate strands of philosophical/scientific thinking in Greek late antiquity and early Islam into a rationally rigorous and self-consistent scientific system that encompassed and explained all reality, including the tenets of revealed religion and its theological and mystical elaborations. In its integral and comprehensive articulation of science and philosophy, it represents the culmination of the Hellenic tradition, defunct in Greek after the sixth century, reborn in Arabic in the 9th (Gutas 2004a, 2010).

It dominated intellectual life in the Islamic world for centuries to come, and the sundry reactions to it, ranging from acceptance to revision to refutation and to substitution with paraphilosophical constructs, determined developments in philosophy, science, religion, theology, and mysticism. In Latin translation, beginning with the 12th century, Avicenna’s philosophy influenced mightily the medieval and Renaissance philosophers and scholars, just as the Latin translation of his medical Canon (GMed 1), often revised, formed the basis of medical instruction in European universities until the 17th century.

The Arabophone Jewish and Christian scholars within Islam, to the extent that they were writing for their respective communities and not as members of the Islamic commonwealth, accepted most of his ideas (notably Maimonides in his Arabic Guide of the Perplexed and Barhebraeus in his Syriac Cream of Wisdom). The Jewish communities in Europe used Hebrew translations of some of his works, though they were far less receptive than their Roman Catholic counterparts, preferring Averroes instead. The Roman Orthodox in Constantinople were quite indifferent to philosophical developments abroad (and inimical to those at home) and came to know Avicenna’s name only through its occurrence in the Greek translations of the Latin scholastics that began after the 4th Crusade. In his influence on the intellectual history of the world in the West (of India), he is second only to Aristotle, as it was intuitively acknowledged in the Islamic world where he is called “The Preeminent Master” (al-shaykh al-raʾīs), after Aristotle, whom Avicenna called “The First Teacher” (al-muʿallim al-awwal).

 

Source: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ibn-sina/

Basho

“Sitting quietly, doing nothing,
Spring comes,
and the grass grows, by itself.”
― Basho

I am time and again touched by the extraordinary poetry of Basho and here I discover for the first time his calligraphy too and a portrait of the mystic by the great Japanese painter Hokusai.

 

 

About Basho

The 17th-century Japanese haiku master Basho was born Matsuo Kinsaku near Kyoto, Japan, to a minor samurai and his wife. Soon after the poet’s birth, Japan closed its borders, beginning a seclusion that allowed its native culture to flourish. It is believed that Basho’s siblings became farmers, while Basho, at Ueno Castle in the service of the local lord’s son, grew interested in literature. After the young lord’s early death, Basho left the castle and moved to Kyoto, where he studied with Kigin, a distinguished local poet. During these early years Basho studied Chinese poetry and Taoism, and soon began writing haikai no renga, a form of linked verses composed in collaboration.

The opening verse of a renga, known as hokku, is structured as three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. In Basho’s time, poets were beginning to take the hokku’s form as a template for composing small standalone poems engaging natural imagery, a form that eventually became known as haiku. Basho was a master of the form. He published his haiku under several names, including Tosei, or “Green Peach,” out of respect for the Chinese poet Li Po, whose name translates to “White Plum.” Basho’s haiku were published in numerous anthologies, and he edited Kai Oi, or Seashell Game (1672), and Minashiguri, or Shriveled Chestnuts (1683), anthologies that also included a selection of his own work.

In his late 20s Basho moved to Edo (now a sector of Tokyo), where he joined a rapidly growing literary community. After a gift of basho trees from one student in 1680, the poet began to write under the name Basho. His work, rooted in observation of the natural world as well as in historical and literary concerns, engages themes of stillness and movement in a voice that is by turns self-questioning, wry, and oracular.

Soon after Basho began to study Zen Buddhism, a fire that destroyed much of his city also took his house. Around 1682, Basho began the months-long journeys on foot that would become the material for a new poetic form he created, called haibun. Haibun is a hybrid form alternating fragments of prose and haiku to trace a journey. Haibun imagery follows two paths: the external images observed en route, and the internal images that move through the traveler’s mind during the journey. Basho composed several extended haibun sequences starting in 1684, including Nozarashi Kiko, or Travelogue of Weather-Beaten Bones (1685); Oi no Kobumi, or The Knapsack Notebook (1688); and Sarashina Kiko, or Sarashina Travelogue (1688).

