To say his story was harrowing would be an understatement. Creeping through snake-ridden, swampy jungles in the night. The killing of innocents. Watching a fellow serviceman die. Beheadings. It was no wonder to me that he had nightmares.
Trascorsi quella notte calda in uno stato di dormiveglia, l’Adhan dei miei sogni mi chiamava a venire, inchinarmi e inginocchiarmi in una moschea fatta non da mani umane, ma foggiata dalla materia della fantasia, dalla mia coscienza mistica, ricordi distorti come riflessi in uno specchio deformante e terrori della tana del drago. Venni trascinato via come Aladino sul suo tappeto magico, nella notte stellata nera come l’inchiostro, in luoghi sconosciuti, fino a quando la mattina seguente giunse la salvezza dell’alba, i primi raggi di sole illuminavano la mia finestra e il ronzio del richiamo del Moadhin attraverso l’altoparlante, “Venite alla preghiera. Venite alla preghiera.”
Un altro giorno a Marrakesh.
If a man sees himself as valuable and worthy of a woman’s attention, he will show up in the world that way, and many women are attracted to a confident man. Even if you have to “fake it till you make it,” once you genuinely love who you are, it will naturally come out of your pores, and people notice.
Marius and I bumped into each other in the house kitchen, where we popped open a bottle of red wine and began snacking on dates, almonds, cheese, crackers, and chocolate. “I was in the sixth grade,” Marius told me, grabbing a cracker, “and the teacher asked me why I was late for school. I gave a smart-aleck answer because I was drunk.”
