Mulling Over Mainstream
1 day ago
Showing posts with label belief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label belief. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 03, 2013
Stop Struggling
Stop struggling. Go with it. Keep you heart and head and senses open to renewal. All the time. Make notes. Keep learning. Again. Stop struggling. Surrender. But not like a inanimate, flat object floating in water. Engaged surrender. Know why you're doing it. Because in that moment where you find stillness, and the mind stops chattering non-stop about how things happen to you and its all so tough and rough, find stillness and listen. Life is always waiting to tell you something unique, a message that’s meant just for you.
Monday, September 02, 2013
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.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
On Visiting Newclare Cemetery
I had just one wish on my birthday in February this year, and that was to visit the grave of my maternal grandfather. Perhaps it was a frivolous wish and so the universe put to the test just how much I wanted to go there. And maybe to figure out why...
And so a whole month later, on the 13 March, I finally made my way to the Newclare cemetery in Johannesburg, with my brother and a friend.
The experience was probably more profound than I had the humility to anticipate.
I think we'd been there as kids. I had only vague recollection. But it all didn't make much sense back then.
Here was a man we had never known, but heard of in so many anecdotal references along the years. And so we had over the years, pieced together a character with likes and tastes and moods. The stories overlapped from the lips of my mom, my dad (who knew him because, as it happens, my maternal and paternal grandfathers were cousins somehow) and from other family members.
My grandmother rarely speaks of him. In our shared moments, on occasion and when probed, she has said to me that losing him felt as though a light went out in her life. But the metaphor was rather literal as well. She said it was just as quickly as that. You flip the switch on a light and it's gone! Wrapped in this narrative of reverance and deep sense of loss, that was all I've had to work with over the years. Needless to say, there's always been the unspoken 'what-if' of what life would have been like if he really had been around today. But I'm understand that the passage of time here is finite. And so the wonderings dissolve.
In this very same cemetery, an old and peaceful stretch of land that has long been filled to it's capacity, is to be found a section of child graves. A few paces apart are each of my grandmother's sons: one born in May 1954, and having passed away in Dec 1956 and Baby M born/died in 1961. Little is known about their medical conditions. Or maybe just little spoken about their demise. And my mom was too little to remember much.
A simple green and white board over my grandfather's grave indicates a timeline for his life 1928-1969. Emotion overwhelms me. Not an inherent sadness, but a peaceful joy. It's as though the physical manifestation of years of stories is made apparent right then and there. It's as though time has drawn a line for me from all the many images that brought into existence lifetime's before I came into being, and that will continue to dot between our generational paths long after my time on this earth has passed. And perspective flashes as lightning; my view is transformed at once. There is no devastation at present; rather we are measured in the way we are able to intercept and transcend the challenges placed before us.
Peace is a place inside.
It is also a sense of belonging to ones self.
Knowing that we're just one dot on that line. That a thread exists before us and that it moves effortlessly, inevitably ahead.
My birthday wish is complete.
S
And so a whole month later, on the 13 March, I finally made my way to the Newclare cemetery in Johannesburg, with my brother and a friend.
The experience was probably more profound than I had the humility to anticipate.
I think we'd been there as kids. I had only vague recollection. But it all didn't make much sense back then.
Here was a man we had never known, but heard of in so many anecdotal references along the years. And so we had over the years, pieced together a character with likes and tastes and moods. The stories overlapped from the lips of my mom, my dad (who knew him because, as it happens, my maternal and paternal grandfathers were cousins somehow) and from other family members.
My grandmother rarely speaks of him. In our shared moments, on occasion and when probed, she has said to me that losing him felt as though a light went out in her life. But the metaphor was rather literal as well. She said it was just as quickly as that. You flip the switch on a light and it's gone! Wrapped in this narrative of reverance and deep sense of loss, that was all I've had to work with over the years. Needless to say, there's always been the unspoken 'what-if' of what life would have been like if he really had been around today. But I'm understand that the passage of time here is finite. And so the wonderings dissolve.
In this very same cemetery, an old and peaceful stretch of land that has long been filled to it's capacity, is to be found a section of child graves. A few paces apart are each of my grandmother's sons: one born in May 1954, and having passed away in Dec 1956 and Baby M born/died in 1961. Little is known about their medical conditions. Or maybe just little spoken about their demise. And my mom was too little to remember much.
A simple green and white board over my grandfather's grave indicates a timeline for his life 1928-1969. Emotion overwhelms me. Not an inherent sadness, but a peaceful joy. It's as though the physical manifestation of years of stories is made apparent right then and there. It's as though time has drawn a line for me from all the many images that brought into existence lifetime's before I came into being, and that will continue to dot between our generational paths long after my time on this earth has passed. And perspective flashes as lightning; my view is transformed at once. There is no devastation at present; rather we are measured in the way we are able to intercept and transcend the challenges placed before us.
