A little piece on the connection between things
Not unwilling to talk, Rahim lost his ability to piece words together in any substantial way. He was the desert’s deep torrent beds naked after a spring rain washed the sand away. When he did speak, his words stood as bare as the northern Qabd Mountains, as lonesome as an oryx atop a vertiginous mountain.
If the smells and sights and surfaces of the world inhibited his tongue, the world itself prevented his mind from constructing a caravan of thought. The times he could, as he could now, he always went back to Odolatorite where he learned that since not everyone thought about the Beloved, they mulled over different matters and involved themselves with different concerns. He’d picture the different places he’d been; he thought of the different musics, the different speeches, clothings and customs and foods. All those different people living in the same world. And he knew…
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