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The Magdala
The Magdala
The Magdala
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The Magdala

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It is my opinion that certain smells can happily coerce the mind or consciousness to descend into physicality; there, it is instantly reminded of its connection between ‘the self’ (itself) and its ‘human’ (the body). Enjoyment of an interpreted wave of euphoria induces the mind to fleet a pulse: “Breathe for olfaction’s sake!” The lungs comply without force and the heart follows in due course. With that being said, could such an act be defined as both a moment of weakness and self-awareness? Pheromones, chai, or lemon zest pies: mixed concoctions of delighted odors in a vibrational field of invisible muses. In trying to interpret or possibly understand aromatherapy, the mind must “sommelier” itself upon a scent. In order to do this it must subjugate itself, or if you will, allow itself to fully embody the object of which it’s trying to understand. For better words, it must surrender or fall into complete unison. How silly, but yes! Pure and simple! Why complicate it? Because it couldn’t be that simple? No fighting.... No separation! Two objects, beings, or whatever you want to call it, in a remembrance play.
And when that is achieved, would you possibly consider it to be the epitome of ideas like ‘falling from grace’ or ‘true love's kiss’? Don’t think too hard; no misinterpretation: that would imply a thought! Right now, in this moment, I brought you here and although “here” is most certainly questionable, you followed nonetheless.

I ask you now to go think about what I could have possibly meant or implied by all of this. Go and see how your mind can sink or swim! My take is that the journey could never repeat itself, no matter the mind at play. Even in not trying, such a path would nonetheless be part of the experiment. So would all of the littlest outliers, the contrarians, realists, existentialists, and data dots that would have tried to outsmart the game in their own witty way. There would be no end to the sensuous bouquet of possibilities created. Essentially, in reading, you too my dears have fallen prey for this book surely feels that way.

The Magdala is an abstract depiction of a beautiful journey by means of poetry and short tales (perhaps the inner voyage of finding oneself). Essentially, your interpretation reflects its truest masterpiece which makes you ... the mirror.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherCanamBooks
Release dateMay 13, 2020
ISBN9781777048723
The Magdala

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    Book preview

    The Magdala - Nathalie C.M. Sabbagh

    A Special Dedication

    To Angel Rogers and the Home of Om family,

    Sylvie Jutras and the Ren Xue community,

    Dr. Owen Schwartz,

    Maureen McRae,

    Family, friends, and foes,

    Shamanic tribes of the Seven Seas,

    Spirit guides,

    Forgotten people

    For you were the light that guided me home.

    Mise-en-Scène

    The Mirrored Perspective

    June 24, 2019

    I looked at her

    Deep inside barricaded eyes.

    Beyond her iris’d charms,

    Annual rings of growth,

    Or lack thereof.

    Down the rabbit’s hole,

    I dove.

    Like Alice on the other side,

    I wandered.

    But …

    Would I ever fall?

    In love that is.

    Resign the hats that drove me mad;

    One day!

    And yet somehow,

    Somewhere,

    Over the rainbow,

    I dared a stare

    That day.

    A plunge of hued blues and decadent sins

    And within her ocean’s pond of wonder

    A lonesome map

    Left as a clue.

    The place where time stands still and true

    I found a door carved with a message

    A secreted line before I ventured

    How I’ve longed for this day, it said

    Marked by foreseen sight;

    Perhaps.

    The key? I whispered.

    You always had it, she said.

    "Hush now, little Alice,

    To look is to enter as one."

    Prologue

    The Magdala was one hell of a birthing project! Created for you

    is a written journey from my life’s oscillated twists and turns.

    I call it my paradoxical, fragmented French rhapsody. The puzzle

    pieces that make me are the poems and tales of my inside out

    points of morality. The living thoughts that house my heart live

    in a constant state of degreed dualities. Pouring them out

    enables me

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