Peace is a place inside.
It is also a sense of belonging to ones self.
Knowing that we're just one dot on that line. That a thread exists before us and that it moves effortlessly, inevitably ahead.
My birthday wish is complete.
S
Friday, July 16, 2010
Look at You and remember Me
"You've no idea how hard I've looked for a gift to bring You...
nothing seemed right.
What's the point of bringing gold to the gold mine, or water to the Ocean?
Everything I came up with was like taking spices to the Orient.
It's no good giving my heart and my soul because you already have these.
So- I've brought you a mirror.
Look at yourself and remember me."
Jelaluddin Rumi
Sunday, May 02, 2010
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.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Silence
Silence
you are the tapping of these tips on keys,
making sound, soundless.
Empty yet yielding
something;
soundless,
but real.
Silence you are
intimacy,
scribbles
and thoughts made whole,
but not heard.
Silence,
you are
a tightrope
between
him, and me
and a lifeline
between Him, and me.
Silence,
you are a river
that flows
between humanity
and Being.
Silence!
You are larger
than
Life.
you are the tapping of these tips on keys,
making sound, soundless.
Empty yet yielding
something;
soundless,
but real.
Silence you are
intimacy,
scribbles
and thoughts made whole,
but not heard.
Silence,
you are
a tightrope
between
him, and me
and a lifeline
between Him, and me.
Silence,
you are a river
that flows
between humanity
and Being.
Silence!
You are larger
than
Life.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
breathing
I know that I am being tested. More like I asked to be tested. My deepest prejudices are being uncovered. I feel cut open and left bare. But I'm reveling in it! I don't really know how to explain it all. So why try. It's incredibly enough to feel it. There's something happening here. Inside of me. And some of it outside :) And I'm filled with this feeling of being ALIVE. Breathing and breathe-ing.
There cannot be questions born, without the answers in waiting, somewhere, to be discovered. A treasure of answers are to be delivered to me in the next few hours. I can almost taste them. I have been following the maze and picking up the clues; diligently collecting and collating them. Studiously making my observations. It all makes sense. I'm standing under the waterfall now. Refreshed. Thrilled by the eureka moments that life is throwing my way. Aha! I say. A-Ha! Indeed. Thou art Most Beneficent.
There cannot be questions born, without the answers in waiting, somewhere, to be discovered. A treasure of answers are to be delivered to me in the next few hours. I can almost taste them. I have been following the maze and picking up the clues; diligently collecting and collating them. Studiously making my observations. It all makes sense. I'm standing under the waterfall now. Refreshed. Thrilled by the eureka moments that life is throwing my way. Aha! I say. A-Ha! Indeed. Thou art Most Beneficent.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Revelatory moments
Ive not been up to writing much these few days or weeks, and yet there is so much happening at the moment that I would actually like to share as a way of appreciating, and even celebrating these. So, what's been happening? Not all gratingly physical things as such; more a variety of all things revelatory. Of course, the advent of my new book, its sales and the reception it has received in five weeks since it came off the press is celebratory... Memoirs For Kimya is now available in hardcover; a beautiful imprint that fills me with joy; but there's more.
Life's telling me things these days. Revealing all the answers to all the questions that I have collected like an avid sea-shell collector. Years of putting them to the ear to hear nothing; and now the whispers are more than telling. Revelations are in more than words and sounds: they are accompanied by tastes and colours, vivid images that make for quite a gallery of viewing.
There is no time span when gratitude fills your being. I feel this now. Past and present merge into one. The future feels like an unopened gift, gleaming just within reach of eager fingers. Everything is precisely as it should be. There's really no rush. I am no longer the kitten that chases it's tail. I'm the Cheshire cat with cream on her ever-smiling lips.
Absolutely every human being should feel this, just once.
It's the best of both worlds. It really is.
And of course, everything makes total sense. Revelation is momentary and transcendent at the same time. Kind of like spraying rose water into a space and stepping into it to be embraced by it, to breathe it in and then be soaked in it all at once.
Indeed, His favours are undeniable.
:)
Life's telling me things these days. Revealing all the answers to all the questions that I have collected like an avid sea-shell collector. Years of putting them to the ear to hear nothing; and now the whispers are more than telling. Revelations are in more than words and sounds: they are accompanied by tastes and colours, vivid images that make for quite a gallery of viewing.
