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The Book of Sand

On August 28, 2020, in Leadership Mindware, by Neculai Fantanaru

Do not try to be different than you are, because anything different does not bear the fruit of one who remains the same.

Dear reader, I wrote these lines for you, with a lot of feeling, with a lot of sincerity, but also with imagination, as if I had written for myself only about myself, pointing to a man transposed into a multitude of souls, foreign to him… and yet none like him. I wrapped the lines in a sand book, full of words as penetrating as the sun’s rays, as a continuation of the volume of the famous Jorge Luis Borges.

Every year, when I get to Mamaia, on the Romanian coast, I step on the sand so full of shells that have probably been in a pile of other dead shells for a long time. Only children pay attention to them. I listen to what the waves, the wind and the seagulls have to say, with the hope that I will be a little wiser at least with a second of amazement and understanding to the vastness of ​​a sea that stretches forever, and that devours some for a harsher reality. You will notice that my eyes run to a sky colored in red or orange, so endless as in a book full of dreams about the lessons of life seen all the time on the other side of the sea.

Maybe you will find yourself in my thoughts, maybe you will find yourself in the free spirit of the dialogue between sand and sea, a dialogue that a painting artist has with his Ego, and so maybe you will feel free from the nets of the outside world and the worries of all kinds. They are not thoughts about leadership, as you might want to find in a chest full of business ideas, but about the life on which a certain science bases its entire scaffolding of reasoning. It is the science of being yourself a battlefield for two terrible opponents: the man and the photographer. It is the science of being a good listener of the turmoil of the sea, with the feeling that you have arrived there, in a place where regrets, tears, are full of echoes of the past, repeated like a sad call: “Where are you? Don’t leave !”

And even if you don’t reach the sea and you don’t touch the sand I’m stepping on right now, and you don’t feel the breeze of a memory, the square in the beautiful summer, or the breeze of a whisper that promises you love and self-peace, I’m sure all my thoughts, set forth below with the echo of a centuries-old history, will reach you and caress your soul as Borges did in his “Sand Book”.

Far be it from me to approach a subjectivist point of view, and in this way relativism. On the contrary, I believe that thoughts, in general, have a transferable validity: they always start from a grain of sand and reach an increasingly transparent sea as you get to know the breeze, the secrets, the tenderness, or even the pain.

I do not think that a writer like Borges intended to reduce subjectivity to a mere passive mirror of the objective world. Even the sun, when it warms the sand and softens the waves, does not reduce its size whenever a cloud tries to capture its heat, but only when it sets. For me, Borges is the sand mirrored by the sun, seen deep enough in a crystalline sea that finds its solemnity in the view of the sunset.

Leadership: Can you build an admirable vision of everything around you, in nature, and at the same time regain power over your entire life?

I saw Borges walking on the beach. Maybe it was his ghost. The sea and the sand are everywhere where Borges is, also walking, from one chapter to another, in a book of the time when Borges mirrored his spirit. .
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It is so easy for me to write about art that writing considers me its outer Self.

The art of writing is a painting made up only of words that do not stop missing you.

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The beauty that acquaints you with the deep aspect of art is given by the feeling of an intense experience to which nature worships the sublime peace.

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All the meanings of this world are the meanings of lives illuminated by the same sun.

And if you tried to drag your understanding to the light of the sun, you might understand life as a pride of light to creep into everyone’s eyes.

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The beauty of a rose is rendered by the color that the artist spreads on the canvas with his brush.

The most precious easel on which you can lay the vivid colors of roses is a manifesto of freedom of expression through well-felt words.

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The fundamental feature of a work of art is to fully maintain the validity of your depth in your absence.

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A portrait painted in the middle of nature is a work of art in which the whole agreement between yourself and the variety in unity is manifested.

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I enjoyed a cold Cooler, and I feel trapped between sea and ice cream. Cooler is now in my body, it’s part of me.

As it seems to me, the kind of form depends on the kind of content. The object described by me is a way to express myself more easily.

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A spacious land boat with a small mast. Looks good. Sometimes a man takes a selfie with her. Maybe he imagines that he has Columbus’ miniature ship with him, and that he has discovered a new continent after a long journey.

Of course, this is thought-provoking. The intimacy of any dreamy soul is reflected in the fragments of time dominated and stopped instead by great conquerors.

