COMPASSION

I saw a man in the crowd. He was lying there, with dust that he had carried on his clothes from the desert. His clothes were dirty with the mixture of the desert dust and from the city. He was wearing a beard but it was almost difficult to perceive it, as his face was almost covered by one side of his brown rather black from dirt covers. He didn't wear sandals, and his feet were filled with dust and callouses, even on his plants. There, lying this way, there was a group of youngsters who were laughing and making fun of him, trying to find his beard and pull out some hair, while peasants were looking from time to time, but directly going to the market to get some goat and cheese. Be the wall where the man was leaning on the floor, stood a high minaret, all with its joy and silence while birds would dance to and fro, and the sunbeams still were waiting to leave. The man seemed so tired that I looked inside my bag and found some water still remaining from a plastic bottle I was wearing. Crossing the street I approached the group of youngsters and showed the bottle to one of them and said "here, give him some water, for he is exhausted". The young boy looked puzzled at me and started laughing, as if I was not even aware of the meaning of what was going on, a total stranger in a strange land. But that was not the case. I asked him " Do you know who this man is?" And he replied with another question "Do I care"? And he, with the others, continued laughing about him and leaning on him to tell him stupid things. The man was uttering words of tiredness, and of some mysterious happenings that I could not clearly hear. Then I approached him and told the youngsters to stop the mockery and listen. The desert was not close to the city, these youngsters had just left the faculty for the day, they had not gone to the desert, they did not find it attractive, they were occidental, they all were having ear plugs to listen to music, hanging on their shoulders, pockets with music gadgets, and cell phones, some in their hands. They did not like the desert at all, and whoever came from the desert was someone who is lost in its barbaric silence. They were speaking about getting a sandwich on a chain restaurant, and I insisted: "Listen to this man". An old woman approached, wearing a bag filled with fish, it smelled strong and she put the bag on the pavement and started screaming to the youngsters, as if she was their mad mother, and they would laugh secretly as if they were children. But I insisted: "Listen to this man". The woman looked at me and asked me if I knew him, what was happening, was he ill, was he someone I know, and such things. Then the man managed to sit on the pavement, even though he was completely exhausted. He looked to the empty void, with eyes filled with dirt and dry. But then he started to cry. I knew that he had things to say. I took a paper handkerchief and handed it to him. The youngsters started saying that the man was crazy, that they had seen him other times in this same state, that I was crazy to give him attention, that he was dangerous, that he had beaten his daughter years ago and was left alone. I helped him sip some water and the old woman became interested in the story. Probably she would have something to speak about during dinner time in her house with her family. She loved talking! We could hear the sounds from the cars here and there, the stressed rhythm of the market not far away, but somehow that moment was absolutely important, and it isolated the sounds with mastery.
Then, I saw the man, the bearded man. How long had he been lying on the floor? How long had he stayed in the desert? He mumbled and then his voice became clear. He said that he had spent 40 days in the desert, trying to find a spot that others tried to veil for him. He had left his camel, and he didn't know if he would find him again. He spent whole nights under the stars with just water and dates in his pocket. He mumbled again. The youngsters asked him many questions, among them "did you see your daughter? God's willing you will pay for that in the Judgement Day". Well, I thought the man looked drunk, but that was not possible, he didn't smell alcohol at all, and he was a man of religion. A happy unconscious sad face, a man who didn't understand the meaning of his fatality. Who had spent days trying to find something without success. I could only ask "What were you looking for"? He became almost angry and replied : "I've been looking for you, and you, and you too, and you, and you...." pointing to all of us, with a trembling, infirm finger, with a long nail and fiery eyes. We are not people from the desert, and we are not better than you, I said. "Probably not", he replied, but what I was looking for was here, the mere life, the mere breath, the simple joy, the dirty laugh, the deep compassion." As I tried to get rid of his hand who grabbed me by my skirt, he looked to the sky and said: "I do not own anything, yet I receive so much mockery, so much help, so much attention". The youngsters looked at him startled. And he became a dazing voice, saying poems aloud, thanking God for the dust, for the so called empty days and nights in the desert if that was to find our love and also disrespect, for "all that comes from humanity becomes a necessary lesson in my life". He stood up, and left with help of a cane, his cloths dirty and his feet naked. We all spent a few talking about what had just happened, when the youngest boy pointed to the pavement where that man had been lying and said "Look!, a book he left!" I took the book, a little book, very old and used, and read the first sentence: "You helped me find my way, now I can die in peace. I could not speak, I had no time to, they all took my words before I was even going to utter them". You will never see me again in this life. I am free. And suddenly, the minaret let waves of candor come to our ears and hearts. The muezzin was calling us for a prayer.