There is no time span when gratitude fills your being. I feel this now. Past and present merge into one. The future feels like an unopened gift, gleaming just within reach of eager fingers. Everything is precisely as it should be. There's really no rush. I am no longer the kitten that chases it's tail. I'm the Cheshire cat with cream on her ever-smiling lips.
Absolutely every human being should feel this, just once.
It's the best of both worlds. It really is.
And of course, everything makes total sense. Revelation is momentary and transcendent at the same time. Kind of like spraying rose water into a space and stepping into it to be embraced by it, to breathe it in and then be soaked in it all at once.
Indeed, His favours are undeniable.
:)
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Little Notes from Arabia
31 Aug:
Sometimes, dua, prayer, supplication, moves through us, if not from us. I learnt that today, while standing in front of the Holy Kaaba. I remembered the name of a woman that I have not met. Ever. But I know that she ails. And that almost intangible ailment filters into the lives of her loved ones. Her name came to my lips in full form, surprising me.
I also discovered that empty spaces, mundane ones, are filled easily by the wholeness of humanity. I realised that I am here to experience the notion of a crowded oneness that I write about, ramble about, and even try to fashion into words.
The concept of tawheed is neatly embodied in being one with the crowd. Circling the Kaaba for the last time, amid midday heat that defies logic in its sentient calmness, coolness. Having sought newness, this is it: both Content, Complete.
1 Sept:
The thought crosses my mind that its Spring Day back home in SA. And we're roasting peanuts in the Arabian Sun. The glow is unmistakeably tinged with the radiance of the moment's entirety; of being here, and just being.
3 Sept:
There is something about Madinah that unties that last knot. The last tether is loosened here; and all flows freely. I am easily moved to tears, being the unapologetic sentimentalist that I am, but being here removes that final frontier of abandon. Grace is felt here. Mercy adorns. Forgiveness flows. Love does, too.
I am at once soaked and drenched in it. The beauty of it all.
6 Sept:
Woke up to the distinct sound of the Athaan Call to Prayer in my ears. Its 11am in Madinah, and check out time is after the midday prayer. Only thing is, its too early for the Athaan. But I was so sure. Still. The mind lacks a tether here. It only knows greatness, not of its own doing though. It's time to say farewell to this City of Angels, sadness distilled with the hope that the tranquility prevails, somewhat.
We traverse the Arabian desert for most of the afternoon, chomping kilometres in a rhino-esque vehicle called a GMC; less Gulf-ish than it sounds, as its really an American creature. We arrive in Jeddah just as the sun sets. A golden-pink sun bounces playfully on the horizon for a last few minutes before it plunges into the depths of the Red Sea. We take in the sights of this final destination of our Arabian journey. And then we fly home. Finality has so many colours for me. This time, it's many shades of red.
Sometimes, dua, prayer, supplication, moves through us, if not from us. I learnt that today, while standing in front of the Holy Kaaba. I remembered the name of a woman that I have not met. Ever. But I know that she ails. And that almost intangible ailment filters into the lives of her loved ones. Her name came to my lips in full form, surprising me.
I also discovered that empty spaces, mundane ones, are filled easily by the wholeness of humanity. I realised that I am here to experience the notion of a crowded oneness that I write about, ramble about, and even try to fashion into words.
The concept of tawheed is neatly embodied in being one with the crowd. Circling the Kaaba for the last time, amid midday heat that defies logic in its sentient calmness, coolness. Having sought newness, this is it: both Content, Complete.
1 Sept:
The thought crosses my mind that its Spring Day back home in SA. And we're roasting peanuts in the Arabian Sun. The glow is unmistakeably tinged with the radiance of the moment's entirety; of being here, and just being.
3 Sept:
There is something about Madinah that unties that last knot. The last tether is loosened here; and all flows freely. I am easily moved to tears, being the unapologetic sentimentalist that I am, but being here removes that final frontier of abandon. Grace is felt here. Mercy adorns. Forgiveness flows. Love does, too.
I am at once soaked and drenched in it. The beauty of it all.
6 Sept:
Woke up to the distinct sound of the Athaan Call to Prayer in my ears. Its 11am in Madinah, and check out time is after the midday prayer. Only thing is, its too early for the Athaan. But I was so sure. Still. The mind lacks a tether here. It only knows greatness, not of its own doing though. It's time to say farewell to this City of Angels, sadness distilled with the hope that the tranquility prevails, somewhat.
