Why this is hard....

...because nighttime is full of memories..
...because memories are full of songs...
...because songs are full of longing...
...because longing is full of yearning...
...because yearning is filled to the brim, and overflowing...
...like the moon, like love, like the night...

And in a mood like this one - irrational, poetic, romantic, perhaps even pathetic - it's easy to doubt, to think of why-nots, and if-thens, and sighs and perhaps not yet goodbyes... but oh que bono? - just what is the use of all that thinking, yearning, feeling - except for poetry.

"let's not talk"

...has been the hardest thing I've ever said, and the hardest resolution to follow through as well. It takes a kind of hard-hearted courage that does not come naturally.

And I have brilliant excuses to come off of the resolution - most notably, the Cosmic Excuse.

The Cosmic Excuse is that the universe is one, people are one, and equal, and equally lovable. Everyone is (like) me, and I am (like) all people. To deny someone my company, is to deny or reject myself. Thus, really I shouldn't be asking people not to talk to me.

Also Steve Pavlina confirms the interconnectedness between people in a nice article, saying how one should really not let fear come in the way of relationships...which could lead one to mistakenly think he is supporting the Cosmic Excuse.

But thankfully he is not. Pavlina himself gave the answer in another article:

You won’t be able to attract what you want while you’re still tolerating what you don’t want. You have to say “I quit” first. This is life’s test of courage. If you can’t summon the courage to quit what you know you don’t want, you certainly won’t have the strength to receive and hold onto what you do want. So you have to pass through this qualification test first. I know it sucks to have to go through it, but it’s there for a good reason.

You’re being asked, “Are you willing to step up? Are you willing to demand more from life? Can you prove you won’t settle for less than what you want?”

Yoko Ono once said that if she could only say one word all her life, that word would be "Yes."

Sometimes, in order to say "Yes," you have to say "No."

I Come From There

And interestingly, a friend sent me this on the day I wrote the first blog entry.

Apparently it was also submitted to that website by a C.K. It's a poem by the recently deceased Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, and touches on some of the same thoughts I found myself turning over on my plate the same day.

I Come From There

I come from there and I have memories
Born as mortals are, I have a mother
And a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends,
And a prison cell with a cold window.
Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
I have my own view,
And an extra blade of grass.
Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
And the bounty of birds,
And the immortal olive tree.
I walked this land before the swords
Turned its living body into a laden table.

I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
When the sky weeps for her mother.
And I weep to make myself known
To a returning cloud.
I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood
So that I could break the rule.
I learnt all the words and broke them up
To make a single word: Homeland.....


Submitted by C.K.

Mahmoud Darwish

Home Away from Home

I was born in one place, and my family moved to another place before I had a sense of place or time. There are so many ironies I could see in how mobile my life has been, coming from an already displaced race of people, but I'd rather not go down that spiral...

I have, though. Today, there was an over-dramatic quibble with the maid over some broken glass - and she flung the "No Egyptian would ever do that," statement at me. I literally held the door open for her. I did not want to hear it.

My sense of home is apparently more fragile than glass, because crying over it for hours seemed like a good idea. And if I poke at it, I'm sure I could prick out a few more tears. That is enjoyable and entertaining sometimes - feeling sorry for oneself.

But it has me thinking. I had disposed those questions of identity as outdated and 90s even earlier, when reading Camus was in fashion, and i was out-of-fashion (more lately it has recurred in The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri - and again, i remain behind the times).

Those questions remain - where do I belong? What do I call myself? I feel offended when people say I am not one identity - be it sindhi, or hindu, or egyptian, or muslim, or indian, or sufi, or whatever else i have elected myself to speak work act be...

And it bothers me, because others can break what has been after all forged by fire and breath - much like glass.