We need the temptation of time stopped instead to sail further and further, with the spirit, to the glory of greatness.

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The actions of the sea can be animated by various waves. They are admirable even when you build sand castles on the shore, insofar as you refer to the criterion of a “Solid Whole”

It doesn’t matter how durable or fragile your castle is, it matters what you do to make the waves of the sea part of your story.

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It’s so easy to read the people who have nothing but white pages in their lives.

Some lives claim the contents of a book that was never written.

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The sand is not carried away by the waves of the sea, it always remains close to the shore.

The scientist believes in miracles, but he has nerves of steel.

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No matter how strong the closeness between me and the sea, only the distance highlights our common sides.

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I’m trying to feel the deck chair I’m lying on. It certainly feels me, and it feels everything inside me, every vibration, every gesture, my breath, my heartbeat.

Creation is a mixture or fusion of the animated object and the artist’s satisfaction to relate to the world of thoughts inside a microcosm.

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I gather a few small shells from the sand, place them next to the book I enjoy reading, looking at them as missing pages that I have to fill in with my points of view.

A writer is not content only to extract the essentiality of different fragments from a living reality, he tends to assemble them in the space of an imagined objectivity.

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The hotel where I am staying is yellow. The sun best reflects yellow.

The sand on the beach is gray. And it doesn’t care about its color or the color of the hotel I’m staying at. It only knows this: “The hotel is made of me, and of the sea water.”

When you look at something, do not turn your attention to the objective side of beauty. Rather, turn your attention to its subjective interiority.

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My sandals were filled with sand. But the wind did not blow at all, nor did the children play with the sand, nor did I throw sand at them. It seems like an enigma worthy of Sherlock Holmes.

It is clear, therefore, in this case I am dealing with the tendency to see everything through the prism of the truth: I seek to detach the sides through which it attaches itself to other phenomena.

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An ant climbs on my foot, among the grains of sand that cover me, as if searching for the secret corridor that leads to another world. I think the brave little girl relates to the action in the movie “Prince of Persia (The sands of time)”.

Only a fiction artist can capture a given objective and at the same time reflect on subjectivity.

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A wealthier old man next to my restaurant table was very excited last night because he was found negative on a repeat of the coronavirus test.

The man who does not relate to science is happy to have gained a few more days of life. The scientist rejoices that he has succeeded in prolonging his life in immortality through science.

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Only the painter can enliven the image of the sea with the artistic representation of his legend.

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The sea cannot always give the portrait that the artist makes of himself.

But the artist can enliven its image with that loving state updated in every moment by his presence.

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If the sand is made of the matter of the celestial bodies, by which all things are described and signified, then its defiance will remove any evidence of the celestial origin.

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The perfection of the sea is observed in the fineness that generates the texture of the sand.

And the sand is all the finer as its fineness reminds of the transparency of the sea.

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The sea must not be sought in the material nature of the sand, but in the fineness that governs its nature.

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To do so many things with the little you have, just as the hours pass in an hourglass filled with so little sand.

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While the sand shows us what the sea brings, the sea shows us what the sand lacks.

So is the man who seeks himself. What it lacks is that quality of sand to be one with the sea.

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In front of the sea that embraces the sand, and in front of the sand that beautifies the sea, I feel a certain pleasure, not because I relate them to me, but because they are as they are.

And how different I am, than to my liking.

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The phone battery discharges exactly when I intend to take my most expressive selfie.

There is an identity relationship here between subjectivity and objectivity. What I hope will turn out wonderful, does not necessarily have to come out wonderful, but maybe, through a miracle. A wonderful miracle.

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A lady walks among the sunbeds, constantly repeating: “we have seashells, stars”.

It’s true, her shells and stars are bigger and more beautiful than the small and chipped ones around me, through the sand.

The essential difference, from which reside the other differences, is the way in which the intrinsic meaning of time is constituted, which modifies them all until it makes them unrecognizable.

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I’m reading a book about the “logic of beauty”. The wind ruffles my pages.

I have to find a correspondence between thinking and the experience of losing sight of a page. This is the beauty of discerning a lost reality.

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Science is always where art is, just as the sea is always where sand is.

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I feel at ease. I am not out in the middle of a sea that is only rarely clear, but out in the middle of a sand that has lost its hourglass.

Every approach to myself is the part of a sea that penetrates the land.

