Nature

Nature! We are surrounded and embraced by her - powerless to leave her and powerless to enter more deeply. Unasked and without warning, she sweeps us away in the round of her dance on until we fall exhausted from her arms.

Endlessly, she creates new forms: what is there never was; what was will never return. All is new, yet forever the old.

We live within her, and are strangers to her. She speaks with us unceasingly, but does not betray her secret. We work on her constantly, yet have no power over her.

She seems to base everything on individuality, yet to care nothing for individuals. She is always building, destroying, but her workshop in unreachable.

She lives in countless children, but where is the mother?

She is the sole artist, creating the greatest contrast out of the simplest material, the greatest perfection seemingly without effort, the most exact certainty always veiled with the touch of softness. Each of her works has its own being, each of her phenomena the most isolated idea, yet all create a single whole.

She plays out her drama: we do not know whether she herself sees it, yet she plays it for us, who stand in the corner.

She is ethernal life, growth, and movement, yet she does not move on. She transform herself endlessly but there is not a single moment's pause in her. She has no consept for stopping and she has set her curse upon standing still. She is firm. Her tread is measured, her exceptions rare, her laws immutable.

She has thoughts and ponders still, but not as human do, but as nature does. She keeps to herself her own all-embracing meaning, which no one can discover from her.

All human beings are in her and she is in all. With all, she plays a friendly game and rejoices if ever one wins something from her. With many, she plays so secretly that she ends her game before they know it.

Even what is most unnatural is nature. Even the coarsest, most narrow-minded person has something of her genius. Whoever does not see her everywhere sees her nowhere.

She lives in countless children, but where is the mother?

She is the sole artist, creating the greatest contrasts out of the simpleast material, the greatest perfection seemingly without effort, the most exact certainty always veiled with a touch of spftness. Each of her works has its own being, each of her phenomena the most isolated idea, yet all create a single whole...

Part of an essay written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, May 26th 1828

NON SENSE or NONSENSE

God is not out there
Unless god is in here

HE is not out there
To be seen, heard or touched
Unless he is in here
Only where he is known

God is not to be found
In the sense world
There he has always be absent
It is not his kingdom

& it is not God
That is to be found
For he is not the one lost
The one to be found is me

& when i am found
Then i will see
And you will see
The many reflections of the Beloved

God is truely in the non sense world
But always when they here this
I am burnt with the stakes
Saying i am all but NONSENSE

written on: 29/10/09:18/50/07
written by: Raymond Malik
inspired by: text message by Line Halvorsen
location: MIA - Doha Qatar