The mysterious man never came again, and finally, the youngsters avoided that they had just invented the story of him beating his daughter. For they had never seen that man before. The following weeks I would stare at the same point but the man wasn't there. The youngsters would look at me with a question mark on their faces. "No, I haven't seen him". And after all, God always sends mysteries that can never be solved until we are wise enough to perceive the source of such mysteries. These youngsters now, when they see me, they greet me and look more serious than before. Somehow they have grown up a little more and they approach to give me some words of respect. About the woman, she screams my name until I turn and see her, and invites me to go to her house and try her dinner with her family. We have become good neighbors all of us, and still the minaret smiles to the crowd and to us, while the birds sing strange songs they only understand.

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I wish...

I really wish I was able to write more, in fact.. Write! I haven't done it since... a year, perhaps? Yet I have things to share, as I have been traveling inside and outside. But I really don't know where to start with, as things don't seem as easy. Struggle, I am thankful for it, Love, Thank you for it, new horizons, excitement and wonder, but really looking forward to the beginning of this quest.



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Three Pearls

Three pearls fell down the river, from my broken necklace. I let them go, let them see what I couldn’t, let them encounter adventures I would never dream of.

But don’t look at us, the pearls said while I glanced from the distance, and my feet started to wallk back home over the dusty ground.

Look at the pearls of the Unseen, you are lucky, we are almost there, and we are tears now. Not pearls. You are lucky, they said, for the waiting, the searching, the seeking, is the whole adventure, the great reward, where rivers of pearls become tears of joy. We are now tears going to encounter the ocean of Love. But you are still not there, so feel and cry, and suffer and smile and struggle, because this is where all the signs of Love can lead you to be what we are now. And I sighed and desired to be them.

Thoughts from a young girl.

The Shadow of your Soul

A child’s song: Paradise

 


Slowly I start listening
to the sounds inside…
Sounds that grow like seeds grow and become flowers…
I feel paradise has been created from our own hands, hands of labour, hands of love, hands caressing in whispers the gentle tears from the suffering world.
It has been erased… the sorrow, the fear and light is upon everything, shinning a bright star upon us, inside us, laughter brightening the trees, the seas, the first prayer, the last worries.
You see we can do it? Do you feel it? Do you smell the perfume of Love?Paradise here is what I pursue, on this earth that I embrace, kiss and see also below my feet, this prayer that makes me feel the humblest of Princesses…
You have started making it possible… our Paradise, our encounter with the ocean, with the millions of happy tears. United, sheltered, and ready for the biggest adventure: Love.
Looking behind there are stones you left by,
your feet are soar, you feel hungry, and tired.
But inside your heart there is a feast!
Names that in your dreams become un-named names, sounds, echoes, evidences, just for you, children of Love.
Do you need to expect and work for the paradise far away if you don’t try it Here?
What is then the purpose for all we do? I cannot want the best for me, if you do not reach Paradise on Earth.
Maryam:-)
Image Credit: Michelle Barnes

I remember...