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I notice a man arranging his airbed in all possible ways, depending on the sun.

The sea looks at it as the sand feels: with the doubt that makes it difficult for us to live on a land that orbits the sun.

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Wait until chance smiles upon you.

Wait until the sea recedes its waves.

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Long life is like a wave that keeps hitting the shore: it is lived continuously by the force of a nebulous and relentless destiny.

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We can only acutely perceive Nature (the scents of the sand) only by understanding the expanse of the desert. When the sand absorbs a part of the surface of the sea, with all its mysteries, then the sea is offered to the sand towards a humble contemplation of the miracle, of the totality, transposing itself into a state of spiritual receptivity.
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There are people who will never commit sins. The church is their religion, the bible is their creed. God’s word is a harsh law.

Like when you put your foot in the sea water. You feel very cold at first, the waves make you shiver. But as you advance under the scorching sun, the sea water gets warmer, even inviting you to bathe. And the adventure continues…

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I sometimes thought I was the hot summer sand. I thought I was the sea in the storm at the beginning of winter. I imagined that it is the poetry of the blood that makes the heart beat strongly in the rhythm of romance.

If I think about it, no imagination can be hidden in a chest, and then the chest will be thrown in the middle of the sea, and the sea will bring it to shore, and the sand will keep it intact just for you.

Because it seems to the imagination that someone will pay special attention to them, like a real treasure, not knowing how much they drift or how much they dry themselves inconsolable on land.

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If you think you are in control of a situation, try to swim out to sea.

Do you think chance is on your side? Then a dolphin is waiting to save you.

Do you really believe in God? Then say your last prayer.

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Last night I saw a ragged, dirty guy, poor man. If, however, you looked at him more closely, with curious eyes that know how to see in the dark, you might have noticed the two big rings on his left hand, and about three more rings on his right hand.

The sea always retreats when it reaches the shore, it does not advance too far, for who knows what treasures more valuable than hers can be found on land. Treasures hidden from view, belonging to such poor beings.

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I remember what was written at the entrance of an Asian restaurant, Genghis Khan’s quote:

“If you had not committed such great sins, God would not have sent such a punishment upon you.”

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When you look for something, some divine particles move much faster and farther than your thoughts, in some directions helpful for the discovery of an answer.

They do not find the answer in your stead, but they lead you to an area where you can choose the answer from several possible variants, taken at random.

These divine particles provide you with some keys that you must prove to several padlocks before you can find the right one.

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I asked the sea to wash me with the fineness with which the sand caresses me.

Eventually I will still have to use the towel, not to wipe myself with sand or water, but to remember their fine caress.

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Beautiful is not the sublime of experiencing the spell of the sea, sublime is the spell of the sea that guarantees a timeless existence.

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The sea cannot eliminate the term ‘beauty’ to replace it with the term memory, but it can accept itself as a sublime aspiration towards the image of our life through which we pass from one shore to another.

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I don’t know what VIP was celebrating his birthday last night at a restaurant on the beach. Special guests, special moments, enthusiasm, fireworks, etc.

In the morning I watched the sea touch the sand. And it touched it as if you were touching a velvet flower, there were no waves, there was no wind, but only a mysterious silence, a fragile warmth.

I understood then that the mornings remind me of myself, and the nights remind me of the moments when the sand and the sea failed to extinguish from their hearts the longing for peace.

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I’ve met people everywhere who know all that can be known. I also met a lot of people who know nothing.

The sea looks at the sand without impoverishing the giver, and cannot give him what he has already received.

The sea cannot count the grains of sand, but it can feel its warmth, its deep longings, its impulse to search for the beauty of the story, as if it had always known it.

I have met so many people, and I have always known that I am between the sea and the sand.

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He who does not have the audacity to draw with his senses some rational lines from the sky to the depths of the sea, lacks the prudence to think in terms of depth and horizon.

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The sea is an exhibition of the idea of beauty, because it contains the image of sand described with artistic finesse.

What you expose through an artistic idea is what you render by amplifying the harmony between the unchanging and the persistent.

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Sand is the science of encompassing the depths of the sea, just as aesthetics is a science of beauty.

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The sand speaks to me in the voice with which the sea expresses itself: my unsurpassed beauty is natural and artistic at the same time.

Because the artist can experience the harmony between silence and the hot explosion of life, and can include it in the image of a single age.