We traverse the Arabian desert for most of the afternoon, chomping kilometres in a rhino-esque vehicle called a GMC; less Gulf-ish than it sounds, as its really an American creature. We arrive in Jeddah just as the sun sets. A golden-pink sun bounces playfully on the horizon for a last few minutes before it plunges into the depths of the Red Sea. We take in the sights of this final destination of our Arabian journey. And then we fly home. Finality has so many colours for me. This time, it's many shades of red.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Journey of Love
I feel myself revisiting Hajj 2005 in more than one way. And the process has led me down memory lane to scavenge for scraps of writing from that trip. I leave on Thursday for Saudi Arabia, to perform the Umrah pilgrimage with my loved ones. It will be the first time since that landmark Hajj four years ago. I also wonder how very much I have changed since that time... Some change is mandatory, some not so obvious.
In preparation for the Journey, I wrote this piece in November 2005:
The Pilgrim
I do hope that my style of writing has improved, although the space for reflection still exists, thankfully :) I wrote Struggling with GOodbyes just before I left, in December. (I still use words like 'whirr')
I kept a Hajj Journal for my varied encounters; for those days when I happily merged with the crowd to be a single mass of collective worship. A mass of Love. And this, the Journey of Love. I scribbled notes in the darkest hour of night when the camps in Mina finally laid to rest. And again when they awoke to the call of the early morning prayer, and the energy of people ascended to the heavens in one voice. I learnt surrender. I could not find the words to write it. I just knew. I wrote about The Hajj, soon after my return, in attempting to capture it all; but more because I wanted to reclaim that feeling once again. The evasive surreal. I could only try. My favourite piece: The Hajj.
I surrendered once more to the evasive surreal. I wrote a poem a week later: Perfect Circles suggested that even if I could not capture what was, I could own it. I made peace with me.
In preparation for the Journey, I wrote this piece in November 2005:
The Pilgrim
I do hope that my style of writing has improved, although the space for reflection still exists, thankfully :) I wrote Struggling with GOodbyes just before I left, in December. (I still use words like 'whirr')
I kept a Hajj Journal for my varied encounters; for those days when I happily merged with the crowd to be a single mass of collective worship. A mass of Love. And this, the Journey of Love. I scribbled notes in the darkest hour of night when the camps in Mina finally laid to rest. And again when they awoke to the call of the early morning prayer, and the energy of people ascended to the heavens in one voice. I learnt surrender. I could not find the words to write it. I just knew. I wrote about The Hajj, soon after my return, in attempting to capture it all; but more because I wanted to reclaim that feeling once again. The evasive surreal. I could only try. My favourite piece: The Hajj.
I surrendered once more to the evasive surreal. I wrote a poem a week later: Perfect Circles suggested that even if I could not capture what was, I could own it. I made peace with me.
Friday, August 21, 2009
the lightness of being (apologies to kundera)
A year tends to bring numerous landmark events; personal ones, vocational ones, social, political, economic and faith-based ones. Some are steeped in elements of what is real and likely, while others are built on a foundation of fantasy, and collapse even before the hype and adrenalin has run it's course.
We live through the year over-dosing on temporary fixations, no doubt. The compulsive tendencies are fed to fullness on these tempting obsessions with the superficial, the random, and often the mundane. Twenty four hours can transform something that you cannot live without, into second rate trash.
I know these things about the infinite randomness of being, because admittedly, my life tends that way all too often. I hear the whirrrrr of the wheel as I run it like a good hamster. Whirr-whirrrr. I hear it.
And then that silver sliver of a new moon appears in the sky. Friendly faces peek out from behind the wood of trees made into solid doors. The gleam of delight is absurdly awesome; I am at once ensconced by it all, and lifted by the immense lightness of being a part of this communal life. Grace descends as silk. We are swathed in creamy layers of it, fragranced with a joy willed by the entry of this blessed month. It's the Holy month of Ramadaan. The almost Utopian goodness inherent in being human, reveals itself. Redundant excuses no longer make for a fitting diatribe. Devil may care only for a tether that renders evil useless somewhere on the ocean floor. Triumph is left to those who will embrace the rewards on offer; to those who will drink sweetness from ego's ultimate surrender.
There is, in surrender only one outcome: and that is the lightness of being.
Much love and blessings of an engaged surrender to one and all.
Ramadaan Kareem
We live through the year over-dosing on temporary fixations, no doubt. The compulsive tendencies are fed to fullness on these tempting obsessions with the superficial, the random, and often the mundane. Twenty four hours can transform something that you cannot live without, into second rate trash.
I know these things about the infinite randomness of being, because admittedly, my life tends that way all too often. I hear the whirrrrr of the wheel as I run it like a good hamster. Whirr-whirrrr. I hear it.
