What should I do with my life?

I have been reading this article and found it needed to be reblogged. I wrote about it in my other blog though, so if you would like to find out about the article and my thoughts about it, go here. The original article by Po Bronson can be found here.

To give you a taste, it begins like this:

"It's time to define the new era. Our faith has been shaken. We've lost confidence in our leaders and in our institutions. Our beliefs have been tested. We've discredited the notion that the Internet would change everything (and the stock market would buy us an exit strategy from the grind). Our expectations have been dashed. We've abandoned the idea that work should be a 24-hour-a-day rush and that careers should be a wild adventure. Yet we're still holding on."

Thanks to Leila :)

Seeing the wall and hitting it head-on

I am just publicly venting my mental state, so don't pay too much attention to what I am going to say :) Maybe someone could tell me if they have felt the same way because not being alone with this might help. Is there another way out of the dead end than just waiting it out?

I feel an urge to write because all the icky feeling inside starts showing in my daily routine. I don't go to bed because I am not tired. Then I watch some movie or play a stupid little flashgame, read the news and miss the right moment to go to bed. When I finally go to sleep it depends on the plan for the next day whether I have to get up early and spend the day sleepwalking or whether I can stay in bed till noon and then spend the afternoon feeling unproductive and guilty.

All the methods of time management I have heard about don't seem to save me from this vicious cycle. It obviously makes a difference knowing what's the best way to handle a situation and acting on it. This knowledge lends a self-destructive sensation to it, and that part actually is somehow thrilling. Am I making sense? I hope not.

Recently a friend told me that carrying responsibility has marked the end of procrastination for him. He is busy at his job, but definitely seems content in his new life. So far I only have responsibility for myself and my studies and this freedom is hard to balance with discipline. There is a little guilt when I think of my parents or the hopes I have in myself.

This is not supposed to happen to me. My self image does not involve undisciplined lazy stupid behavior. It does not even involve berating myself beyond a certain limit. So why am I still here?! Well, that's all. End of rant.

The Legend of the Island of the Nonce

"Apparently, somewhere on the Nonce(though I've never seen them) is a tribe of winged creatures called theFathathai.  A gentle, shy people: almost like angels.  There are very few of them on the island because" -he looked at his feet- "because they don't find love very easily, and so a Fathathai wedding is a rare event.  But anyway, the legend goes that there was one of these creatures by the name of Numa Child, who did fall in love."

"Lucky him."

"Well, yes and no.  You see, he fell in love with a woman he met here on the Nonce, called Elathuria. She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on.  There was only one problem."

"What was that?"

"She wasn't flesh and blood like he was."

"What was she?"

"As you know, this island is home to some very strange lifeforms.  And Elathuria was one of the strangest."  He paused then looked up at Malingo as he said: "She was a plant."

Malingo only managed to suppress a laugh because there was such a look of deadly seriousness on the dragon killer's weary face.  And though he did manage to suppress it, Finnegan nevertheless said: "You think I'm joking."

"No..."

"I've learned only two things in my life.  One, that love is the beginning and ending of all meaning.  And two, that it is the same thing whatever shape our souls have taken on this journey. Love is love. Is love.... Well, when Numa Child first met Elathuria she was in full bloom.  She was perfection.  No other word for it."

"Extraordinary."

"It gets stranger still, believe me.  Did I tell you Numa Child fell in love in a heartbeat?  I mean, literally, it was that fast.  He saw Elathuria, and that was that.  His fate was sealed."

"Love at first sight...Do you believe in that?"

"Oh, certainly, it happened to me.  The very moment I set eyes on the Princess Boa, I knew that there was no other soul I coul ever love...." Finnegan looked up at the rain, which was beginning to cease.  He licked some of the raindrops off his lips, then he went on telling his story.

"So, Numa Child told Elathuria instantly.  'Lady,' he said, 'I will never love anyone the way I love you.'  And much to his surprise, Elathuria invited him to kiss her.  'Quickly,' she said.  'Because the sun is hot and the hour is passing.'  Numa didn't think very much about the significance of this.  He was simply happy to be invited to kiss his beloved.  And as they kissed and talked and kissed again, the hour ticked away..."