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If you start a book and don’t finish it, it’s like turning the hourglass before all the sand flows to the end.

You will find the mystery of the book in the last grain of sand that did not flow, and that only your time stopped in its place.

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If Borges searched for the sand to reach the sea, I found the sand as an extension of the sea.

Borges finally found the sand as a memory of the sea, wrapped it in sweet words and turned it into a book.

I found the sand as soft as the sea breeze, I wrapped it in the cup of such expressive hands, I made him feel their caress, their delicate smell and their warmth, which flooded him and drove his senses mad.

Borges would envy me for my artful words, I still envy him because he managed to turn the sea into such fine sand.

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A warm nature remains warm. A cold nature remains cold.

The sea remains the sea. The sand remains sand.

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The nights and days spent on the seaside are like the sea and the sand: it invites you to total delight and relaxation.

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Make yourself a watch, but don’t show me the time. Or show me the time, but tell me your cogs aren’t oiled

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Whoever can turn sand into stones can also turn the sea into dew.

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As warm as the sea water is, it suits you to swim ahead.

So is the soul. The more it is in a comfort zone, the more it longs for freedom.

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If you want to find out something interesting about sand, read Borges.

If you want to understand Borges, first read what I have to say about sand.

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I’m looking at a guy’s T-shirt. And I say to myself: for a fiction writer the most spectacular thing is to not believe in ghosts. But to be a Phantom.

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I’m sitting under a big umbrella. The umbrella sits on endless sand, protecting me from the scorching sun.

I would like my stay at sea to not end. I feel safe from old age.

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Ask the sand if it has wisdom. Ask the sea if it has wisdom.

Then you answer in their place.

That is wisdom.

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If God changes your plans, it is to learn not to trust yourself more than Him.

Watch the moon make the waves rise at night. But in the morning, the sun calms the waves, because the sun is stronger than the moon.

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The result of the will of the sea waves is the stubbornness of the shore to protect its sands.

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When you make your plans, do it with all your heart. Otherwise God will change them for you rightly.

Watch the sea swell its waves. But all the waves subside as they hit the shore.

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When I look around, I choose anything at random.

I ask the sand if everything around it belongs to it. It tells me that everything belongs to the sea.

I ask the sea, and it says that everything around belongs to the sand.

Understand me, if you can, between the sand and the sea, and look at me as a matter of chance.

In this way you will be able to accept the possibility of the unusual in the experience of a Christian artist.

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If I were to write about sand every day, and if the sea would read my writings, then my pen would seem as mysterious and fascinating as a character out of a novel.

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When you write about sand you have to imagine that you are the sea.

When you want to make sense of your words, you have to imagine the sea as an accumulation of sand.

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“Mirror your silence in my vastness” said the sea.

“And I will open my voice and my soul before your infinity," replied the sand.

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If I were to listen to a shell, I would probably hear the echo of the distance between the sea and its memory.

Memories are shells that always tell you about something that was part of your life.

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Sandy words are emotions melted by the sun’s rays.

Emotions should not be expressed in words, but in warm touches.

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I look at the sea. A boat is moving further and further away from the shore. The sand asks me why I look at the sea in the distance, if it is so close to me.

I replied: Because someone who always wants to be seen is deprived of that starting of the mind to follow the path of self-liberation.

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The art of being sand is created from the silence of a mind that has not known the temptation of the waves.

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People who do not have the courage are the traitors of tomorrow.

The sea envies the sand because only it is useful in an hourglass, so it stops on the shore for it to get really hot.

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I will return to the depths of your thoughts only if you give the sand a chance to walk barefoot in a boundless sea.

Sand and sea are always softened by heat.

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If you want to feel the waves of the sea on your skin, don’t wait until you dry completely on the sand.

The message of the sea is like that whisper of forgetfulness that the wind addresses to the sand: remain unchanged.

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The sand waits for the sea with open arms to cool it, and the sea barely touches it, because it immediately retreats to the open sea.

In the same way, the distance creates new horizons and reunites fragments forgotten by time. Time brings the sand and the sea closer, but more by remembering the desire to support each other.

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Infinity is found in a simple grain of sand. Because each grain sits next to the other grains, it forms the sand, which is next to the sea, and from their fusion castles are made.

The castles are imposing, because they remind me of sand and water, because without them they could not have existed either. That is why castles are so rarely built on the shore, precisely because the sea does not turn them back into sand.

