Sleepy Time|The nap, a lost art|The value of rest


http://writing201july2014.wordpress.com/2014/08/15/not-writing/

Taking a nap afternoon, has been a tradition in most of the countries riverine to, or living around on the other banks of the Mediterranean Sea, and in Latin Americas, as well. But, it remained peculiar  to Spain were it was established as a “holy” costume  among people since dusting  centuries, it was raised to the same level of holiness as Toro corrida, Flamenco dance, the toreador El Cordobes, bullfighting in arena, torero Ole,  the collective joy  in  shared  moments of farnientes.  Dramas, passionate   crimes and feuds were committed at this singular hour; the napping time, the moment of predilection: when inspiration strikes. Painters, Picasso, Miro, Salvador Dali, Living Art, Poets and writers like Frederico Garcia Lorca, Ernest Hemingway, who wrote masterpieces  narrating the particular hour when the drama occurred: Death In The Afternoon_ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1455.Ernest_Hemingway

Sleepy Time Napping time, it was introduced to Spain by the Moorish Moslems as part of their daily religious rituals; like ablutions before each prayer, the respect of one’s privacy, and  by the fact that their work day starts from dusk to noon: The south of Spain is known; by being arid and hot, it tends to less activities, and more to farnientes . In a given time of today’s work, it’s already equal to six, seven hours, thus the break after lunch imposes itself  de facto. In modern time, taking a nap, it is still in use, and with the same respect for the tradition, preserved intact same as times ago, that businesses close by law, between noon and two-thirty, to resume work until 5:30 PM. _The photography of the daily prompt  emphasizes well a  phenomenon that I had seen a longtime ago. Back then, as usually it was years  ago, as I used to stop somewhere, Paris, Geneva, Bamako or elsewhere. That night it was at Alicante, Spain to spend the night, a stand-by, of  the time I was a flight attendant, like bird of same feather stops for the night. I  used to go to one of the café terraces to relax, as it remains a couple of hours of day-saving at its début of establishment–before dusk to enjoy the lovely late afternoon; the hotel in which we stay for the night was a few steps away from the plaza and cafeteria terrace, there, they were hundred of townsmen, owners of businesses, and families they came gathering there, to relax and chat after work for happy hours, sipping coffee, and indulgent sorbet. The  phenomenon was queer enough by itself, at moments, as the  shout of the crowd rose so loudly, then went crescendo riffed in to the air,  to become  indistinct from the clamored  chirping of the birds that gathered also on the limbs of the trees like on predisposed design. Then, it ceased instantly, in to a sustainable silence like,  for a split of a second, to resume to its brilliant cacophony. People and Birds that seemed comfortable with it, in common accord  were both alike were indifferent to each other’s, they  had come there for the sole  purpose of this: to chat; the ones just perched on the limbs above the heads of  the lasts, the people sitting there on the chairs, under the trees. For  a person foreign to the uses and costumes of the country, who chance to come sitting there stress-free, —-not writing– and just contemplate the scene, it was naturally for him to  find it strange, that with all that tumult  clouding above and without annoyance and disturb,  that anyone  of being aghast of it, where it seemed like nobody was listening to nobody, while everybody is talking, just for the sake of it.

http://cbwentworth.wordpress.com/2014/08/20/interim/ Courtesy to C B Wentwoth

Another day, another night, this time it was ten stories atop of the bank of Niger River, sitting there in a balcony of the Hotel De L’Amitiée at Bamako, the capital of Mali, cleansed by a faint of freshness of the  air at building heights, coming for the river, a mile away.  I was watching thousands of bats, and flock of birds of the same feathers  invading the sky at dusk in a chase of insects for the last meal,  over the crests of Flamboyant trees baobabs, bananas and mango-trees, while twenty feet under, people  were  heading home after an exhausting  day of torrid  Heath, in swarm of bikes, cars and taxi-brouses–a shared car or truck for a ride by ten to twenty people– as the streetlights turned-on in the city and on the bridge, they were crossing the river in long beam of toots hanks, lights and vaporous dust . Somewhere in a distance, I silhouetted an angler on a pirogue who was  throwing his fishing net in the river. People there, mostly Moslem, they stop working at noon for lunch, pray and taking a nap, to resume work at around four o’clock, the call of the muezzin for Asser prayer time Modernism, and automation focusing on generating profit, extending out-put, had taken over traditions, rituals, and the artisanal arts and craft to becoming obsolete, they are fashioning a new way of life, and style, in a fast-paced environments, at the expenses of taking time to live, and appreciate the gift of the present moment: such as, the benefit  of taking a break. Recently some corporates  traduced  a séance of relaxation in a hub in to their office,  for their employees, besides the lunch break, to increase their attentions, during their work. Ps: just for a zest of humor: if you yawn in reading this, just take a …drink and think of it, sometimes inspiration strikes, never knows, when and where.

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Kalimelo

I am an autodidact writer, and enough of an artist, to draw upon my imagination_I can't pretend here, to imitate Einstein's expression, nor to profess having enough knowledge of that sort, credit is, where credits due, noblety obliged, nor to build equations, or lost gravity, still having this audacity to emitate Mr. Einstein one's expression is a crime of Lese-majeste, and to not for being an imbued person, first, pardon my intrusive Introduction, but isn't it an imitating someone, the same like of gardening and planting coliflowers? Maybe Orchids... Secondo, I just have borrowed his quote _"knowledge is limited, imagination encircles the world ", for the pumps and circumstance, and just for the sake blogging, put it that way down to paper, and to fancy make an old dream of mine comes true, perhaps one day, and if time permitting, a would-be a writer and having enough ingredients for writing prose and possibly poetry _Thankful always to my reader for stopping by, and To all the followers: Thank you for following my blog, regularly, and by your likes on my posts, you're encouraging me each time, to persist and strive to do better for blogging than the sensational, and to take the risk to be boring sometimes ; please send me your feeds Thanks you again extra large for your patience _Modestly speaking: _Inspirational Dr. Seuss's quote: _“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And You are the one who’ll decide where to go.” ― Dr. Seuss

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