high tea, umbilical cords and everyday miracles

I drink copious amounts of tea when I'm writing. At least, this is something I have just taken note of. Tea seems to flow in me and through me (nasty thought, that) in the same way that muse works its way around in inspiring the words to flow. There are times when the words will not happen, of course. But the imagery is strong and so it follows me around like a watermark in my vision. I see it in view when I am driving, in the shower and nestled under a warm quilt at night. I see it when I wash my hands; it floats in the cascade of water that rushes over my fingers and mixes with the liquid soap to form clouds of foam. At times, it eventually disappears back into the recesses of my imagination and emerges in a dream. I wake up thinking and knowing that this is what happens next in my story. Past, present and future merges into one in the world of the subconscious. And in no uncertain terms, my dream state often informs my storyline, as it does my intuitive life path.

I said in my previous post, that reflections often make me spin. It's not a bad thing. Reflections, and the washing cycle cleansing that occurs in contemplation, making authentic choices and forgiving, letting go, opening oneself to new and replenished opportunities... It's a rather integral part of the life process.

I did more thinking this week when a dear friend who I have not met in years, lost her mom. I first met Elaine when we were both undergrad architecture students at Wits. We shared a studio in John Moffat, the architecture block, and I still remember painting walls and Zen-ni-fying the place before we really warmed to the place. Our other co-inhabitants were Hong and Sundeep. I also remember many hours of Five FM and the like accompanying us on long drawn hours of design collaboration, structural drawings and the ups and downs that went with being undergrad architecture students. Needless to say, the three of em graduated as architects some years later. I dropped out before my second year exam, just after the October portfolio review. That's a topic for a whole other post.

I hooked up with each of them over the last two years or so, on Facebook. Elaine Van Heerden is now Elaine Jones, married, with a beautiful baby-boy/toddler named Rowan. I love being in touch with her, the reminder of the lovely energy that emanates from her wonderful being. She lives in Ohio now. And I read her post tribute to the effect that her Mom, Theresa, passed away on Monday in Johannesburg. I never met Theresa, but I knew Elaine. And reading her heart-wrenchingly beautiful tribute drew blood. It made me wonder about distance, and love and life and death. It also made me realise that proximity is no guarantee for closeness, and being so far apart geographically, does not weaken the bonds of heart and soul; does not sever the invisible umbilical cord that ties parents and children for eternity.

There are so many ways in which we attempt to make sense of life, purpose and the reasons for meeting people in our lives. The answers that we come up with are often insufficient responses. Words can only do 'so much'. There's a lot more to be said about feeling your way through life and being in awe of everyday little miracles.

...the beauty of this world

a fresh breeze tints my skin,

my baby eyes open

to the length of her cupboard door,

fingers reach for an ancient lock, dangling there

i pry them open, this place of old and new, new and old.

-the scent of musk invades the room-

silks and wools line the hanging spaces,

more textures in the drawers,

my hands float;

senses still arrested by the warmth of oils and musk and rose

and her. my beginning. my first pair of eyes.

my taste of real and The Real.

my reason for awakening. my view to beauty in this world.

---

many happy returns to the most beautiful woman in the universe

may you have days of scented rose

and nights of comfort, only. to my dear grandmother.

here's wishing you a grand 81, with Allah's fragrant blessings...

happy birthday!

the summer of sweetness

After that night, she hated him. It took her three months to drag herself, bit by bit, out of that rut of hatred. Because the way she saw it, after all the time that they had known each other as children, it took one moment of hormonal tugging; one sordid word from the woman who wanted him, to make him cast that evil look upon her face. It burned her. Then the scar remained, revealing itself to her everytime that she looked into the mirror. Renewed loathing filled her being. Tears refused to sting her eyes; she wouldn't waste that salt on him. Not anymore. She was adamant, but still it was a struggle to fight back the waters of sadness. Her bottom lip took the brunt of it, revealing beads of red in place of simple salt water from higher up. The taste on her tongue was the same; aside from the colour, blood and tears were the same, she realised.