And then that silver sliver of a new moon appears in the sky. Friendly faces peek out from behind the wood of trees made into solid doors. The gleam of delight is absurdly awesome; I am at once ensconced by it all, and lifted by the immense lightness of being a part of this communal life. Grace descends as silk. We are swathed in creamy layers of it, fragranced with a joy willed by the entry of this blessed month. It's the Holy month of Ramadaan. The almost Utopian goodness inherent in being human, reveals itself. Redundant excuses no longer make for a fitting diatribe. Devil may care only for a tether that renders evil useless somewhere on the ocean floor. Triumph is left to those who will embrace the rewards on offer; to those who will drink sweetness from ego's ultimate surrender.
There is, in surrender only one outcome: and that is the lightness of being.
Much love and blessings of an engaged surrender to one and all.
Ramadaan Kareem
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Memoirs For Kimya
It has been two years since the launch of "Daughters are Diamonds", and I am finally ready to launch my reflective manuscript, a blog to book, or a blook even. To be found therein, are some writings and reflections compiled along with poetry written in various flavours of writings along the years since I began blogging in 2005. And of course, I wanted to create something beautiful to commemorate writing as a journey of choice. As a cathartic one sometimes. And a rather promising and appreciative one at most.
"Memoirs for Kimya" is ready. I am thrilled beyond words. Yes, I repeat. Words cannot quantify how much appreciation I have for this process of creativity, and the ways in which I may share it with readers. Also, it gives me great pleasure to inform interested readers that it is available for pre-order with Amazon.Com along with "Daughters are Diamonds". Search for the individual titles or my full name at the Amazon website and the titles will simply show up.
The official launch of M4K will take place this weekend at the JoZi Book Fair:
Venue: Market Theatre Complex, Museum Africa, Newtown, Johannesburg.
Dates: Saturday 8August from 9am-6pm and Sunday the same. My booklaunch/reading will take place at the BookLaunch Island on Women's Day, the 9Aug at 2pm.
ALL WELCOME :)
2009 is a splendid year so far, and I feel blessed.
:)
Friday, July 31, 2009
Cents and sensabilities
Life is seamless in the way that things work out. Everything makes sense when you turn around and look back at the path that you've trodden, count the scuffs on your boots and measure the creases on your forehead. The final product is seamless perfection, even if it may not seem that way at close first glance. Deep down, the exactness is in order, the perfectness under way.
It all makes sense right now. Complete and perfect sense.
Sometimes the evidence is a direct reference to ones own life. And sometimes it's a story about someone elses life. Life has the most creative ways of bringing the proof of it's pudding to your palate. One thing's for sure: in striving for results-based living that we seem driven to do, the Eureka moments stand out most profoundly as a way of sitting back, or even taking a step away from the flurry of activity and saying: this is it! I get it! This is how it all makes sense. I slept with that knowledge last night. That it all falls together like this. And I smiled that silly smile as I slept. I'm sure I did. Those stubborn lips refused to uncurl. They smiled on into dreamland.
And I probably had them just that way when I walked into the lecture hall at Wits early this morning; I promised my brother that I would make it to his lecture as he was out of town these two days. So I got bribed with the use of his car. But that is an entirely different story. Back to the lecture room. And a lecturer that reminded me of the story of John Nash in 'A Beautiful Mind' - you know the type: quirky academic with an almost religious knowledge of his craft. And I say 'craft' deliberately because of the precision with which this guy talked about theories of taxation and his love for Thomas Paine's 'Rights of Man'. I was transported to my Sociology lectures of old; this was certainly no economist. Except when he started talking (sense) about the evolutionary processes working in favour of economic progression than the revolutions did. Hmm. There's something to think about.
Today was laundry day. In between all of that I also made it to China Mart to pick up bundles of tiny organza bags. And it's more than 24 hours since I've seen my laptop. Another long story. The errand run has me doing things by remote. And my trusty antique mobile phone is earning it's keep, that's for sure! Gmail application is running like a smooth mini office between my designer all the way to the post-production guys. The clock is ticking. Am I the only one who hears it? Sigh.
Johannesburg is a river of traffic on a Friday afternoon. But I wade through the thick of it all. Ormonde. Somewhere just beyond that. And I find the dingy print shop that has done a marvelous job of flyers for this weekends promo. Low budget goodness. I'm just the delivery. Pick up and go. Until I get talking to the rather unassuming looking print dude, whose written an interesting book about SAn history and has just entered his manuscript into the Citizen Book Prize. Aah, is the world tiny or what?
So many things. But my energy is waning. I just wanted to blog it. It all makes sense. Perfect sense. It makes sense to get some well needed sleep, I think.
Sweet dreams all. Hello August. It's going to be one heck of a month. A pink month. A month of pinkness. And many other feel good things. It all makes sense, no? :)
It all makes sense right now. Complete and perfect sense.
