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Quote by Titon Rahmawan

“Seorang murid; ia tidak mengetahui apapun. Selembar kertas kosong, halaman buku yang belum tercetak, pena tanpa tinta, biji yang belum bertunas, bayi yang baru lahir, yang belum mengenal dunia, yang tak mengetahui mana yang baik atau mana yang buruk, tak tahu panas atau dingin. Yang tak melihat pesona warna-warna, memisahkan yang terang dari yang gelap, yang halus dari yang kasar. Tak bisa memilih yang mudah dari yang sulit, memilah yang benar dari yang salah. Ini sungguh sesuatu yang ganjil, namun dari situasi yang serupa itu, kita bisa merasakan kehadiran cahaya pengetahuan Ilahi.”

Quote by Titon Rahmawan

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Titon Rahmawan

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“Do not let perfection and order become your masters! These are the two most dangerous traps set for the spiritual Murid. True spirituality proceeds from an honoring and awareness of chaos and imperfection. Who would dare untangle a rainforest?”

“That night, I fell into a deep, travel-weary sleep, lulled by the familiar sound of the waterfall beyond the window. I dreamed of the beck fairies, a blur of lavender and rose-pink and buttercup-yellow light, flitting across the glittering stream, beckoning me to follow them toward the woodland cottage. There, the little girl with flame-red hair picked daisies in the garden, threading them together to make a garland for her hair. She picked a posy of wildflowers- harebell, bindweed, campion, and bladderwort- and gave them to me.”

“I moved silently across the garden, silvered with moonlight, my feet barely touching the ground. I brushed past fern and tree, following the lights across the stream, toward the cottage in the clearing where I watched a little girl surrounded by light and laughter as the fairies threaded flowers through her hair. I stood out of sight, peering through the tangled blackberry bushes, but the girl saw me, rushing forward, her hand outstretched, a white flower clasped between her fingers. "For Mammy," she said. "For my Mammy.”

“It was on the warmest days when I saw them most clearly, days when the sun dawdled high in the sky, tinting everything with rich gold and amber as long shadows played lazy games of hide-and-seek among the trees and ferns. Like the wildflowers that decorated the riverbank, my fairy friends grew more abundant as the summer went on, multiplying in numbers and strengthening in color, the pale yellows and greens evolving into mauves and pinks.”

“They appeared to me like a thin veil of mist, translucent, almost- not quite there. But for all their misty peculiarity, they were as clear to me as the minnows in the shallows and the foxgloves on the riverbank and the butterflies fanning their wings. They flitted from flower to flower, as swift as dragonflies, sometimes glowing brightly like a candle flame suddenly catching, sometimes fading like a breath of warm air on glass, so that you would never know they had been there at all. Yet there they were. And there I was, watching them.”

“There are faerie lights in Faerie - not the tiny paper lanterns that you might see strung up high upon a tree, and not the fat neon fireflies that sprinkle the forests at night - no, these lights are actually the beings themselves, visible as just a pinpoint of light, like stars on the sky, the etheric beings grace our world with fleeting sparks of brilliant radiance.”