Category Archives: Letters

Ishq Allah, in his manifestation

Extract of an email I wrote to a new friend

The popular expression of love in contemporary media and even its dissection in books is extremely superficial – as though love is to be chased, or created by seduction and plain manipulation or in games. Love needs no deception. It self-regulates through mutual . I don’t know where I finally experienced pure conception of love. Maybe a combination of realizing God is love (Ishq Allah), turning to Sufism and these epic tales…prayer, poetry, prayer. Then I fell in love with the right man.

You naturally assume your place as a manifestation of God, and you see that in your loved one. There is nothing to her but His happiness. And to him, nothing but Hers. Imagine the effect! Constant ecstasy. Devotion. Being in love, the divine nature of his creation becomes illuminated in our eyes. You become the lover of the world. I myself had felt this – constant happiness. And constant it was because I never took it for granted. I couldn’t!- I was overflowing with gratitude. Completely consumed, every touch, every breath, was another sacred step. It’s beautiful, truly.

All these Sufis’ and Nooris’ are in us already

Perhaps the fragrance from that happiness of divine contemplation will meet us. If this were not the case, what relationship would there be between hunger in fasting and surrender to greater Will?
Of what use would be these open invitations, destinies that move without will to meet with strangers?  What use would there be in love that moves us to write secret letters, sing music, read poetry? Or of the the water trickles that sing to us at this brook where we read?
Because there are birds who love despite knowing when one dies, the other will die too. And daisies that blossom holding to no promise that you won’t eventually trample on them.
There is no reason to love, but love alone. There is no need to create, mate, marry, promise, possess or glorify the simple act of sex. All these Sufis’ and Nooris’ are in us already. I feel them kicking.

We realise that we are a poet

Hilaz wrote this a few days ago.

Life is so busy. We spent all our time running around making a living.

If we just relax and take time to be what we really are – not just a
money making machine – then we realise that we are a poet, writer,
artist, naturist etc. Then we realise not only how beautiful we are
but also how beautiful our surrounding is.

We both found our sanctuary in wildlife. You had always been happier and smile more when you are surround by nature. I love to watch your face lit up with new explanations of how nature creates and evolves from one form to another.

Always keep close to nature my Princessa

Stations in Manhattan

Hilaz,

I see many of you around. Sometimes I pray and not know what I am thinking of. I stare a lot haha.

Manhattan is beautiful in its own way. My eyes look for life but I wouldn’t substitue these high rises for taller trees. The colour here is richly stale apart from Times Square of course, but I love how peaks light up when the sun slips in. Its hard to admit but there are spaces between these buildings. The sun eventually finds its way to us.

Central Park was a contrasting delight. There was a pond, its surface gleaming grey/blue in the sunlight. I was excited, as you can imagine. Between man and nature, there was something sweetly romantic.

Medina and Frankie were such sweet hosts; I want to spend more time with them when I come back again. They have something refreshing and genuine about them. Their energy reminded me of University.

I disliked D.C a lot. I loved New York so much. But England, …England is something special still.

In blossom, come to me

Dear Ismail and Hilaz,

I think pink blossoms follow me wherever I go. Even in my dreams, Japan in blossom comes to me. Then I see clouds of pretty pink flowers on hills rolling one after the other. D.C is entering spring soon and there are naked blossom trees lining the streets. Can you imagine how excited I am to see them flower! I remember during the short time in Spring, I would cycle down Canley Road and touch with my fingertips the lovely petals ahead of me.

England, S, Japan, D.C …I am never disappointed.

Images of Spain still come to me. I dream of the mountains. I wish my two were here with me, we could walk and walk and talk and talk. The world is ours to keep. I will always remember. My best time, those years, me you and the big black alligator.

I scribbled this last month in my book:

We hear so many birds. There is life that sings out here, still invisible to the naked eye. Our eyes now seem to be trained for different things, and we no longer see the life in between us. God is singing near me but I can’t see him.

It is dry here though spring is near arriving. The dead and alive sits peacefully beside each other.

There is something pleasantly peculiar about being amongst these mountains. I feel a sense of acceptance and peace, brings tears to my eyes. I’ve never felt so beautiful before.

On our way there were these blossoms pink, enough space and height between themselves for Radha and Krishna to play hide and seek in. Dry grass and reeds shimmer under the sun, amongst green swaying creating an apparition of waves in a calmly moving sea. Hills roll, each bend is a new beauty.

I don’t want delicacies and expensive toys. Throw away these potted plants and let the caged birds free. Give me to the wild purple and yellow flowers and let the bird songs enclose me. I trade my material freedom for tranquility.