"This isn't going to end happily, is it?"  Malingo said.

Finnegan didn't answer.  He just went on with his story.  "When Numa kissed her again, there was a little bitterness on her lips."  'What's happening?' he said to her. She told him, 'Time is passing, my beloved.'  And to his horror, he saw that her blossoms, which had been so bright and beautiful when he'd first set eyes on her, were now beginning to losethat brightness, and her green leaves beginning to turn gold and brown."

Finnegan's voice, as he told this part of the story, grew soft and full of sadness.

"Finally, she said to him: 'Don't leave me, love.  Promise me you'll never leave  Find me again, wherever I go.  Find me.... Look for me wherever the wind comes,' she said, her voice getting more and more hushed.  'I will grow again from the seed that is carried away from this place."

Numa was, of course, happy to hear this, but his mind was filled with questions and doubts.

'Will it really be you?' he said to her.

'Yes,' she told him 'It will be me in every particularity.  Except one... I won't remember you.'

"Even as she spoke these words, a breath of harsh wind sprang up and shook her violently, so that she was entirely shaken apart."

"No!" Malingo said. "Had she gone?"

"Well...yes and no.  The wind had scattered the seeds over a considerable distance, but Numa was determined to find some trace of her...so he searched like a wild man, not resting until his search was rewarded.  At last, after a long time searching for her, he finally found her, rooted in a new place.  She was still growing, but he knew her immediately and fell in love with her again, just as he had the first time."

Now Malingo began to see the significance of what he was being told.  It was no accident that Finnegan was the bearer of this story; he was, after all, here on this island because he had lost the love of his life.  It stood to reason that this legend would capture his imagination as it so clearly did.

"So history repeated itself?" Malingo said.

"Indeed it did.  Not once, but over and over...."

"And do you really think they're still out there, loving each other, and then being separated, and him finding her again, only to be separated again?"

"Yes, I do." Finnegan said.

"What a terrible way to live."

Finnegan considered this for a moment.  "Love makes its demands, and you listen.  You can't bargain with it.  You can't fight it.  Not if it's really love."

"Are you still talking about Numa Child and Elathuria?"  Malingo said. 

Finnegan looked up at him "I'm talking about all lovers."

--from Abarat II: Days of Magic, Nights of War, by Clive Barker

Response to the Complaint

Jawab-e-Shikwa [Response to The Complaint]
by Muhammed Iqbal
1877-1938, written in 1924


Whatever comes out of the heart is effective
It has no wings but has the power of flight

It has holy origins, it aims at elegance
It rises from dust, but has access to the celestial world

My love was seditious, rebellious and clever
My fearless wailing rent through the sky

On hearing it the sun said, “Somewhere there is somebody!”
The planets said, “At the ‘Arsh-i-Barân there is somebody!”

The moon was saying, “No, it is some inhabitant of the earth!”
The milky way was saying, “Somebody is concealed just here”!

If someone understood my Remonstrance Riîw«n did
He understood me as the Man turned out of the Paradise !


Even angels exclaimed in surprise “What could this voice be!
Unknown even to the ‘Arsh’s keepers what the secret could be!

Is the mankind’s reach really even to the ‘Arsh?
Has this pinch of dust also learned flight?

How ignorant of good manners the earth’s denizens are!
How bold and insolent these denizens of the low are!

Is he so insolent that even angry with God he is?
Is he the same Man who once worshipped by angels was ?

He is the knower of Kamm, and of the enigmas of Kaif
But, he is unacquainted with the secrets of modesty

Mankind are proud of the power of their rhetoric
These ignorant people are incapable of talking”!

A voice came “Very pathetic is your story
Full of restless tears is your wine-measure

Your ecstatic clamor pervaded the celestial world
How bold in speech is your Loving heart !

You sweetened the Remonstrance with elegant graces
You established intercourse between God and His people

We are inclined to Mercy, but there is no one to implore
Whom can we show the way ? There is no wayfarer to the destination

Jewel polishing is common, but there is no proper jewel
There is no clay capable of being molded into ÿdam

We confer the glory of Kai on the deserving
We confer even a whole new world on those who search!


