4 Nov 2015

Morning run



waking before sunlight
I opened the door to let the day in
the cold air not yet polluted by traffic
only the sound of trees mournfully murmuring to one another
I took a deep breath, filled my lungs with the sweet breath of morning
felt my body expand full of vitality, my blood
a deeper, richer red shot through my eager veins
I started slow
heart beat and breath synchronised
crisp crimson autumn leaves crunched under my hastening tread
the world was new
the promise of the day hung like lavish dew kissing rose petals
presently the wind was my friend, beaconing me to run faster
mysterious invisible ribbons swirled around me, pushing me ahead
like friendly long gone spirits, my liveliness filling them with vigour and
tender nostalgia
turning back, the winds had conspired against me, pulling me backwards
dry hands of gust slapping my perspiring face
I charged, head down like a provoked bull 
my legs began to fail me, breath short and panting, heart pumping harder
to sustain my speed
as in that frequent nightmare, trying to run with legs heavy as lead

my tired heart repeated its mantra: keep going, keep going, keep going..








3 Nov 2015

A new meaning for success


In his fascinating book “Outliers” Malcolm Gladwell tells us why some people don’t succeed in life despite their ambition and drive, despite the ample endowments they possess be it intelligence, talent or skill. In an eloquent metaphor Gladwell explains:

“The tallest oak in the forest is not only the tallest because it grew from the hardiest acorn, it is also the tallest because no other trees blocked its sunlight, because the soil around it was deep and rich, because no rabbit chewed at its bark as a sapling and because no lumberjack cut it down before it matured”

Many people have what it takes; the charisma, the talent, the charm, the knowledge and the motivation but are never given a proper chance, some are filled with self-doubt due to a childhood full of emotional, mental and physical abuse, some are drawn back by a selfish, jealous partner or employer, some are not acknowledged because they could not afford the right school or indeed were put in the right school but were ignored by a spiteful or an indifferent teacher.

Many of the greatest artists, philosophers, authors and poets we recognize today were never appreciated during their lifetime, they lead a life of poverty and despair with only their passion and their love for what they do keeping them alive, and in many cases their passion failing to even keep them alive, pushing them towards suicide and self-harm.

But is success really the recognition of others? Is the only measure of success fame and fortune? Can we not as human beings become successful unless people notice us, show us appreciation and remember our names?

Inspired by poet Rainer Maria Rilke, Franz Kappus a young aspiring poet wrote to him for advice and to ask his opinion on some of his poetry, Rilke’s response was as follows:

“You ask whether your verses are any good, you ask me, you asked others before this, you send them to magazines, you compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now, since you have said you want my advice, I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside and that is what you should most avoid”

Success is simply the ability to do something well, if I can make a nice omelet then I am successful, if I am a good listener then I am successful. Recognition may or may not come, appreciation may or may not be shown. Don’t despair if your talent and hard work goes unnoticed, for most of the world is blind.












2 Nov 2015

The past, does it exist?

What is the past exactly? Is it real? Does it exist?

The inspiring and wonderful spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle said jokingly: “if the past exists some explorer would have found it!”, as much as I love Eckhart and listen religiously to his teachings and believe in his wisdom, and as much as I love his sense of humor I can’t agree with him. I understand of course the spiritual concept which tells us that there is nothing but now, don’t live in the past, don’t worry about the future, there is nothing but now, this moment, live in the now, stay in the now. And I think it’s beautiful, I really do, I try to live in the moment, sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail, but I keep trying. What I don’t accept is the dismissal of the past and the huge effect and influence our past has on us. The past happened, it happened for a reason, the reason was for us to learn, to grow, to change, just because the past has passed, this does not mean that it no longer exists, it does exist, in our memory, and without my memory, I will have to wake up every morning and learn how to walk, and talk and tie my shoelaces all over again. I cannot be selective with my memory, I can’t order my memory to keep the stuff I need like how to walk, talk and tie my shoelaces and order it to delete the painful, haunting experiences which I know no longer serve me; although the fantasy is appealing, unfortunately it’s not the reality. The reality is that our brain will keep everything; good stuff and bad stuff, except of course the things we spend days studying to pass an exam, those will magically disappear in a mysterious black hole in our brain only to be retrieved again when no longer needed!

The past remains with us, not to cause us pain (although it does that too sometimes) but to guide us. When we take a certain road in life and end up falling inside a hole dug in that road, it will hurt, we will feel pain, but we weren’t to blame! there was no way for us to know that there was a hole, but if we go down that road again, our past pain will remind us, it will remind us that there is a hole, it will point out where the hole is, then it will suggest that we avoid the hole by walking around it or taking an entirely different road, therefore, helping us make better wiser choices, without the memory of the past, without the past and its pain, we would simply keep falling, over and over again in the same hole.   








