In Tokyo, on a Layover

Read Dear Layla with wet eyes. And huge smiles of recognition, not just of myself but of the recognition of common turning points. Despite the desperate situation, despite all that cannot be done, all that cannot be changed, what shone clearly was the sacred vocation of teaching and the art of conversation which brings so many to a liminal point out of slumber, a chairetic sense of time where time is alive and vivid, where prohairesis becomes the way of choosing and living. I will go back again too.

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