Sometimes the evidence is a direct reference to ones own life. And sometimes it's a story about someone elses life. Life has the most creative ways of bringing the proof of it's pudding to your palate. One thing's for sure: in striving for results-based living that we seem driven to do, the Eureka moments stand out most profoundly as a way of sitting back, or even taking a step away from the flurry of activity and saying: this is it! I get it! This is how it all makes sense. I slept with that knowledge last night. That it all falls together like this. And I smiled that silly smile as I slept. I'm sure I did. Those stubborn lips refused to uncurl. They smiled on into dreamland.
And I probably had them just that way when I walked into the lecture hall at Wits early this morning; I promised my brother that I would make it to his lecture as he was out of town these two days. So I got bribed with the use of his car. But that is an entirely different story. Back to the lecture room. And a lecturer that reminded me of the story of John Nash in 'A Beautiful Mind' - you know the type: quirky academic with an almost religious knowledge of his craft. And I say 'craft' deliberately because of the precision with which this guy talked about theories of taxation and his love for Thomas Paine's 'Rights of Man'. I was transported to my Sociology lectures of old; this was certainly no economist. Except when he started talking (sense) about the evolutionary processes working in favour of economic progression than the revolutions did. Hmm. There's something to think about.
Today was laundry day. In between all of that I also made it to China Mart to pick up bundles of tiny organza bags. And it's more than 24 hours since I've seen my laptop. Another long story. The errand run has me doing things by remote. And my trusty antique mobile phone is earning it's keep, that's for sure! Gmail application is running like a smooth mini office between my designer all the way to the post-production guys. The clock is ticking. Am I the only one who hears it? Sigh.
Johannesburg is a river of traffic on a Friday afternoon. But I wade through the thick of it all. Ormonde. Somewhere just beyond that. And I find the dingy print shop that has done a marvelous job of flyers for this weekends promo. Low budget goodness. I'm just the delivery. Pick up and go. Until I get talking to the rather unassuming looking print dude, whose written an interesting book about SAn history and has just entered his manuscript into the Citizen Book Prize. Aah, is the world tiny or what?
So many things. But my energy is waning. I just wanted to blog it. It all makes sense. Perfect sense. It makes sense to get some well needed sleep, I think.
Sweet dreams all. Hello August. It's going to be one heck of a month. A pink month. A month of pinkness. And many other feel good things. It all makes sense, no? :)
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Detour
Conversation brings up many lengthy contemplations. I wonder sometimes if monologues might be the better route. In any event, last night, a friend mentioned that fate, taqdeer, destiny, or whatever you might choose to call it, is like a detour on the regular path. So it's kind of like, you're on this (imagined) journey of sorts, and at some point, a fork in the road appears. A detour. It's like God is saying to you, come this way for a bit, I want to show something to you.
And so you amble along. Because, we love surprises. We are inherently curious beings. Sometimes to our detriment. Often to our delight. But Trust is implicit, of course. And we tiptoe forth, somewhat expectant. Are we to be disappointed? Well, we never really know. Will we be amazed, surprised, awakened, astounded? None is known. None is thought about. We move ahead, enticed by the mystery. Trusting fully.
Without any reasonable doubt, the detour's are proven adventures. Mostly, the reasons are unknown to us, just as the results are. Gains or losses, we are never really able to measure, mostly because we lack that level of humility to really understand the bigger picture. We're too much a part of it; a tiny speck on it, really. We the faithful, led by the All Knowing, are guided thus.
But it is most definitely a path of adventure. And a path of living, both determined and allotted, with obvious spurts of self-determined opportunities borne of the effort to take responsibility for life.
Sometimes, the detour is a person. And sometimes, you are the detour on someone else's path.
How does that revelation make sense though? I'm still deciding about the implications of a statement like that. Is it a straight path after all? Or is it a path distracted by, well, detours?
S
And so you amble along. Because, we love surprises. We are inherently curious beings. Sometimes to our detriment. Often to our delight. But Trust is implicit, of course. And we tiptoe forth, somewhat expectant. Are we to be disappointed? Well, we never really know. Will we be amazed, surprised, awakened, astounded? None is known. None is thought about. We move ahead, enticed by the mystery. Trusting fully.
Without any reasonable doubt, the detour's are proven adventures. Mostly, the reasons are unknown to us, just as the results are. Gains or losses, we are never really able to measure, mostly because we lack that level of humility to really understand the bigger picture. We're too much a part of it; a tiny speck on it, really. We the faithful, led by the All Knowing, are guided thus.
