on the flawed translation of magic
part 1 of moments I want to remember from our time in Lebanon
“I don’t do time,” Fadi kept saying as he told us the story of how La Maison des Sources came to be. He waited 15 years to find the right partners who could help purchase the 200-year old Lebanese property, and transform it into the breathtaking yet humble guesthouse it is today. Nestled in the mountains & cedars of Ain Zhalta, La Maison exudes an organic warmth that makes you feel at home: staff that become fast friends, a communal dining room drenched in sunlight, sharing meals & stories & quiet unwinding with fellow explorers.
After catching wind of where Jocelyn works, Fadi had driven from Beirut that morning to meet us before we left. We were greeted by his warm excitement; bites of deliciousness from their garden and pantry; his two dogs Jungle & Cartouche, and the mountain dog we had fallen in love with days before. We learned her name was Jesse.
“I don’t know what you do,” Fadi said, puzzling into my eyes. He motioned at Jocelyn and said, “I know a little bit about her but you, I don’t know…”
I wanted to say, “Like you, I don’t do time. Like you, I am an artist. Like you, I once thought I wanted to get rich, and then I learned it’s the cows, the goats, the garden, the big cabbages that make me happy,” but I felt that even my most eloquent language wouldn’t capture the divine connection I knew was there, so instead, I smiled.
“But I have this….this…” Fadi gesticulated. “Instinct,” I said, aiding his translation to English.
“Yes, instinct.”
Fadi extended an invitation for us to spend the summer at La Maison and its accompanying artist’s studio. “It’s a great place to write a book,” he said with an earnest grin.
His staff then packed us a bag of our favorite things we had eaten during our stay: house-made sun-dried tomatoes, labneh, mulberry jam. A generous heap of the pumpkin cake I couldn’t stop eating, along with its recipe.
We ended up following Fadi back to Beirut to eat shawarma with him, his wife, and their friends before driving to our next destination. And as we munched on our goodies throughout the following days, I thought of the things that transcend culture, language, and geography—like a big bag of packed food as an expression of love, or knowings that are felt in the soul but difficult to express with language. To recognize these intangibles is to be awake to the magic that is ever-present in this life, however quiet, however untranslatable.
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