I remember well that Christmas. We both were sitting on the open air at that restaurant for people who stopped on their way to visit the monasteries in the middle of the road from Cairo to Alexandria. It was a very cold morning, so chilly we both laughed at the fact that we did not bother sitting outside the restaurant, while the cloudy sky menacing a storm greeted us so far away from our home. I was full of thoughts, some of them I could express, others were still difficult, still so tender, like a newborn child. You listened and sip your coffee with me. There were papers on the table, my writings that I was reading aloud, my hands under wool gloves that you had given me as a gift during our trip to Greece. I was also wearing a cap in wool, it was brown, and I was wearing earrings in silver, the so called creoles. All the external clothes and things adorning my body were so strange to me at that time. But you listened, while our coffee started to become cold. So many things were going to change in our lives. So much struggle I was already starting to put on paper; stories, tales, poems, single lines, everything was written, these were a big part of  the beautiful things that I keep with me always, those memories that were in fact a transition of my soul. We were not too far from the desert, we had many things to do, many places to visit, and people to greet. You had come from a country not too far and wanted to spend some days with me. You found me different but would say nothing with your words, but I could see your questions in your eyes. Then, I started crying about what would happen with our future, a present that made us apart physically and yet... close with question marks, so many question marks regarding our own persona. Then, I remember, as I was sweeping, someone from inside the restaurant came to our table with gifts. They were for me and you were amazed and said "they love you". But I could not understand. I opened the gifts and I saw a card saying Merry Christmas. A card with jingle bell music inside. A box in crystal with flowers, roses, and more music. A calendar that was a magnet. I looked up. There was a Muslim girl smiling and saying "Merry Christmas!" . She kissed me and I felt that in that place something had just started to happen. And now, so far away, I smile with bitterness when I see the differences, the political intrusions at something that merely comes from the true heart. The sublime acceptance and the sublime true tolerance that comes from people who have never wanted anything but conviviality, love and friendship. How could I forget that cold Christmas morning so far away from the 25th of December in the cozy and warm house with a tree filled with stars and lights, so far from the long streets filled with shops, filled with books, games, movies to be sold and put under the tree... Yes, I have lived different Christmas days in different places and all of them were beautiful and special, above all where one could think Christmas has no meaning, or is not celebrated. Yes, I have seen it be celebrated with smiles and acceptance of someone who changed many ways of behaving. Jesus is everywhere in many forms and inside many hearts, not only Christians. And to them I dedicated my poems, my stories and thoughts without knowing. Everything that represents union, shelter and love is celebrated as it is even outside religions, because it touches our mystical vein, and this.... is far from what man created.

Ya Haqq, Maryam

Evocation

I feel that the void has taken me into depths that I could have never imagined....

But the void has taken me to the loving soul of the last of the times, the last time of the lovers, the last and ultimate word of the wise ones. The echoes that forever whisper and sing with sounds of honey and perfume longtime forgotten.
I have walked into the dreams of pure love, between the desire to know and to not yet see...
If a word made me wonder, or cry or smile, I suddenly let the dreams take the real facts that I was going to see what I want myself to forbid to see. The peaceful hummingbird after the ecstasy of true love took me to places in the soul that were filled with keys. And I opened one and another and then everything was closed again to my heart. And I ...
smiled.

and I remember that voice begging me to stay, to not move , to not leave... that voice that was my friend, and perhaps also the flame around me. I long for it, and long for the misunderstanding caused too much grief.

But where are we, travelers of the soul, with a thirst to learn that consumes our spirit?
Where are we, doves of nowhere, always finding the true reasons of our existence?
Where can we stop for a while and readjust our inner self?
We never have time to stop and think... because we are forever feeling too much, evolving with our veils down our feet. The true beginning of a sufi path...

Maryam


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Pilgrimage

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Maghreb

Who will stand up for us

FEAR TO LOVE

What makes people be so afraid to say "I love you" Does love itself create a certain fear, that becomes bigger at the same time that love becomes bigger as well?

How can we humans be so mistaken, so blind in front of Love?

It's like the tree that lets a fruit grow with an incredible beauty. More than the other fruits in that tree, and yet the fruit cannot say for sure all its beauty comes from itself, it must come from the tree, the tree gives to the fruit its sap, and the fruit is happy but then is happier until it feels a strong love for the tree. But... Was the tree aware of all he was giving to the fruit? or was it on purpose? or was just unaware? So the fruit doesn't know what to think and the love it feels for the tree maybe is only his, and the doubts don't let it think, while the tree is afraid to tell the fruit his love. And life goes on until the fruit falls down the tree and is taken away by a child to his home. And never again the tree and the fruit will talk, no conversations anymore, and they will never know what the other felt. Love was so deep that it looked like an abyss. Fear took the place of love instead.