Because the sea does not like anyone to abuse its sands.

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I notice a man watching the sea from the shore, but not entering it.

Maybe the sea also observes him, but it doesn’t observe me as I observe it. And that’s why many of us are good observers, but we keep our distance between horizons and landmarks.

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Be careful. Watch constantly. Today’s joy can stop tomorrow’s unhappiness.

Even the sea, when it hits the shore, does not think of the sand castles on the shore. That is why it is said that the sea is cold and the sand is warm. And that’s why the sea is often troubled, because it hurts a lot when people prefer warm sand to cold stretches, without limits and without landmarks.

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If you do not accept the chance when she smiles at you, then you will have to fight hard to regain it.

The sea will not be as welcoming as the sand, especially if the sand is not satisfied with the blue of the sea, nor with the horizon of dream memories, nor with the sunsets, nor with the castles on the shore.

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The power of your words will turn against your courage, just as the sea recedes into the sea and the beaches rise.

Choose your words well before you test your strength of mind, taking into account that the sea rises above the sand, but it cannot fully comprehend it, and that is why it returns to the sea.

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The sea does not know the depths of the human soul, but it longs for souls lost in oblivion.

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Sincerity and courage are the conditions of God’s forgiveness.

The sea never forgets the shore, because the sand shelters the deep silence of the souls lost in it.

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Heaven always leads your steps where his will is, and where it is best for you.

Do not try to abandon the heat of the sand for the cold of the sea.

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The sand fixes in the knowing spirit the signs of a time that can be understood only by the infinity of small mass particles.

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If in spiritual things the sand is made up of the sea, then there is an understanding between silence and storm.

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Look with your soul for the traces of time left on the expanse of sand.

Even if the sand forgets the souls that the sea brought to the shore.

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The sand knows that the time will never be right to house everything.

It shelters everything without thinking about time.

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Try to perceive the power of time according to the ability of an hourglass to encompass an unlimited number of grains of sand.

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Man does everything by himself, believing everything will happen according to his will. But forgets that above the earth is the will of Heaven, and any forgetfulness will be rewarded with new life lessons.

So too the steps on the sand. They leave no traces for the next day, just because you want to leave a mark.

And if you don’t understand this beforehand, you will only understand when time has passed.

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Lucky people attract luck just as bad luck attracts bad luck, just as sand attracts the sea, but it can’t keep up.

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Happy people go to church and come back happy. Unhappy people go to church, they come back unhappy, but with the hope of a future happiness.

And the desert doesn’t change its sand just because you took a trip to the pyramids and saw the Sphinx.

Likewise, people do not change their nature just because they have been to church or visited the pyramids. And heaven knows this better than anyone.

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Sand teaches you how to gain the solar power of all things, by dividing matter into particles as small as possible.

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If you could gather all the sun’s rays into a single grain of sand, and it would turn into excruciating heat, then you would know how to reduce the elements of one order to the elements of another order.

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The sand has a quality that is very reminiscent of the soul: it is burning and malleable at the same time.

To make an altar of the soul from the molded forms of sand.

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The sand and the sea bring people very close together, or separate them for good.

Be a sea full of story, not a sand full of dust.

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Strengthen your spirit with a single glance in the direction of a desert that never ends its sand.

Stick your ear to the sand and you will listen to the silence of the empty desert.

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A glance at the brightness of the sea is the connection between a verse full of emotions and the power of values to love the sand.

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The sand, the scorching sun, reminds me of the most important lesson of the desert:

“The last mystery is courage.”

Any other shortcut won’t get you anywhere. The desert doesn’t care about words…

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The sand teaches you that you know nothing about life. You don’t even know how to leave a trail. The wind will cover it the next day.

Only the sand remains forever. And the sea.

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The sand denotes a certain peace, a consent of the mind. It listens to everything without retaliating.

Calm your mind before you open your mouth. Be sand before being a tumultuous sea.

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Every grain of sand is lifted by the wind, so don’t imagine that you have control over events, or over chance.

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The desert, look at it as an image of your virtue of being part of a boundless world full of secrets.

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The sand cannot ignore the power of the fineness of vulnerable points of the soul hosted by the memory of time.

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You cannot comprehend the immensity of the desert, but you can delight your mind and spirit by looking at it as an image of the virtue of enduring everything gently.

