a veil between me, and You

Someday, dusky sky will be more than a veil between me yearning to understand all things, and truly knowing You. Someday, the crystal surface will break, and Light will be the only nourishment. Someday, beyond and now and then will be One, and I will be You. 

Learning...

I've missed blogging, what with all the writing and editing and living that's been happening. Also, a lot of learning for me in this new year. I'm just learning that strawberry yogurt is an excellent (and guilt-free) quencher when you have the munchies at just past 1am, as is now the case.
I've also made note, that some of us weren't born to be pawns, and if we're treated that way, then we will leave the chess game and make our own way across the board games of life until we find our own space to breathe, to grow, to be.
And of course, even though I believe that everything in life happens for some or other reason (often not immediately understood), we have to pay attention to how life seems somewhat randomized, that we will collide as atoms do and that's one of the most beautiful realities about this whole business of living.
PS: This is a one a.m ramble. And at second read (I refuse to edit this!) it does sound a bit heavy and vent-worthy. But. I'm looking forward to an exciting year and a string of new projects and opportunities. More learning. More being me. More of this and that. More writing! And endless love.

Belly of Fire, the anthology that waited patiently for me to pick it up from the shelf of 2010's busy schedule, is on the road to being born. Yes, like a pregnancy. Speaking of which, I will be an aunt sometime soon.
And as of this week, I will be lecturing the Feminist Theory course for Hons students in Sociology at Wits University with Daughters are Diamonds as core text alongside Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex. Accompanied to this is an exciting reader of fabulous material to be discussed in the seminars. The possibility of a play (if the department agrees) and a film to be reviewed by students. It's strangely satisfying, being back at my alma mater. And surreal at the same time, walking around the old haunts, remembering things I may have inadvertently forgotten.
I'm all set for an interesting year ahead.
That's the certainty that is my companion for now.
Good night, blogmites.
xoxo

Beautiful things; precious moments...

I've been back in Durban almost a fortnight, counting the beauty, the days of good and wondrous encounters, the love of life and the blessing of being around my maternal grandmother. I bask in the sunlight of her spirit. Sitting in her presence is a quenching for my soul. I drink on, satiated.

And then I drink more of her loveliness.

There's a varied peace in this...

I measure my life in milestones. Not timelines, but in connectivity with loved ones, proximity to them. Haji'ani Ma, my maternal grandmother, is my measure for all these things.

I have noted various stages along her life path. A strong and resolute woman, but also a fragile and lovely being. She brought up her two daughters after being widowed at the age of 39. And I was born before her 50th birthday; to her eldest daughter, her first grandchild.

The cream over her milk, as she likes to say of us grandchildren.

She will be 82 this week.

Holding her delicate body in my arms, feels like I'm hugging a dream.

I already know that a part of her is looking onward to higher places.

And a part of her remains here, with us. Counting our successes, sharing our smiles. A haze of the fantastical forever lingers. Reality beeps to the beat of our hearts. Mortality of the body overshadows immortality of spirit, being, a lifetime of dreams realised, hopes dashed, joys shared, loss made visible.

Instead of counting the days, I want to celebrate the precious moments. One at a time.

spin cycle

There's a gain and a loss in every one of our encounters in life. Whether it is that I am talking about the people we might meet or the events that transpire; also the opportunities that come our way.

I have an eternal cycle of reflection going on in my head - kind of like a washing machine - and in meaning to rinse and cleanse, this process almost always ends up putting me in a spin.. (pun intended, of course!) Hence the often (seemingly) disorderly thoughts.

filmi? not!