But it is most definitely a path of adventure. And a path of living, both determined and allotted, with obvious spurts of self-determined opportunities borne of the effort to take responsibility for life.
Sometimes, the detour is a person. And sometimes, you are the detour on someone else's path.
How does that revelation make sense though? I'm still deciding about the implications of a statement like that. Is it a straight path after all? Or is it a path distracted by, well, detours?
S
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
stress
I cannot remember being as stressed out as I was today.
I hope that its over for the most part.
There's always tomorrow.
Please God. Don't test my Love, so.
I'm only human.
And I am being human.
Mercy, please.
I hope that its over for the most part.
There's always tomorrow.
Please God. Don't test my Love, so.
I'm only human.
And I am being human.
Mercy, please.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
overwhelming evidence
There is ample evidence of beauty in this world.
I see it in the face of my two year old niece, Madeeha. Madeeha's name means 'praiseworthy', and I am most certain that the starting point of beauty is to be found in innocence. We look to find evidence of an obvious aesthetic presence, but Beauty also exists as a glaze over our vision; a tool of choice that allows us to scan the world with an eye for appreciating all that it has to offer.
People are beautiful in their attempts to glorify themselves; physically, spiritually, and often grandiosely. And some are beautiful in the inescapable sadness that they are shrouded in. Some choose silence as a companion and in that is a surreal beauty if not an obvious one. Beauty can be haunting and erudite or it can be impassioned and glaring; often all at the same time, for there is nothing that encapsulates the human experience more finitely than the multitude of emotions and experiences that occur as a pot of melting, blending colours all at the same time.
Its been a while since I wrote in a way that almost reads like cryptology.
This is not cryptic, only reflective. Nor is it an overdose of sugar, only part of many new thoughts being realised. There is beauty in good, and a strange beauty in the not so good. Acts of humanity are acts of admirable beauty. Crafts. Murder, too is a craft. And craft is beautiful in many ways. But then is evil beautiful as well? Or is it that any act of the human being is purely beautiful?
It may begin at innocence... but where does it stop? Or does it?
I see it in the face of my two year old niece, Madeeha. Madeeha's name means 'praiseworthy', and I am most certain that the starting point of beauty is to be found in innocence. We look to find evidence of an obvious aesthetic presence, but Beauty also exists as a glaze over our vision; a tool of choice that allows us to scan the world with an eye for appreciating all that it has to offer.
People are beautiful in their attempts to glorify themselves; physically, spiritually, and often grandiosely. And some are beautiful in the inescapable sadness that they are shrouded in. Some choose silence as a companion and in that is a surreal beauty if not an obvious one. Beauty can be haunting and erudite or it can be impassioned and glaring; often all at the same time, for there is nothing that encapsulates the human experience more finitely than the multitude of emotions and experiences that occur as a pot of melting, blending colours all at the same time.
Its been a while since I wrote in a way that almost reads like cryptology.
This is not cryptic, only reflective. Nor is it an overdose of sugar, only part of many new thoughts being realised. There is beauty in good, and a strange beauty in the not so good. Acts of humanity are acts of admirable beauty. Crafts. Murder, too is a craft. And craft is beautiful in many ways. But then is evil beautiful as well? Or is it that any act of the human being is purely beautiful?
It may begin at innocence... but where does it stop? Or does it?
Sunday, June 14, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 25, 2009
collision course
Im doing alot of that nearing the edge kind of over-thinking these few days; and I think that when we put love and hate on a collision course, then we only have ourselves to blame. Im rambling again. Its just that there are certain of these life lessons that tend to go over my head and then I find them repeating themselves all too patiently while I sit back and scratch my head in confusion. This time the confusion levels are in a near danger zone.
I dont get it. I dont. And its no longer a person delivering a message or gifting this life shock to me. Its something more; there's this nagging feeling at the back of my mind saying there's more more more to this. So, the suspense is killing me. What is it?
More. Less, but more.
I think the space between lessons is lessening. Still, the same lessons. But like contractions before birthing, and what we hear to be the labour process, the timing between mini earthquakes is getting shorter... the end is near. I think I must get it at some point. Like really just have that lightbulb, eureka moment! Aha! I get it! Like that.. Unless the games being upped and the challenge along with it. And Im losing braincells through my nose in the process, making me worse for wear :/
There's alot going on inside; and definite lines in the sand regards how much I am willing to put up with. Those lines are forming barriers that barricade me from the row of daggers aimed in my direction. Not so sure that's a bad thing or a good thing. It just is.
This rumble of stuff from the inside needs a voice. That's the only thing I know.
And all hell will break loose when that happens.
I figure its winter anyway, so at least we'll be warm, right?
