This page, for instance,

wasn’t made to be read.

It was made to be pallid,

a merely stolen Iliad,

something keeping quiet,

a leaf long fallen

going back to its branch.

It was made to be beach,

who knows, Andromeda, Antarctica,

Himalaya, sensed syllable,

it was made to be ultimate,

something yet unmade.

Words carried far

by the waters of the Nile,

one day this page, papyrus,

will have to be translated

into symbol, Sanskrit,

into every Indian’s dialect,

will have to say good day

just to what’s murmured at the ear,

will have to be rough stone

where someone drops a glass.

Isn’t that how life is?

– Paulo Leminski – ‘ADVICE TO THE SHIPWRECKED’

The Gnostic’s passionate adoration of Sophia was known as philosophia – the love of Sophia – a mystical communication with divine feminine wisdom, having little to do with the strictly intellectual, most often masculine, pursuit currently labeled “philosophy.

– Zeena Schreck –

What does reading do, You can learn almost everything from reading, But I read too, So you must know something, Now I’m not so sure, You’ll have to read differently then, How, The same method doesn’t work for everyone, each person has to invent his or her own, whichever suits them best, some people spend their entire lives reading but never get beyond reading the words on the page, they don’t understand that the words are merely stepping stones placed across a fast-flowing river, and the reason they’re there is so that we can reach the farther shore, it’s the other side that matters, Unless, Unless what, Unless those rivers don’t have just two shores but many, unless each reader is his or her own shore, and that shore is the only shore worth reaching.

– José Saramago – The Cave