1 Nov 2015

هي


لم يعد "الزهري" لونها المفضل وقد ألحّت وألحّت لشهورٍ عديدة أن أشتري لها معطفاً من الجلد الأسود..
بَدَأت تُغلق باب غرفتها عنّي، وتلصق الوشم المؤقت على ذراعها وبَدأتُ أرى العراك بين الطفلة والمرأة
كلتيهما تتناطحان و تتقاتلان من أجل البقاء
أحياناً تطفو الطفلة على السطح بعينيها البريئتين :"ماما، أحبك"، "ماما أنتِ أروع ماما بالكون"
ثم، أحياناً أخرى تهزم المرأة الطفلة، عيناها تتسعان بشيء من الكره والتحدي والكثير من الحزم  والجرأة..
أعرف.. أعرف أن المرأة حتماً ستفوز و أعرف أن عواصفاً كثيرة قادمة باتجاهنا أنا وهي، عواصف طويلة ومرهقة..
لكنني لا أعرف كيف أكبح جماح أمومتي و حُبّي الخانق.. كيف أقول لها ونحن نبحر في هذه الحياة الزائفة أن الجزر البعيدة التي تود أن تتركني للرحيل إليها ليست سوى سراب، كيف أشرح لها أن ما تراه ذهباً ليس سوى صخر وتراب..
أجلس وحدي أمام صندوقٍ حفظتُ فيه أشياءها عنما كانت لي، عندما كانت بحجم حضني الصغير، فساتينها الزهرية الصغيرة، حذاء  صغير من قماش، غطاؤها المطرز بالورود الذي لازال يحمل رائحة الرضيعة التي سرعان ما امتدت المسافة بين رأسها و قدميها..

سترغبُ في أن تطير، أن تترك عشيِّ يوماً ما و لن يبقى لي سوى أمل صغير أن تعود لتحكي لي كيف هي الحياة من دوني..   




She


She doesn’t care for pink anymore, and after many months of fierce manipulation she made me buy her a black leather jacket for school!

She likes to keep her bedroom door shut nowadays, and I can see it, I can see the girl and the woman battling, fighting for survival, sometimes the girl’s voice comes through: “I love you mummy!” “You’re the best mummy in the world”, sometimes the woman wins, and I see her in a begrudging look, an intentional deafness. I know it is inevitable, I know the girl will slowly vanish and the woman will eventually take over and I know there will be storms, long and tiresome, but I am not ready to let go, I am not ready to stop brooding over her, it is too soon. 
She is sticking washable tattoos on her arms while I open her baby box where I kept her tiny shoes, her tiny mittens, her tiny little dresses when I used to decide what she wears, when she was still mine and I will never quite grasp how fast the space between her head and her feet grew.
In this unpredictable ocean called life I am always sailing towards her and she always sailing to something new, how can I tell her that all those glimmering shining islands she sees from afar are nothing but mirages, nothing but sand and stone.
I want to give her things that never age, things that never lose their sparkle, things that are never lost or broken, things that she can’t outgrow, but I have nothing but my mad irrational love… she squirming in it, wanting out.. soon she will want to fly from me and all I will have left is a hope, a little hope that she might come back and tell me what it was like to be without me.





The importance of Just Thinking



In his master piece “Crime and Punishment” Fyodor Dostoyevsky places his protagonist Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov an impoverished ex-law student, who spends days laying on an old battered sofa in a tiny, dirty room where he lodges, his landlady’s servant Nastasya enters the room, asks Raskolnikov why he doesn’t leave his room and do something useful. This exchange takes place between them:

Raskolnikov: but I am doing something.
Nastasya: what? What are you doing?
Raskolnikov: I am thinking.
Nastasya:*sniggers sarcastically* Thinking!? And how much money have you made from your “Thinking”?

We live in a time where we constantly feel an urge to do something from the moment we open our eyes in the morning to check our mobile devices to the very last moment of the day when we.. um..“again” check our mobile devices! We never give much importance to Just Thinking. Most of the things we do on a daily basis we do mindlessly, such things are mundane of course; washing, having breakfast, driving to work, paying bills, locking the front door.. etc., we do them without needing to think, however, we also do a lot of things which deserve a lot of thought and attention without the thought or attention they deserve. We never look again! So many of our hurried, thoughtless replies, conversations, so many of nature’s beauty or nature’s ugliness requires us to stop, to stop and think, but we are always in a hurry, in a screaming rush.


Things are different at first glance.. look again.





31 Oct 2015

من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟



من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟
من؟
في كُلِّ نهارٍ تستديرُ روحهُ باتجاهك
كزهورِ عبّادِ الشمس حين تستديرُ لآلِهتها، مخلصةً، خاشعة الدعاء

من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟
من؟
يَرفَعُ بِكَ إلى أعلى رفٍ من رفوفِ كيانهِ
حيث لا يصل إليكَ ولا يمسسكَ أحد

من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟
من الذي تتراكض دقاتُ قلبهِ
مع نغماتِ خطواتك المُتعبة
يدرسُ حتى يحفظ عن غيبٍ رهف مشاعرك

من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟
من؟ حتى في حضورك
يبقى واقفاً بانتظارك
يَضُمُّ صُوَرُكَ كما يُضَمُّ الطفل الرضيع

من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟
من يَعرِفُ اللّمحة المترددة، اللائمة في عينيك  
يسمعُ ما لا تقولهُ، يَثِقُ بِتَهوّرِكَ كما في رَوِيَّتُك


من الذي يُحِبُكَ؟