This Jade

Jade is a stone,
I once heard someone say.
Light bounces off it
in an opaque, soapy way.

And I turn it in my hand,
And marvel at its stoical feel,
colour, disaffection

And then I show it to you,
tinkling voice and shiny eyed you.

You marvel, too
turning it in your hands,
curious, intrigued, and then nothing.

And, of course, I should've known
what would happen next:

It melts.

This Jade turned in your hands
is now a liquid gem;
opaque, soapy,
bouncing light,
but glassy, fluid,
like my eyes
reflected
in yours.

M4K is off to Cape Town...

I have wonderful memories of my first book launch in Cape Town in 2007. Daughters are Diamonds was well received at the Cape Town Book Fair that year, and went on to produce a momentum that resonates still. It's time to visit the shores of this beautiful city once again, with a string of friends waiting there, and of course, with my new publication: Memoirs For Kimya.
Ben Williams of BookSA made special reference to the event here: http://news.book.co.za/blog/2009/10/13/au-courant-three-indie-book-launches-on-our-october-radar-screen/

Also, I will be chatting to Nancy Richards on SAFM (104-107fm) tomorrow at 1:00pm.. or a little after 1.. Tune in to listen or call in if you wish... Audio streaming live at www.safm.co.za

"We move through life as it moves through us. We make up stories in our minds.
And often these stories overlap.
We hope with all our heart.
We dream. We love, often deeply. We experience some gains and some losses.
Each of these moments leave an imprint on the rich tapestry of our souls.
Sometimes the only way to share the awesomeness
is by whispering a few words on the wind.
'Memoirs for Kimya' is a collection of whispers
and a tribute to the many people we meet along life's journey."


WORDFIRE Press takes pleasure in inviting you to the launch of

Memoirs For Kimya by Shafinaaz Hassim

Date: Sunday 18 October 2009.

Venue: Bo-kaap Kombuis, 7 August St, Bo-Kaap; Cape Town

Time: 6:00pm

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

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.

:)

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? :)

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

adoration

I am not sure that we decide on 'objects' of adoration. Sure, there are always ways of being attracted to someone or forging close bonds and friendships that give you a sense of profound warmth, belonging and kinship. But adoration is a word that washes over me like a torrent of graceful summer rains; drenching and soothing and cleansing all at the same time. Adoration. How can you not love a word like that? :)

If you are not much of a wordlover as I am wont to be possessed by such a hobby as wordloving, then reflect on this at least: you will adore something or someone at least once in your life. You will love, yes. You will desire and yearn for and dream of and remember. But especially, you will adore, if only once in your life.

And that adoration will form the basis for almost all forms of reference. It will tell you about the object of your adoration. But it will thrill you to know that you have filled your being with the sweetness of having adored, and been engulfed for a time in adoring another. The great likelihood is that you will have been adored.

How lovely!

And you will carry with you that label of adoration; an unequivocal card of identity that will add to your resume of life a small sense of accomplishment, and even a reasonable explanation as to why the perfect heart that you were born with, might actually look a little tattered (and somewhat torn?). Just like an old book that has been read a few too many times; but is loved more now, in it's almost pitiable state, than it was when it first gleamed proudly atop a bookseller's shelf.

Aah, to adore and be adored is precisely what being alive is all about! And then to refer to it in fairytale form everytime the mind insists that such things are tricks of the fantasy writer's realm. The soul remembers. And the heart knows. Adoration is.

sparkiness, samoosa crackle and family love

I am sitting in complete darkness. The lights went out at 6:20pm; I heard my mom gasp, as the samoosa's shrieked in horror from their pot of sparkling oil. Something had disrupted their little dance routine, for sure! In the mean time, speaking of routines, Madeeha sat on my lap in front of this laptop and wanted to just 'pwess buttons, masi'. Simple request. She is mesmerized by the wonders of the internet, and she's only almost two. Anyway, so the downing of lights was enough to take our attention away from magic kissing hearts, dancing bears and talking birds online.