Arms are feeble, hearts are accustomed to apostasy
The ‘believers’ are a source of disgrace to the Prophet

Idol-breakers have departed, the rest are idol-makers
Though the father was Ibr«hâm the sons are ÿzar

The wine-drinkers, the wine, even the decanters are new
The sanctuary of the Ka‘bah, the idols, even you are new

There was a time when this alone was the source of Beauty
The wild tulip was the pride of the season of spring

Whichever Muslim there was, the Lover of God he was
A while ago your beloved this very Unfaithful was

Make the covenant of fealty now with some local one
Make the Ummah of the Holy Prophet a local one!

How difficult for you is waking up at the dawn!
You have no Love for Us, sleep is dear to you

Ramaî«n’s restriction is irksome to your free nature
You tell us ! Is this the appropriate rule of fidelity?

A nation exists on the din, you cease to exist if the din does not exist
Without mutual attraction the assembly of stars does not exist

You are the ones who do not know any art in the world
You are the nation which does not care for its nest

You are the harvest which harbors the lightning
You are those who sell their ancestors’ graves

As you have earned a good name by selling graves
Will you not sell if idols of stone you get?

Who effaced false worship from the face of the world?
Who rescued the human race from slavery ?

Who adorned my Ka‘bah with their foreheads in Love?
Who put my Qur’«n to their breasts in reverence?


They were surely your ancestors, but what are you ?
Sitting in idleness, waiting for tomorrow are you !

What did you say? “For the Muslim is only the promise of houri
Even if the Remonstrance be unreasonable decorum is necessary

Justice is the Creator of Existence’ custom since eternity
When the infidel adopts Muslim ways he receives houris and palaces

Not a single one among you is longing for houris
The Effulgence of ñër exists but there is no Mës«

The gain of this nation is one, also the loss is one
Only one is the prophet of all, dân is one, ¥m«n is one

The Holy £aram is one, God is one, Qur’an also is one
Would it have been very difficult for Muslims to be one

Sects abound somewhere and somewhere are castes!
Are these the ways to progress in the world?

Who is the renouncer of the laws of the Holy Prophet?
The criterion for whose actions is expediency of time ?

Who is enamored with the customs of the enemies
Whose thinking is disgusted with ancestors’ ways?

No warmth is in the heart, no feeling is in the soul
There is no respect for the message of Muéammad in you!

If some array themselves in mosques, it is the poor
If some endure the discomfort of fasting it is the poor

If some are reverent to Us it is the poor
If some hide your faults it is the poor

The rich in their arrogance of wealth are negligent of Us
The Millat-i-Baiîa is alive on the strength of the poor

That mature thinking of the nation’s preacher is gone
That natural lightning is gone, fiery speeches are gone

The ritual of adh«n has persisted, the spirit of Bil«l is gone
Philosophy has persisted, the teaching of Ghazalâ is gone

Mosques are lamenting that the reciters of prayers are gone
That is those with attributes of Lijaz’ people are gone

Clamor is that Muslims have disappeared from the world
We ask whether the Muslims were present anywhere?

In fashion you are Christians, in culture you are Hindus
Are these Muslims ! Who put the Jews to embarrassment!

Sure, you are even Saiyyid, Mirza and Afghan also
You are all these, say whether you are Musalmans also?

During speech the candor of the Muslim was fearless
His justice was strong, undefiled by consideration of bias

The tree of Muslim’s nature was watered with modesty
In valor he was an incomprehensible existence

Internal warmth was the essence of his wine’s quality
To empty itself was the custom of his decanter

Every Muslim was a lancet for the vein of infidelity
Activism was the polish to the mirror of his life

Whatever trust he had, on his own strength it was
You are afraid of death, he afraid of God alone was

If the art of the father not well-known to the son be
How can the son worthy of the heritage of the father be!

Everyone is intoxicated with the wine of indulgence
Are you Muslims? To you is this the way of Islam?

You have neither the faqr of Haidar nor the wealth of Uthman
What spiritual relation between you and your ancestors exists?

