When I woke up today, I felt the smell of the rays around
me. Listen friend I want to tell you a story about the wind.
I was standing on the stairs of New York Public Library.
It was in October. I felt the words all around me. I felt all
the languages all around me. I felt the wind. I remember
my loneliness there, on those stairs, I thought about Adam.
Man in the garden. Man alone. Man from the dust. I felt his
presence on those stairs—surrounded with all the languages.
I remember the color of that wind— pink. I remember the smell
of it— rose. The wind was blowing on my face and I asked:
“When the Creator created Adam, was he a baby or a man?”
and felt the taste of the wind— cherry. “He was in between
of the beginning of time and its end,” said the wind. “What
language would Adam and Creator have used or spoken?”
I asked and the wind said: “The language of trust and music.”
“What was the first word of Adam?” I asked the wind. “His
first word was his very first breath, with your first breath
you can create the creature too and fill that creature with
unbounded light,” and the wind vanished. I felt that touch
of that wind— the ray with the dust from the garden.
When I woke up today, I smiled. I was singing too, and
then my wife turned on the radio. They say: “The war is
over in Syria. All the children are alive. The war is over.”