He wasn't her brother. Nothing tied him to her, irreverently. They weren't lovers. Love was this strange word that could so easily distort the purity of the friendship that they had cultivated since they were each less than a metre high. She supposed that such was the nature of soul connections. A knowing with certainty that the other person was a certain way, today but perhaps not tomorrow. Having an inkling of an idea that they needed to hear something said at a particular time. Or that they needed to be simply left alone. It came with time, and patience, and listening. It came with caring, because she was sure that even some married couples didn't quite get to that point. Married couples? What was she thinking, they were not a couple. They were childhood friends, thrown together at a time when innocence was the glue and adventure was the energy that grew them on the same branch of life's tree. Two unripe mango's laden with promise, and waiting only for the summer of sweetness to claim their moment in the sun; their moment of fame and glory.

It was something that everyone was entitled to: that precious time at the prime of one's life when all potential and wonders are revealed to a world that never knew of your existence. The only ones who knew were the ones who grew you to this point. With water and light and care. With tenderness. Just like he did for her, and she did for him.

And what happened then? The fork in the road. The split in their journeys. The look of disgust in his eyes. Those last words, spat out like something bitter and poisonous lingered on his tongue. And then nothing.


(Copyright Shafinaaz Hassim 2009)

angels and demons

The forces of light and dark are undeniable variables in our every day. If day exists then so does night. For the most part, it's just as easy to enjoy the glory of a star-speckled sky, as it is to bask in the grand elation of sunshine caressing one's skin. Beauty has many colours, evokes different emotions and appeals to many in different ways. But in life, as one might at some point discover, there are also an army of angels that will spur you on in your quest to find that elixir of uncovering hidden potential. And there are a range of demons, too, who will stop your process at every opportunity; the way I see it, is that its really a game of wills, a maze of chance and a test of strength of spirit.

There are people who will love you for what you do even if their blood doesn't flow in your veins. There are those who will love you for who you are because the same heartbeats resonate in their chest as in yours. And there are those who will abhor you beyond reason. Some will spit venom when your name is mentioned. And some will be audacious enough to partake in actions that intend some harm to you. Bad words. Bad thoughts. Even worse, they might do that which belongs in the realm of science fiction bestsellers; engaging forces of darkness and evil to cause you nothing but harm and often even disease. It makes sense, of course, that invoking the protection of forces of good will encourage in you a lightness of being. And that increased faith and belief in a Higher Power will fortify you against such malice. It just seems for many that I have heard tales from, that the struggle is continual. Kind of like playing different stages of a digital game where the stakes are upped every next level.

And we keep playing. And so do the demons. Angels are plentiful, too.

It's a surreal place to be, this hanging between lightness and darkness and knowing the beauty of each, but also being wary of the dangers inherent in that in-between space.

Here's wishing one and all, angels more than demons. And here's wishing you the ability to discover the Angel within.

Love and Light,
...S

Inside Khalida's head

"Its easy to get married". Those were his words to me. At this point, you know tons of people, or rather at any point you do, and then you decide on whose the one suited to a profile of sorts and you go ahead. Note, he means a general 'you'. Sigh. I disagree. I still want magic and sparks and chemistry; but then I also want this package of guarantees you know. Like someone with staying power. When the going gets rough. Like someone who goes beyond everyday romance (nothing wrong with white roses, guys!). Like someone who will be a shade from those mundane storms of life. Not just some arb (good) person whose hunting for a wife, and the one that says 'yes' will do. Not that. Pretty faces fade, so then it has to be about essence of person. How do people read spiritedness? Do they even? Somehow, it was difficult to believe that people looked beyond the sea of pretty faces and delved deeper into the energies; realising all the while, that the wrong connection could condemn one to a life of lament. Or maybe it was that I was accustomed to thinking too far ahead? Is this where life had brought me to? So many questions, but I knew the answer lay right before me. Hovering in my wake state, haunting in my dreams. The culmination of everything past and hoped for. I know the saying, be careful what you wish for, it may come true. I was wishing anyway. It just took shaking the contradictions of a recent past, and taking that step ahead with certainty in the blessings of the divine blueprint of life. And what would be, would be.