They were respected in the world by being Muslims
And you became disgraced by abandoning the Qur’an

You are indignant to each other, beneficent they were
You are guilty and prying into guilts, forgiving and merciful they were

Though everybody wants to reach the zenith of Thurayyah
Every body must first cultivate that kind of affable heart

The throne of Faghfër was theirs, the crown of Kai also
Is this all mere empty talk or you have that ardor also?

You are self-destructive, zealous and self-respecting they were
You flee from brotherhood, lovers and brotherhood they were

You are head to foot talk, action incarnate they were
You tantalize for flower-bud, with garden in their lap they were

Even now nations remember their story
Impressed on existence’s sheet is their fidelity!

Like stars on the nation’s horizon you appeared also
In the Indian idol’s love you became a Brahman also

In the love for flying you became separated from the nest also
Indolent were the youth already, became suspicious of dân also

They have been freed from every restraint by ‘civilization’
Having been brought from Ka‘bah, they have been settled in the temple

Qais may not continue enduring hardships of seclusion in the wilderness
May stroll in the city, may not remain wandering in wilderness

He is insane, he may or may not in the city remain
It is necessary the Lailah’s veil may not remain

Let there be no wailing against ‘tyranny’ or complaint of ‘injustice’
Love is free, why should not the Beauty be free also?

The new age is a lightning, consuming every barn is
Safe from this no wilderness and no rose-garden is

Of this new fire old nations are the fuel
The Ummah of the last Prophet is set afire

If the ¥man of Ibrahim is acquired even now
Fire can create the garden’s norm even now

The gardener should not be upset by seeing the garden’s state
Branches are about to appear from the bunches of buds

The garden will be cleared soon of the waste and trash
The red of the martyrs’ blood will be producing rose buds

Look a little the color of the sky somewhat red is
This the glowing of the horizon by the rising sun is!

Some nations in the existence’s garden benefited from their labors are
And some deprived of fruits and even destroyed by autumn are

Hundreds of trees deteriorated and hundreds flourishing are
Hundreds still even concealed in the bosom of the garden are

The tree of Islam a model of flourishing is
This the fruit of eons of gardening efforts is


Your skirt is undefiled by the dust of homeland
You are the Yësuf for whom every Egypt is Kan’an

It will never be possible to destroy your caravan
Nothing except the ‘Clarions’s Call’ are your chattel

You are a candle-like tree, in its flame’s smoke your roots are
Your thoughts free from the care of the end are

You will not be destroyed by the destruction of Iran
Wine’s ecstasy is not connected with its container

It is evident from the story of the invasion of Tatars
That Ka‘bah got protectors from the temple

You are the support of the boat of God in the world
The present age is night, you are a glimmering star

This tumult of Bulgaria’s invasion which is afoot
Is the message of awakening for the negligent

You think this is the plan for hurting your sentiments
This is a test of your sacrifice and your self respect

Why are you afraid of the hooves of the enemies’ horses ?
The enemies’ blows will be unable to extinguish the light of the Truth

Your potential is still hidden from the world’s nations
The assembly of existence still has need for you

The whole world is kept alive by your warmth
Your Khil«fah is the star of the possibility’s destiny

There is no time for leisure, there is work to be done
Completion of the light of Tawéâd is still to be done

Like fragrance you are contained in the flower-bud, become scattered
Become the chattel traveling on the wings of the breeze of the rose-garden

If you are poor, changed from speck to the wilderness be
From the melody of the wave changed to tumult of the storm be

With the Love’s power elevate every low to elegance
With Muéammad’s name illuminate the whole world

If there is no flower nightingale’s music should also not be
In the world’s garden smile of flower-buds should also not be


If there is no cup-bearer, wine, and decanter should also not be
Tawéâd’s assembly in the world and you should also not be

The system of the universe is stable by this very name
The existence’ pulse is warm with this very name

In the wilderness, on the mountain-side, in the plains it is
In the ocean, in the lap of the wave, in the storm it is

In China’s city, in Morocco’s desert it is
And concealed in the ¥m«n of the Muslim it is

The world’s eyes should witness this sight till eternity
The Elegance of the grandeur of “Rafa‘na Laka Zikrak” should see