Scattered around the house, I could hear the shuffle of feet looking for candles. My sister, Madeeha's mom, Dilshaad, sought out baby. Baby is most comfortable. Of course. Back in my room, we had discovered scented rose candles and set those alight. And baby wanted to help me. Lovely. Guided by the light of my mobile phone, we walked across to the living area. Oil still crackled on defiantly, anouncing its heated state long after the electricity cut. Samoosa's bore the brunt of this affair: browning on one side and remaining an uncooked white on the other side. What a waste. Unless you're okay with artistic re-renderings of the fried hors d'oevre.

Still, we totter about in wonder of what might be going on. Bills paid. Mains in order. Now what? Darkness is also a moment to reflect on things unreflecting.
My sister in law remembers that she misplaced her own mobile phone. Using the last of my battery power I dial hers in a rescue mission effort. Found it! The games on it will help with the mundane sitting around and waiting to see what transpires. This here laptop will last a few hours until the battery gives up from sheer exhaustion, and the 3-G modem is helpful as ever now that the adsl is down. It's amazing that we survive beyond the glory of electricity. It is a wonder, indeed.

Mums made some calls. Dad and brother have not yet arrived from work, and when they do, they will descend on a home set aside from the city by its stark darkness. But inside it, candles dance to a different tune, and hearts wait warmed by the thought that all will sit around together in this contemplation of life without sparky electric current, yet filled with the charge of love :)

TeXTure

I met a woman who makes moleskins for a living. What an amazing way to celebrate words, I thought. And the recording of history, of course. But it's to be appreciated that this is a craft of scarcity; and more importantly, the most seasoned artisans are a rare breed.

We feel life in texture. So whether the words we read are made tangible in their way of evoking emotion, or whether it is that life grazes and grabs a hold of you, enticing you to in turn hold on tightly, we are meant to be aware of it's every moment.
Armchair travel rules the world. I believe that, firmly. Via kindle or good-ol-fashioned print runs that leave their ink on your fingers and your mind; the written word will forever stretch out into the Soul of the world and inspire in us things we may never dream of, even.

It's in wanting to feel life that life is felt out for us.

I am threading along with my beads of choice and happy to see the precious moments adding up to a worthy adornment. Life can be pretty thrilling, in it's ordinariness if we just take the time to stand back and admire it :)

S

i got a tan. well done!

i got a tan. on a roadtrip.

im tired.

tired of these

and those.

but super-exhilarated

super duper so

because the view,

the sun, surf and sand

the company of loved ones

and the faces met

were all

so...

exhilarating

:)

'bliss and blood'

"How did my hearts rose

become this astounding red?

Through being washed again and again

in waves of bliss and blood."

R U M I

Pearls of Elation..

Theres pure elation in these pearls of thought, and a rush every now and again in tribute to that flickering smile that captivates her.. makes her heart STOP!.. and then has to trudge onward through the journey, pushing slushy circulation through its arterial routes, in the hope that they might cross paths again.

What delightful wickedness is this play of light and dark and joy and fear and hope and oh-so-many baubles of deluded discovery. And for how long will this last?

Theres answers in the asking.. of mortality. And finiteness. And a comment on being human. And frail. And fickle. And silly. And incredible. And comment on creating that masterpiece called life.

An art. Without skill. Just hope. Silly hope. And nothing else.

And glowing smiles to make it all pretty and scenic on the path to who knows where.

And a string of semi-precious pearls of elation, of course.

In Pursuit of HappYness

This weekend, out with the girls, I got to see Will Smith in melodramatic glory, running the wheel of life, a tired hampster.. Nevertheless, keeping at it in the hope of achieveing that urgently sought after success paradigm. More than that, he was really struggling to survive. In The Pursuit of Happyness, he is Pursuing an idea of happiness. And he is constantly agitated that it could be spelt with a 'Y'. Almost like it has to be forever shadowed by the nagging question, and dogged at its heels, the promise of a struggle: 'the pursuit of.' So. If, as his grating thoughts reveal, happiness is a thing to be pursued, fought for and struggled to get to, then he decides that point is that one never really does reach it. It is a pursuit and never a destination. Or is it...