By Reza Ganjavi
1962 Northern Tehran. Great picture of Tajrish. I wasn't born then but I can smell those mountains and that very, very special, precious air which nowhere in the world has. Friend: "That precious air is now gone n replaced with so much polluted air" Reza: I'm not talking about air quality per se but you're right in terms of air quality and it does make a huge difference. Tehran's air is unbearable -- it's a toxic tank. Nevertheless, there's a sacredness in that spot that I have not seen anywhere. It's very hard to explain it. You can still feel it despite the pollution -- perhaps in an early morning when pollution has not dominated -- standing on a roof top gazing at the 5600 meter high mountain -- perhaps it's the special fragrance of love and dignity that emanates from those mountains -- perhaps it's the mixture of that with the vegetation -- the many Chenar trees (Platanus orientalis) -- or a combination of these and other factors.
It's a special flavor of that otherness, that immeasurable which is the source of everything, is love. Standing there in the early morning, inhaling that immensity, it penetrates the whole being and of course there's no trace of "you" in that picture! You meaning a fictitious psychological entity that's put together by thought as a bunch of memories.
To perceive that otherness it takes sensitivity, and order which is both inner and outer, and being nothing, psychologically, utterly quiet. That is psychological death and with it is renewal. And this is moment to moment.
Maryam Nourzad: Wow Reza jon, thanks for sharing! And I have to tell you that I would give anything you want to just stand there and feel that air and the nothingness you are talking about even for few hours.