The majority people, that is the non-white world
The world which would nurture your martyrs

The world reared by the sun, the crescent’s world
What the people of Love call the Bilal’s world

Is agitated like mercury by this name
Is diving in Light like the Beloved

Intellect is your shield, Love is your sword
My dervish ! Your viceregency is world-conquering

Your Takbâr like fire for Godlessness is
If you are Muslim your prudence your destiny is

If you are loyal to Muéammad we are yours
This universe is nothing the Tablet and the Pen are yours

The Complaint

Shikwaa [The Complaint]
by Muhammed Iqbal
1877-1938, written in 1909

Why should I be destructive and remain reckless of betterment?
Think not of the future, remain occupied in today’s problems?

Should I hear nightingale’s wails, and remain completely silent?
O companion! Am I some flower so that I may remain silent?

The strength of my poetry is encouraging to me
Woe be to me[1]! My remonstrance is against God!

It is true that we are famous in the methods of obeisance
But we are relating our story of pain out of compulsion

Though a silent orchestra, we are full of complaint
If the wailing comes to lips we are excusable

O God! Listen to the remonstrance also from the faithful
Listen to some complaint also from the one accustomed to praise you

Though Thy Eternal Essence had existed since eternity
The flower existed in the garden but fragrance had not dispersed

Justice is a condition, O Lord of Universal Benevolence
How could flower’s fragrance spread if zephyr did not exist?

This problem’s solution was the source of satisfaction to us
Otherwise was the Holy Prophet’s Ummah insane?

The scene of Thy world was strange before us
Stones were adored somewhere, trees were worshipped somewhere

The eyes of Man were accustomed to tangible forms
How could they be amenable to accept the Unseen God?

Doth Those know who ever told Thy beads?
The strength of the Muslim’s arm completed Thy task!

Seljuks [2] were living here and the Turanas[3] also
The Chinese in China and in Iran the Sassanas[4] also

The Greeks were also living in the same habitation
In the same world were the Jews and the Christians also

But who raised the sword in Thy name?
Who reclaimed the despoiled world in Thy name?

We alone were the marshals of Thy troops!
We were fighting now on land and now in the oceans

Some times we were calling adhans in the Europe’s cathedrals
And sometimes in the scorching African deserts

We never cared for the grandeur of monarchs
We recited the Kalimah[5] under the shade of swords

If we lived we lived for the calamities of wars
If we died we died for the grandeur of Thy name

We did not wield the sword for our kingdoms
Did we roam about the world fearlessly for wealth?

If our nation had been greedy of worldly wealth
Why would we have been idol breakers instead of idol sellers?

Once firmly standing in the battle we were immovable
Even lions in the battle against us would be in flight

We were enraged if some one rebelled against Thee
Not to talk of sword we were fighting against canons

We impressed Tawhids’s picture on every heart
We conveyed this message even under the dagger

Tell us Thou, by whom was uprooted the gate of Khaibar[7]
By whom was conquered the city which was Qaisar’s?[8]

By whom were the images of created gods destroyed?
By whom were the armies of infidels slaughtered?

By whom was the fire temple of Iran extinguished?
By whom was the story of Yazdan[9] restored to life?

Which nation did become Thy seeker exclusively?
And became embroiled in wars’ calamities for Thee?

Whose world-conquering sword did world-ruler become?
By whose Takbar did Thy world enlightened become?

Through whose fear idols did perpetually alarmed remain?
Falling on their faces saying “Huwa Allah O Ahad [10] did remain?

If the time of prayer right during the battle fell
Hijaz’ nation in prostration facing the Ka’abah fell

Both Mahmud and Ayaz in the same row stood[6]
None as the slave and none as the master stood

The slave and the master, the poor and the rich all became one!
On arrival in Thy Audience all were reduced to one!

We continuously wandered all over the world
We wandered like the wine-cup with Tawhid’s wine

We wandered with Thy Message in the mountains, in the deserts
And doth Thou know whether we ever returned unsuccessful?

What of the deserts! We did not spare even oceans!
We galloped our horses in the dark ocean!