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He who is inspired by the infinity of the desert will turn himself into sand.

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Every night a shooting star goes out and often no one notices.

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A single pebble can start an avalanche.

A single flutter of a butterfly’s wings can cause a hurricane on the other side of the globe.

One word, said at a time, can decisively change the trajectory of any destiny.

Something completely insignificant can always become decisive. That’s how the universe works. Learn to pay attention to small thoughts that can influence big deeds.

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A look captured by the brightness of the sea reflected by the sun is the connection between a verse full of emotions and the power of the waves to fall in love with the sand.

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The words that express the brightness of my sand are more mysterious and finer than the sand on the seabed.

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One day I will write a sand book, calmer than Borges’ troubled version.

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Strengthen your artist spirit by simply looking at the expanse of a sea that penetrates the interior of the land.

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An artist’s eyes look at every grain of sand with the eyes they see in the depths of their hearts.

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The sand contains a natural life that is given to it by the sun. The change in its texture converges in other types of energies, just as the rays are reflected in thousands of directions.

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The sand has a quality that is very reminiscent of the soul: it is burning and malleable at the same time.

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Sand teaches you how to prove solar power over all things, by dividing matter into as small of particles as possible.

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An artist of the word seeks with his soul the traces of the sand left on the bottom of the sea.

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The penetrating gaze of time perceives the expanse of the sea more deeply.

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To prove that it is possible to reach an agreement between sand and sun, so that from their union the symbolic moment of igniting a flame emerges.

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To pursue the touch of the sand with the voice of a poet and to transform it into a poetry of the time honored by the greatness and freedom of the desert.

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The most subtle spirit of dreaming is manifested by simply touching the sand with the tenacity to overcome the harshness of the desert.

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The language of the sand sifted through the prime meaning of the word “dreaming” has the great virtue of communicating to you through sublime words the desire for a new knowledge.

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I understood why the sand accepts to be trampled, because it wants to be completed by vivid and strong soul sensibilities.

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A positive mood is an extension of the hot sand you step on without fear of being burned.

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Seek to present yourself before God as imperfect, even if what sustains your power to become a saint is perfection.

God is perfection spread in imperfection, beyond the perfection given by the power to transform man into a saint.

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A seagull is constantly looking at me. Does it see me as prey? Does it see me as a fish? A big fish on land? Let’s be honest, A magnificent feast !

Of course, any comparison has its own logic. Nothing around us can constitute a completely isolated and independent entity, but it is always linked to a truth that is part of the understanding of each of us.

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I look at the sand. I try to visually cover each grain of sand separately. I try to name each of them. I’m trying to assign them a number. I try to differentiate them through an expression of kindness, courage and determination. Why is one more beautiful than the other?

I think that the sand imposes itself as a whole, which means an initial whole and a totalization of fragments full of correspondence between what you observe and what you deduce from your observations. I deduce that I am a grain of sand, only if I separate from it.

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The intimacy of a soul is reflected in the fragments of time that spring from places where no one has yet stepped. People have the gift of disturbing the waters they pass, just like an innocent child throwing a stone at the water in the summer just to see how many times the stone is saved before it reaches the depths: a kind of curiosity that leads nowhere.

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The best books can be found at the antique shop, for only 1 RON. And even if a few interested people read them, very few would really understand them.

Because a book must not only be read, it must always be reinvented, with a different vision.

The best books are different for each. The best books leave you with some states that you can’t otherwise experience, you find yourself in them, you read about people who seem to be just like you that are experiencing events, they are the only ones who teach you without making observations, like true friends. The most beautiful books are chosen by each according to what one wants to read without hierarchizing people into those who understand everything, more or less. The most beautiful ones suit everyone and not everyone equally… so too is the case with the most beautiful people. (Ioana Sarah)

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The Book of Sand, written by me, but reminiscent of Borges, is synonymous with the notion of aesthetic value: everything that is beautiful can only be valued over time. And as any time has its course, as God has ordained, it turns out that the price you give to the beauty around you is directly proportional to what you see daily on a sand that never gets wet, always dry by your own strength on nature. And you can be a part of the universe, because you can be a grain of sand that is part of the celestial bodies through which all things are described and meant.

Someone said it well: “To see the world in a grain of sand, heaven in a flower, to hold infinity in your palm, and to live eternity in an hour. This is life !”

 


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