Archive for love

Being Fresh..”Auntie Ann’s Biscuits”

Posted in A Different Perspective with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2014 by thecountessshadow

 

tango

Nothing is more beautiful than feeling like a surprised child whose innocent eyes are so wide and taken by everything, exploring the world around him, and paying attention to every detail without losing the charm of the big whole image. A breathless soul for whom everything is new, everything is a mind blowing discovery, things, people, whatever his eyes see it takes his breath away with passion. They taught us that being so surprised is not a good thing (I don’t know if you were blessed with different teachings but that was my own!), that we had to become mature mentally and emotionally, to handle things with wisdom, and I have never spotted a more stupid teaching than this one, but it took me decades to understand this! The word mature is supposed to be good, like an apple that is red and ripe, a one that reached the peak of its glory and readiness to achieve its full potential, but for humans, the word rarely means the same glorious thing. It usually means that the person is depressed enough to notice any magic in the world, any symbol beyond the words or things, it simply means he has just lost interest, or in a more sophisticated way, he lost the freshness of his soul, and became a dead apple instead of being a ripe one! It seems as if the reason for the freshness of a child is the lack of experience or knowledge about the world, which may be partially true, but extremely superficial. Personally I believe it is his innate nature that is supposed to stay even when knowledge accumulates and it does not, because that child is artficially manipulated that his nature is distorted.

At any point in anyone’s life, his knowledge regarding most things is very limited until the moment he passes away. At any point, you know nothing about plants, their types, their life span, animals, places in the world, customs of other nations, or even thoughts of other people, billions of people all around the world, and these are just few examples. At any point you know nothing about almost everything, and your maturity is just the most unrecognized psychiatric sign of depression, a very weird type of depression that is very resistant to all antidepressants, a one that is not mentioned in the DSM, because it is a one that is generally acceptable or may be even blessed! Man finds himself bored, consumed with the delusion that he knows what is coming, you find yourself expecting events, expecting others’ reactions, hearing a word from someone and categorizing him into one of your fixed categories, and life feels so pale and boring. The tricky thing is that you categorize the other motivated by your so called maturity, and in turn he categorizes you, and the more strange thing is that you both fit into the stereotype the other categorized you in, and you are both dead struggling to find something to say to each other to fill the painful silence. This may sound an exaggeration for you, but to me, it is very true, happening all the time to me and to those around me.

I have read something written by a fellow blogger called “can we just talk”, and apart from the specific meaning that blogger wanted to convey, I thought about it and found that we are really unable to talk, not just unable to talk, but may be unable to see, to smell, or to use any of our senses to its maximal potential, because we are no more interested. How can we talk to each other, if each one can not talk to himself/herself? How can I genuinely care about you when I do not genuinely care about myself?! The psychologists say that children are self centred, and I say they are so much curious about themselves that they meet the world with the same fresh curiosity. They can make friendships easily, they can enjoy simple things, they are always imaginative and dreamy and still deeply involved in the real world, playing and running under the sun (I guess I am envying the kids!).

I was thinking about racism, and do not ask me what is the relationship between this post and racism, as always, I have no idea, and my thoughts are just impulsive the way you see them! So back to racism, laws fight it but it grows inside even if people deny it, you can spot it easily in simple gestures and stereotypical ideas of each group of people about other groups, and when you look closer you will find that the stereotypical racist is usually a nationalist, apparently a nationalist. Bretrand Russel argued that national symbols should be discarded in favor of a global flag for the whole planet to fight racism, but I find myself arguing against Russel, not because I am a fan of racism! but because I see the psychological roots of this ugly problem differently. Let me simply state, how can I respect you, when I despise myself?! How can you see my beauty when You can not spot yours?! It may sound stupid to you, but I invite you to watch closely any enthusiastic nationalist (mostly political ones) and look beyond the enthusiastic words into his/her life, and you will be astonished that he/she takes no pride in their culture, habits, or even families at times. I do not talk at the superficial speeches they give, but I talk about the true inner feelings that only a relative or a close friend may know. You may disagree with me, but I strongly invite you to check and see for yourself. I think nationalism and holding high your own values or traditions (even as a folklore you disagree with but are not ashamed of!) is the only way to embrace the other naturally. The problem is that true nationalists (actually the word is inaccurate but lets just use it) are not interested in giving political speeches, they may be artists, scientists, or regular people just enjoying their simple everyday life, and you will never know about them. You need to feel proud about yourself to be able to sense the beauty in the other, or let’s say, you need to be as natural as a child who loves mama Fatema’s pie and jumps happily for the lovely auntie ann’s biscuits! Does this make any sense to you, or is it just my nonsense?!

 

Her Wild Stallion

The Prophet ( Gibran Khalil Gibran )

Posted in Poetry & Literature with tags , , , , , , , on November 21, 2013 by thecountessshadow

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You can not say whether he was an Arab Lebanese, or an American, simply because he was both equally. You can not tell whether he was a poet, a philosopher, or a saint, just because he was one weirdly beautiful mixture of all these things. He was like a bridge between the west and the east, like a point of meeting between a soft brook of emotions, and a vast sea of thoughts. In his short life he wrote many beautiful verses that were pearls of wisdom, but beauty is the word I prefer to use to describe his verses. He is Gibran Khalil Gibran, one of the greatest poets of all times. ” The Prophet ” is one of his books that is so close to my heart, in it, he spoke about love, beauty, death, and many other things in a very beautiful way. I wanted to share some of the verses of this book with you, and to bring it to your attention, hoping that you may find it as beautiful as I feel it.

When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him.

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth
so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver
in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant,

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for
God’s sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge becomes a fragment of life’s heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure.

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s
threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and
weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself, and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not, not would it be possessed,

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart”, but rather, ” I am in the
heart of God”.

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy,
directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love,

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving,

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy,

To return home at eventide with gratitude,

and then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart, and a song of praise
upon your lips.

Gibran Khalil Gibran.

Her Wild Stallion.