Maryam

DAWN

Whatever God created was it with a purpose. The moon now is half, when I look at it my impressions are not the same than when it is full. When it is full, my heart is exhalted with a passion that can be resumed in a song or a scream of happiness; now it's half and I feel a peace of heart calming and soothening all my senses. There is a meaning for it, God makes us exhalted and other times paceful. It is God's will. Now it's the time for reflexion.

Oh my God, how much I feel you in everything! The unknown sounds are a part of You, and I would like to be them just for You.

God, my heart is beating for You but when I feel human's love my feelings towards You become more precise. You created Love, the element that makes us aware of the good. My love for You is so little but so big in my heart. I love everything You created, even the creatures I am scared of. I think it is because I respected them. Heavens hold the hidden truth. What would I give to be able to see them, feel them deeply in my heart. Sometimes I feel that my body is nothing but a prison holding my soul. Only You God know the reason of things. The mist is hiding the moon, but I feel it in my heart; only You can make it possible for us to admire the universe, so endless in Your creative light, the colors, the senses. My soul belongs to You and vibrates for You. Humans hurt it so much that at times I wish I were only where I could feel You only. But I continue walking this path of pain and pleasure, knowing that only this way I will be able to reach You with tears of happiness.

The silence at dawn fills me with peace and serentity. You only can give me such moments. Only You, Creator, the Sublime Idea that realizes everything. I close my eyes to see You, Rabbina. Dawn comes up again, thanks to You. And the moon can be seen anew, the paceful moon, the big eyedrop crystalizing such Idea.

July 2002

Maryam

Elements

The things God created around the Earth are so perfect. The shapes of the planets and the wings of the birds, they are perfect, in harmony with the rest of other things. The wings are in harmony with the air, sometimes the birds will just fly to experiment the sweet feeling of playing with the air. And the fish with the water. They will dance just to feel that the element they live in is in harmony with their nature. Our element is which one in fact? We walk on the earth and breathe the air, and make fire and drink water. We need the four elements to survive but which one is the most important for us? Is it the earth? without it, we would drop by our bodies to the emptiness, or would be propulsed towards the void. But then, we are like the rest of the animals on the earth. What makes us different? This elelement called "counciousness", "intellect", we do possess it, we can feel it, we are those who can feel physically and emotionaly. Or is our real element our capacity to "create". Is it "imagination" the element that makes us live on this earth?. Going towards the line of endless feelings of happiness and pain? We try everyday to cope between these two sides. Sometimes we feel we are in harmony with our mind our spirit. Sometimes we feel we are not. But even though, isn't it as well our chaos perfect in its nature? A perfect chaos, we use to say sometimes.

I think the element is our soul. Without it we could not live, we would be walking death. But our soul is our element, and like the air, it cannot be seen with our eyes. This etheric element, so subtle it can't be touched. But so strong it can be felt and perceived. The more sensitive we are, the more we willuse our soul as an element of life and the more we will feel it in us and within the others. We live our lives according to the element in our nature that we use most. Our intellect, taken by the hand of the soul can reach beyond the stars. Our intellect taken by the hand of the mind only can survive, but not create, just realize.

Maryam

Tasawwuf

I have taken again the book I used to have so close to me always...

Every night I said aloud one, two, three times these words and every day I added one. I had this notebook with butterflies on its cover, with a black background, very flower power colors and I wrote the words every night in subtle lines with a very dedicated calligraphy. I remember I said them aloud then I wrote them. My preferred words were of course tasawwuf, inaba, sabr (es-sabre gameel), shukr ( I had a lot for you), zuhd (so difficult to attain), tawakkul (this was the one I took more easily), mahabba ( it meant everything to me, my steps into the deepness of my faith, for example; but also life in general and especially its mysteries). I had many reasons for wishing to study these words, its meanings and lessons on sufism , like the difficult "rissala min al-qushayri" . I used to stay late and then I realized it was almost two in the morning. I had to continue with my work as well. But it was such a wonderful contemplation of the soul to read the wise people and all their teachings. Those sentences I had to read again and again to better understand and each time I loved more. And this book I bought it in the streets, in a very popular place where people sell books. As I said it was always close to me.

Maryam

Fatima