Hello, Epicurus!

I woke up today in an Epicurean mood.

Something with the personality of a pied wagtail was moving inside my chest.

I am not exactly happy, but puzzled—like a garden when the sun begins melting its snow too quickly, uncertain how it will appear to its visitors.

I walk to the forest’s edge. Autumn is sunny; my friend’s messages have accumulated; and I carry a small gossip I wish to tell someone.

A message asks me: “Do you live in a hut?”

I answer: I live as if in a hut—I am a hut-dweller wherever I go.

I brush the thin and fleshy sunbeams, burying my hand in the density of a Mediterranean basil my father gave to my girlfriend.

A piercing scent—

Hello, Epicurus, here I am, knocking at your garden gate.

I proclaim that the sea is a space for secrets and confessions.

Confessions are secrets we offer freely to the world.

By secrets, we acknowledge before the spirit that there is truth.

Hello, Epicurus—today I want nothing but to celebrate being.

By Fadi Abu-Deeb

From: Sweden

Website: https://fadiabudeeb.substack.com/