We effaced falsehood from the earth’s surface
We freed the human race from bonds of slavery

We filled Thy Ka’bah with our foreheads
We put Thy Qur’an to our hearts

Still Thou complaineth that we are lacking fealty
If we are lacking fealty Thou also art not generous

There are other ummahs, among them are sinners also
There are modest people and arrogant ones also

Among them are slothful, indolent as well as clever people
There are also hundreds who are disgusted with Thy name

Thy Graces descend on the other people’s abodes
Lightning strikes only the poor Muslims’ abodes

The idols in temples say ‘The Muslims are gone’
They are glad that the Ka’bah’s sentinels are gone

From the world’s stage the éudâ[12] singers are gone
They, with the Qur’an in their arm pits, are gone

Infidelity is mocking, hast Thou some feeling or not?
Dost Thou have any regard for Thy own Tawhid or not?

We do not complain that their treasures are full
Who are not in possession of even basic social graces

Outrageous that infidels are rewarded with Houris and palaces
And the poor Muslims are placated with only promise of Houris

We have been deprived of the former graces and favors
What is the matter, we are deprived of the former honors?

Why is the material wealth rare among Muslims?
Thy omnipotence is boundless and inestimable

With Thy Will the desert’s bosom would produce bubbles
The desert’s rambler can be facing flood of mirage’s waves

Others’ sarcasm, disgrace and poverty is our lot
Is abjection the reward for Loving Thee?

Now, this world is the lover of others
For us it is only an imaginary world

We have departed, others have taken over the world
Do not complain now that devoid of Tawhid has become the world

We live with the object of spreading Thy fame in the world
Can the wine-cup exist if the cup-bearer does not live?

Thy assemblage is gone, and Thy Lovers are also gone
The night’s sighs and the dawn’s wailings are gone

They had loved Thee, they are gone with their rewards
They had hardly settled down and they were turned out

The Lovers came but with tomorrow’s promise were sent away
Now seek them with Thy beautiful face’s lamp[13] every way!

Lailah’s pathos is the same, and Qais’ bosom is the same
In the Najd’s wilderness and mountains the deer’s running is the same

The Love’s heart is the same, the Beauty’s magic is the same
The Ummah of the Holy Prophet is the same, Thou art the same

Why then this displeasure without reason is?
Why then this displeasure for Thy Lovers is?

Did we forsake Thee, did we forsake the Arabian Holy Prophet?
Did we adopt idol sculpture, did we idol breaking forsake?

Did we forsake Love, and did we forsake the madness of Love?
Did we forsake the customs of Salman[15] and Uwais of Qur’an?

We have the Takbar’s fire suppressed in our hearts!
We are living the life of Bilal the Negro!

Granted that Love has lost its former elegance also
We may have lost treading the path of Love also

We may have lost the restless heart like the compass also
And we may have lost the observance of fidelity’s rules also

Thou art changing friendship between us and others
It is difficult to say but Thou art also unfaithful!

Thou perfected the Deen on the peak of Faran[15]
Thou captivated the hearts of thousands in a moment

Thou consumed the produce of Love with fire
Thou burned the congregation with Thy face’s fire

Why are not our breasts filled with Love’s sparks now?
We are the same Lovers, dost Thou not remember now?

The noise of Lovers’ chains in the Najd’s Valley has disappeared
Qais has no more remained longing for the litter’s sight

Those old ambitions, we, as well as the heart have disappeared
The house is destroyed as Thou art not present in the house

O that happy day when Thou with elegance will come back
When Thou unveiled to our congregation will come back

Others are sitting at the stream bank in the rose garden
Listening to the cuckoo’s call with wine-cup in their hand

In the garden on a side far from the riotous crowd are sitting
Thy Lovers are also patiently wanting for a Hu![16]

Again endow Thy moths with Longing for burning themselves
Give the command for consumption in Love to the old lightning

The wandering nation is riding again towards Hijaz
The taste of flight has carried the unfledged nightingale

The fragrance of humility is restless in every flower bud
Just start the music, orchestra is seeking the plectrum

Songs are restless to come out of the strings
ñër is impatient for burning in the same fire

Make easy the difficulties of the blessed Ummah
Place the poor ant shoulder to shoulder to Sulaiman

Make the invaluable produce of Love accessible again
Change the idolatrous Muslims of India into Muslims again

A stream of blood drips from the frustrations mine
Wailing palpitates in the wounded breast of mine!

