17,09 €
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The Darkness Cannot Outfight the Light
17,09 € 
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In the name of the light towards which the darkness-covered being that I am runs and runs. Light runs towards light, until darkness finally becomes blind. But, what shall you know of light whilst yourself being dark? This is the Dark Jungle; you may enter but will not exit. And, if there comes a time when you do exit, you will then be the light itself..."Then there was the field of grasses protruding from the soil with coy stretch of their bodies while being in the company of nature in lieu of…
18.99
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- Author: Jan Forooz
- Publisher: Indipendent Publisher
- ISBN-10: 1638483337
- ISBN-13: 9781638483335
- Format: 20.3 x 25.4 x 0.8 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
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In the name of the light towards which the darkness-covered being that I am runs and runs. Light runs towards light, until darkness finally becomes blind. But, what shall you know of light whilst yourself being dark? This is the Dark Jungle; you may enter but will not exit. And, if there comes a time when you do exit, you will then be the light itself..."Then there was the field of grasses protruding from the soil with coy stretch of their bodies while being in the company of nature in lieu of having an essence. Trees are unaware of the philosophy of love in such an ignorant manner while raising their hands with love to utter thanks for the creation. And, ivies would crawl around the waists of trees without shedding their skin, acrimoniously staying away from the pine tree. The cold, crystal-clear water would shoulder the coffin of trees' broken branches to hand it to the riverside, while birds offer their condolences in such a woeful tone and tune... This is indeed the power of art as I create in the midst of creation; you perhaps regard the word creation with great bigotry."
Upon the clandestine lines of this book's pages, there exist heads which are cut off whilst forming rivers of blood. And, beyond these lines, there is a crimson waterfall that pours upon the ground. The unwary drinks without distinguishing blood from wine. But, when can wine alleviate the bilious?
Jān-forooz longed for suffering upon attending the celestial court of God so that he could be ripened, readied and matured, so that he could offer to you a warm loaf of bread made with the golden wheat of the farm. I am sitting atop, above and beyond the words which come from the Higher World upon taking a material form. This is the dimension you do not see but feel. I am the nip in the freezing winter air which rushes into your very being when you are at the tavern. I am the mallet which is pounded against your head amidst a rebellious insurrection. I am the light blossom, growing from the heart of the city's lanterns to be crowned afterwards.
He who turned into light did also turn in my accordance and direction. Yours,
Jān-forooz
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- Author: Jan Forooz
- Publisher: Indipendent Publisher
- ISBN-10: 1638483337
- ISBN-13: 9781638483335
- Format: 20.3 x 25.4 x 0.8 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English English
In the name of the light towards which the darkness-covered being that I am runs and runs. Light runs towards light, until darkness finally becomes blind. But, what shall you know of light whilst yourself being dark? This is the Dark Jungle; you may enter but will not exit. And, if there comes a time when you do exit, you will then be the light itself...
"Then there was the field of grasses protruding from the soil with coy stretch of their bodies while being in the company of nature in lieu of having an essence. Trees are unaware of the philosophy of love in such an ignorant manner while raising their hands with love to utter thanks for the creation. And, ivies would crawl around the waists of trees without shedding their skin, acrimoniously staying away from the pine tree. The cold, crystal-clear water would shoulder the coffin of trees' broken branches to hand it to the riverside, while birds offer their condolences in such a woeful tone and tune... This is indeed the power of art as I create in the midst of creation; you perhaps regard the word creation with great bigotry."
Upon the clandestine lines of this book's pages, there exist heads which are cut off whilst forming rivers of blood. And, beyond these lines, there is a crimson waterfall that pours upon the ground. The unwary drinks without distinguishing blood from wine. But, when can wine alleviate the bilious?
Jān-forooz longed for suffering upon attending the celestial court of God so that he could be ripened, readied and matured, so that he could offer to you a warm loaf of bread made with the golden wheat of the farm. I am sitting atop, above and beyond the words which come from the Higher World upon taking a material form. This is the dimension you do not see but feel. I am the nip in the freezing winter air which rushes into your very being when you are at the tavern. I am the mallet which is pounded against your head amidst a rebellious insurrection. I am the light blossom, growing from the heart of the city's lanterns to be crowned afterwards.
He who turned into light did also turn in my accordance and direction. Yours,
Jān-forooz
"Then there was the field of grasses protruding from the soil with coy stretch of their bodies while being in the company of nature in lieu of having an essence. Trees are unaware of the philosophy of love in such an ignorant manner while raising their hands with love to utter thanks for the creation. And, ivies would crawl around the waists of trees without shedding their skin, acrimoniously staying away from the pine tree. The cold, crystal-clear water would shoulder the coffin of trees' broken branches to hand it to the riverside, while birds offer their condolences in such a woeful tone and tune... This is indeed the power of art as I create in the midst of creation; you perhaps regard the word creation with great bigotry."
Upon the clandestine lines of this book's pages, there exist heads which are cut off whilst forming rivers of blood. And, beyond these lines, there is a crimson waterfall that pours upon the ground. The unwary drinks without distinguishing blood from wine. But, when can wine alleviate the bilious?
Jān-forooz longed for suffering upon attending the celestial court of God so that he could be ripened, readied and matured, so that he could offer to you a warm loaf of bread made with the golden wheat of the farm. I am sitting atop, above and beyond the words which come from the Higher World upon taking a material form. This is the dimension you do not see but feel. I am the nip in the freezing winter air which rushes into your very being when you are at the tavern. I am the mallet which is pounded against your head amidst a rebellious insurrection. I am the light blossom, growing from the heart of the city's lanterns to be crowned afterwards.
He who turned into light did also turn in my accordance and direction. Yours,
Jān-forooz
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