His most well-known haibun, Oku no Hosomichi, or Narrow Road to the Interior, recounts the last long walk Basho completed with his disciple Sora—1,200 miles covered over five months beginning in May 1689. While their days were spent walking, in the evenings they often socialized and wrote with students and friends who lived along their route. The route was also planned to include views that had previously been described by other poets; Basho alludes to these earlier poems in his own descriptions, weaving fragments of literary and historical conversation into his solitary journey. Basho revised his final haibun until shortly before his death in 1694. It was first published in 1702, and hundreds of editions have since been published in several languages.

Source: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/basho

Other links:

Matsuo Basho

https://hokku.wordpress.com/tag/difference-between-hokku-and-haiku/

Gratitude and a gift

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Isha Vidhya Boy by George Khoury (JAD), 2020

Gratitude – Artwork by George Khoury (Jad), my father

I wish to share with all of you this artwork which my father offered me today!! It is inspired from the photograph I had shared in a few earlier posts. This is a tiny little boy from the Isha Vidhya rural school in South India, next to the yoga center where I have lived most of the past 5 years. The children there have inspired me a lot and they still do, I felt so happy to see them find joy through learning, play and yoga regardless of their living conditions. Unlike mainstream schools today, this is a place where children always eat together and where the older teens take turns to offer food to the younger ones by serving them what the school kitchen prepares every day. The volunteers ensure that they receive at least one full meal containing all the nutrients they need for their growth. I remember having tears fill my eyes at lunch time seeing how beautifully it all happened.

Coming back to this image, I found in this boy’s posture so much balance and humility and genuine emotion that it touched my heart deeply, you know how sometimes certain images stay with you. The memory itself is revived by this artwork and my father’s hands in depicting this scene, it touches me even more now. There is magic in how a drawing can capture the essence of a moment and infuse it with utterly beautiful and very accessible emotion, it transforms a capture into a living story. The expression of this child starts to express my own gratitude, a sense of being which might make me feel very vulnerable at times but above all helps me strive to remain very true to myself and undeniably uplifted by some kind of life force which gives me the trust that I will be always guided by truthfulness to cross any challenge. When we continue to offer our gratitude, somehow life offers much much much more in return. I have learned and continue to learn by the day and the minute to be more and more open to this sense of offering, to worry less about what I give away because in the natural scheme of things everything is here, nothing goes away, it comes back to us in so many ways and the reward is multifold! The offering itself informs and transforms us into alive human beings part of a much larger universe.

I have always found it difficult to find the courage to ask for what I ‘wanted’ and ask myself everyday ‘what is it that I really want?’ These desires keep maturing and I feel privileged that my parents have always been there when I needed it, they offered me much more than what I ever asked. I have even found it very difficult to receive many times but so many people have offered me the opportunity to learn to do so gracefully. On this path of life, gratitude becomes more present if we remember each other. Its workings although utterly subtle can become more perceivable to our being when we surrender to them. We can all sense joy when we offer a smile, a hand to support, a shoulder to cry on – even more than when we receive them because there is a strong sense of purpose and life contribution which kicks in. This intimacy which is called love and compassion is a tremendously empowering possibility for each one of us, it must be consciously opened to more people because it is indeed such a natural and joyful way to be and yes it triggers magic all around!!!

Thank you father for your art and this extraordinary offering today and here is to more magic all around!

 

Mother

Dare to say it like the great poets did!

The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “Mother”…

—from “To My Mother” by Edgar Allan Poe

To her whose heart is my heart’s quiet home,
To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee
I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;
Whose service is my special dignity,

—from “Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome” by Christina Rossetti

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Ummi/Mother, calligraphy by Greta Khoury, 2020

A lotus and a smile

A stroll at the museum
Words of wisdom in Arabic script
“The Creator, The Eternal one”
Inscriptions in Phoenician letters
Tombs of kings, thrones of gods and goddesses
Ancient Greek and Egyptian art overlap
The outcome is confusing yet endearing
Codes in letters and forms
Animal deities
Bulls, frogs, baboons, dogs
Women faces
Painted, carved, assembled in mosaics
Sacred geometry
Floral designs
Graceful hands
A lotus in white marble

Humanity beautifying the parting of souls, honouring the deceased in various ways and imagining the afterlife. The world of funerary objects is intriguing in its symbols and stories. The mastery of carving stone thousands of years ago is minute and we forget the context lost in the forms, we look for the story. Everytime we visit the museum, new details capture the mind and spirit.