The rose’ fragrance took garden’s secret outside the garden
Outrageous that flowers themselves are informers against the garden

The spring is over, broken is the orchestra of the garden
Flown away from branches are the songsters of the garden

Only a nightingale is left which is singing still
In its breast overflows the flood of songs still

Turtle-doves from the juniper’s branches are gone also
Flower petals dropping from the flower are scattered also

The garden’s old beautiful walk-ways are gone also
The branches became bare of the cover of leaves also

But his nature remained free of the season’s restrictions
Would somebody in the garden understand his complaint!!

There is no pleasure in dying and no taste in living is
If there is any pleasure it in bearing this affliction is

Many a virtue is restless in my mirror!
Many an effulgence is fluttering in my breast!

But there is none in this garden to see them
There are no poppies with Love’s stain on their breasts [18]

May hearts open up with the song of this lonely nightingale
May the sleeping hearts wake up with this very Bang-i-Dara

May the hearts come to life again with a new covenant
May the hearts be thirsty again for this same old wine

My alembic may be from `Ajam, but my wine is from Hijaz
The song may be Indian but my tune is from Hijaz

What matters to me?

I especially like the Ainstein quote at the end. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KExoP97KUnY

The Vanishing room, comment on "on passing through doors"

There's been doors i've had to go through in the last few months, doors i saw and doors that I did not see. A dangerous thing to have change happen and not to notice, a frightening thing to suddenly notice that you're in a different place than you thought you were.

I have had to look around and recognize my sorroundings, to understand my place in the space, what am i doing here? how did I get over here? How did I walk in and close the door behind me and not notice?

I recently walked through a door into a place i knew i had to go to and out of a room I had long ceased to belong in.

The room I was in was no longer holding together. it was showing itself to be made of less than solid stuff and unless I left it, it would completely disappear around me. I struggled to remain in the vanishing room. willing with the force and might of all my denial to remake the walls as solid things, to give back the floor and ceiling their opaqueness, to remain in this room I had made myself believe I so wanted to be in.

I now see that I had forced myself to remain there.
In hindsight, I knew going in that this room was never solidly built, but I'd faith in my carpentry skillz.
In hindsight, I know that i saw the vanishing happening, I even knocked down the load bearing wall with my own hands.
so much for carpentry skillz.

The room I am back in now is bare and it is cold here, the walls and floor and ceiling have a raw, unfinished look to them, though solid enough. This is a room I can be in. It has never shown any signs of vanishing. This is a room I was working on before while I was in Sardinia.
I know that the foundations are sound in this room and if it's not pretty, it is good shelter.  More than that, it is where I need to be now.

I abandoned the work in this room to go to the vanishing room.

I was enticed into the vanishing  by it's beauty and promise and novelty and excitement. 

it was a cooperative effort, the vanishing room. unlike this room, where no one was allowed, a work in progress, you don't want to go in there, it's a dirty mess and there's no place to sit and talk. Let's sit on these big cushions and look at all the pretty things on the walls and look out the windows at the possible futures we could make. And our dreams were the things that glittered and shined so pretty and our plans were the rich colors of all the tapestries and hangings and cushions everywhere. 

When i found i was alone in this vanishing room, i noticed things began to disappear around me, cushions, carpets, hangings, statues, bookshelves, pretty pottery and other things. I saved a few things and I'll keep them safe, things that did not disappear, the things that were real in the vanishing room, some things i had brought with me, others we made there.

I will continue the work in my room. lots of cleaning and arranging, holes to patch, years of dust and grime to clean off the windows. so much neglect. it's gonna take some time and work place liveable, it's a hazard right now. there still needs to be some breaking down and rebuilding in here. The work might never end.

 but I will make it home here and maybe i'll invite a friend in now and again. And I will keep the treasured things we made in the vanishing room to remind me and to warn me and even to warm me.