Anyone want to cuddle? Okay, make that a group hug :P
I've set myself on a collision course. I hope all bones remain intact when I'm done with my chosen encounter. I hope that indeed, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. And I hope that I can finally demarcate that area between pussy-footing niceties and just being true to myself. Being real. It's the freedom that I'm craving for the moment. Probably for a longer time than only now. And it scares the hell out of me!
I dont get it. I dont. And its no longer a person delivering a message or gifting this life shock to me. Its something more; there's this nagging feeling at the back of my mind saying there's more more more to this. So, the suspense is killing me. What is it?
More. Less, but more.
I think the space between lessons is lessening. Still, the same lessons. But like contractions before birthing, and what we hear to be the labour process, the timing between mini earthquakes is getting shorter... the end is near. I think I must get it at some point. Like really just have that lightbulb, eureka moment! Aha! I get it! Like that.. Unless the games being upped and the challenge along with it. And Im losing braincells through my nose in the process, making me worse for wear :/
There's alot going on inside; and definite lines in the sand regards how much I am willing to put up with. Those lines are forming barriers that barricade me from the row of daggers aimed in my direction. Not so sure that's a bad thing or a good thing. It just is.
This rumble of stuff from the inside needs a voice. That's the only thing I know.
And all hell will break loose when that happens.
I figure its winter anyway, so at least we'll be warm, right?
Anyone want to cuddle? Okay, make that a group hug :P
I've set myself on a collision course. I hope all bones remain intact when I'm done with my chosen encounter. I hope that indeed, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. And I hope that I can finally demarcate that area between pussy-footing niceties and just being true to myself. Being real. It's the freedom that I'm craving for the moment. Probably for a longer time than only now. And it scares the hell out of me!
Friday, May 22, 2009
gifted
posts can be writ in so many flavours at different times of the day and night. i find that i write my most rambling posts at these oddish hours of the morning, when all i can hear is the baby from next door whimpering and then bawling its eyes...
my brother asked me something this evening at the supper table: he said, shafs how do u manage to stay awake at night? i didn't think too long for the reply: i am awake at night. in the same way that people are awake during the day. i need to re-form my sleep cycle, especially for the winter months. its freezing. anyway this writing manuscript and editing thing has got me turned around to a whole nocturnal living and i rarely make breakfast the first meal of the day. so the family has been complaining a bit. time to lose my night watch status and re-learn the art of normal sleep time. time to enjoy the gift of night-time sleep.
regarding gifts and being gifted, life lessons need be seen as gifts. that's what dear friend S just said to me. so in that case i consider myself lucky on many counts. im going to reach into my vault of 'gifts' every now and again just in case i forget to be grateful :)
this is an arb post. another one that is. i wonder if it is that im not quite taking this writing thing seriously. or that im relegating the SoApBoX to its original state of being the reflective Dear Diary space that it began as.
so many memories at this hall of famous words and nonsensical ramblings. so much mud flung alongside spray cans of wonder. so much more reasons documented in appreciation for myriad things. i feel a poem coming on. lol. or not.
currently listening to a madeenah nasheed. (little bro just gifted me with a new nasheed mp3-cd of some 300 items) i want to go there. to madeenah. where soul cravings speak a different language. and are thus quenched.
im content tonight. even though im rambling... im content.
Allah Knows...
my brother asked me something this evening at the supper table: he said, shafs how do u manage to stay awake at night? i didn't think too long for the reply: i am awake at night. in the same way that people are awake during the day. i need to re-form my sleep cycle, especially for the winter months. its freezing. anyway this writing manuscript and editing thing has got me turned around to a whole nocturnal living and i rarely make breakfast the first meal of the day. so the family has been complaining a bit. time to lose my night watch status and re-learn the art of normal sleep time. time to enjoy the gift of night-time sleep.
regarding gifts and being gifted, life lessons need be seen as gifts. that's what dear friend S just said to me. so in that case i consider myself lucky on many counts. im going to reach into my vault of 'gifts' every now and again just in case i forget to be grateful :)
this is an arb post. another one that is. i wonder if it is that im not quite taking this writing thing seriously. or that im relegating the SoApBoX to its original state of being the reflective Dear Diary space that it began as.
so many memories at this hall of famous words and nonsensical ramblings. so much mud flung alongside spray cans of wonder. so much more reasons documented in appreciation for myriad things. i feel a poem coming on. lol. or not.
currently listening to a madeenah nasheed. (little bro just gifted me with a new nasheed mp3-cd of some 300 items) i want to go there. to madeenah. where soul cravings speak a different language. and are thus quenched.
im content tonight. even though im rambling... im content.
Allah Knows...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