I have three brothers. One, I live with. My twin of sorts. The male version of me, we're told. Luckily for my folks, we were born some years apart. But battling out a negotiation or spending time with mutual friends and loved ones is like looking at mirrors side by side. Good Cop, Bad Cop. Twin disasters and kindred spirits. The other two are in Durban. Sons of my other mom. My mothers sister. My darling cousin Hish is one of the most theatrical people I know. His antics have left us many a time in fits of hysteria, sometimes in deep thought and other times major concern. Why? It's his personality. Infectious, nerve-wrecking, enticing, provocative, sometimes sweet, and mostly down right scamp worthy! His older brother Rayms is the epitome of the suave, deep-thinking, calm, silent intellectual. His creative talents are yet to be shared with a world sorely in need of his kind of genuine depth. He knows it not. Or maybe its not cool to believe everything your sister tells you :P (that would be me!) After all, people who really love you, tend to exaggerate your qualities and talents. Right? Wrong! Sigh. It's just plain nerve-wrecking when people don't see their god-given awesomeness and then use it to make a difference, no matter how small or seemingly mundane. Acts of creativity are seeds planted from the divine harvest. Someday they're bound to be a shade! I believe this. I know this. How? I can't tell you this in one little post. But someday, when I'm sitting in the shade, I will tell you. For now, believing it is enough. Belief is knowing.

I am thankful. For these people. These sources of good soul filling energy in my life. And I am writing these appreciations in tribute to them, because I miss them. They live out in Durban, and I got to spend an awesome five months with them earlier this year. I miss them much. And because, on Saturday night well past midnight, they were involved in a freak accident that has us all pretty freaked out. Just like the movies, Hish said. In typical animated-about-life fashion that he is renowned for, he described the details to me. Slippery roads, spinning car, streetlight, brother, friend, driving, spinning out of control, capsized, seatbelts! thank Allah! tired of dancing with it's unnamed demon, the car finally came to a stop on its roof. they were locked in. the smell of the fuel leaking. everyone seemed ok. they broke a window and got out. and then once rayms and ziyaad were out, he went back in to turn off the ignition?! the logic beats me. some whiplash. a few stitches. under the circumstances, they came out okay. Alhamdulillah.

But the trauma persists. And he won't get behind the wheel of a car yet. Know the feeling. And I miss them. May Allah protect them, always. May He watch over us all. Ameen.

what ego said to soul & vice versa

Ends and beginnings are never as circular as they might seem. Well, at least, not at first. Nostalgia is a thing of dreams and damnation. Many a poet has stolen its fragrance to adorn mere words; or used it to display grief and loss and deep regret. But what does one do to a bout of nostalgia that is unnameable. No title fits it, aptly, so fleeting is its source. A mirage, almost there... Even in dreams, a touch, a word, a look, a conversation between souls... is being reduced to a misty moment of an over-worked imagination. Nothing less. Nothing more.

But the battle of wits and grace between ego and soul persists. How does one hold onto something that was never really there, says ego? And how does one let go of something that truly was, says soul? And at what point are we meant to know the difference, say I?

In the beginning ego was left sulky, thirsty, and soul was nourished, gleaming, in pure joy. Now, ego remains to pick up the pieces, saying 'what a mess, i told you so!' while soul dips into the well of muddy tears looking for a drink to make it forget. Or is it to drown out the noise of the ego!

Ha! Says Ego. You see! Ordinary pathos makes a better story than the tales of 1001 Nights, not so?

Soul says No! In that realm where souls take flight, the dance of joy still exists..
You belong to me. And I. Am only. Yours.

I am nothing

I wonder
from these thousands of "me's",
which one am I?
Listen to my cry, do not drown my voice
I am completely filled with the thought of you.
Don't lay broken glass on my path
I will crush it into dust.

I am nothing, just a mirror in the palm of your hand,
reflecting your kindness, your sadness, your anger.
If you were a blade of grass or a tiny flower
I would pitch my tent in your shadow.

Only your presence revives my withered heart.
You are the candle that lights the whole world
and I am an empty vessel for your light.


Rumi: "Hidden Music", p75

Art as Flirtation and Surrender

In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,

and that sight becomes this art.

J.RUMI



(Excerpt from The Essential Rumi, translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne, 1995. )