Angel

"The present phase of human thought and history … almost compels us to face reality with open  minds, and you can only know God through an open mind just as you can only see the sky through a  clear window. You will not see the sky if you have covered the glass with blue paint ." Alaan watts- 1. http://fisheyedcreature.blogspot.com.eg/2014/03/blog-post.html ديه كانت اول رسالة  عزيزى الله       طارت حماماتى البيضاء منذ اسبوع و لم تعد حتى الان ، فصارت السماء الزرقاء تطاردنى اينما ذهبت. تتحدانى شمسها تجعلنى مضطربة . اجرى من مكان لاخر ابحث عن البياض المئلوف لصغيراتى المحلقات خلف السحب الهشة و بين الاشجار العالية ، حتى استيقظت اليوم على دقات المطر على شباكى . لا اتذكر انى قد عبست فى وجه المطر يوم الى يومنا هذا فامطرت عيناى هى الاخرى و انسابت سيول تغرق البيت من الداخل و الخارج.ايقتن فى تلك اللحظة انهن قد رحلن الى الابد. انا صغيرة يا ربى  صغيرة جدا بحيث لا اعرف اكثر من ما يدور بداخلى ارفع يداى الى السماء وارى من حوله...

"Perhaps tragedies are only tragedies in the presence of love, which confers meaning to loss. " " The story seems to begin with catastrophe but in fact began earlier and is not a tragedy but rather a love story. Perhaps tragedies are only tragedies in the presence of love, which confers meaning to loss. Loss is not felt in the absence of love." "Death itself is like a snake shedding its skin… A new self reveals itself when the old carapace has shed and died, as though we live in exoskeletons with something truer underneath… What we see with our eyes is different from what we know: “The things / themselves.” "Sorrow like vapor, sorrow like smoke, sorrow like quicksand, sorrow like an ocean, sorrow louder and fuller than the church songs, sorrow everywhere with nowhere to go. […]I did not grow up in the black church, nor with the Negro spirituals. Now I understand them as never before. Their poetry feels pure and profound. I been in sorrow’s kitchen a...

I desire you. I desire only you…. Where are you? I am playing hide and seek with ghosts. But i know i will end up finding you, and the whole world will be newly lit because we love each other, because a chain of illuminations passes through us. — André Breton As a straight woman I'll talk about what I know: being with a real man is such a privilege and that's because a real man knows what a woman is .what she's capable of .a real man knows his way around. he's not afraid of expressing himself to the woman he wants in all the ways he can but ,while also managing a nice respectable façade. Yeah, a real man sounds pretty mythical but ,he's real he could be anywhere ,and if you think you deserve one then congratulations.. you do ! and for that you mustn't settle for any less. After a few umm.. unpleasant experiences I know  what I want to hear, I know what I want to see, what my real man looks like. My real man is good with his words he uses them exper...

خطواتنا كانت خفيفة, تدق الارض  المشققة فى استحياء علها لا تغضب علينا .علها تخرج من تلك الشقوق حدثاً يبتلعنا .حدثاً يملأ الايام. حدث كفيل إذا ذكر امام اطفال المدرسة ان يجعل اعينهم الصغيرة تشع نورا يملأ غرفهم المظلمة بالخيالات الحية.حدث يجعلنا نصادق التاريخ. التاريخ ها هنا قابع فى كل منا: فى ملامحه , فى صوته ,ياتى فى شكل ذكريات تصحبها النشوة تارة, و تارة اخرى يلتف حول قلوب المنسيين ,يؤلمهم, يذكرهم بمن رحلوا و تركوا لهم اليالى فارغة تخيم على نجومها التساؤلات الحزينة و الامانى البائسة. نجلس قرب النهر ,نتسامر, حتى تغشى الظلمة العالم ,حتى تغط العصافير فى ثباتها الليلى و نسمع البوم . تبداين فى طرح الاسئلة و اعجز انا عن الرد . لما تحن تلك السماء وجدنا؟ لما اختاروا اسامينا؟ لما احب الكرز و تحبين الورود؟ لما ولدنا فى الاصل؟ لما؟ لما؟ ...لما لا اراه كل يوم؟ لما لا اتاكد ان كان يحبنى ؟ ماذا لو كان جحيمه حقيقة ؟ ااصلاها ؟ااصبح حطبها ؟ ايصبح قلبى السكران بحبه و حبك مع اللصوص و الكذابين؟ لم اكذب على نفسي يوم, فلم اكذب عليه. الله هو نفسي و لكن نفسي ليست الله . الصلاة ان صحت على جسدى فل...

For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, ...

I had a sea at room that reached the middle of my pink chapped walls. It had dead fish, the corpses of a few people that dropped out of my consciousness along the way and floating letters going each and every way with every wave that crashes from a wall to another. It had a window that showed me nothing. It had a broken window that was only good at making creaking noises on a silent night to let me know that I am still alive. I had a mother. I had a father. I had a lover, that all took different ships and sailed away from me. I had visions of the virgin marry feeding little Jesus. I had visions of her laughing. Of her , with her head between her hands, thinking of how she would face the world with her little miracle. I had visions of her eyes trying to hide the pride of when her son spoke in his cradling of her teary eyes and wet face when seeing her boy getting crucified for nothing but speaking the truth for serving his creator and hers. The sun visits to greet the sea...

A NGER is the deepest form of compassion, for another, for the world, for the self, for a life, for the body, for a family and for all our ideals, all vulnerable and all, possibly about to be hurt. Stripped of physical imprisonment and violent reaction, anger is the purest form of care, the internal living flame of anger always illuminates what we belong to, what we wish to protect and what we are willing to hazard ourselves for. What we usually call anger is only what is left of its essence when we are overwhelmed by its accompanying vulnerability, when it reaches the lost surface of our mind or our body’s incapacity to hold it, or when it touches the limits of our understanding. What we name as anger is actually only the incoherent physical incapacity to sustain this deep form of care in our outer daily life; the unwillingness to be large enough and generous enough to hold what we love helplessly in our bodies or our mind with the clarity and breadth of our whole being . What we ...

I remember the first time I failed my science test I ran to her banged on her door and curled up on her couch I blabbered about how much of a failure I am she looked at me and told me "rise up like the sun show them that you can do anything show them how much power you posses give them a peek of what you've shown me" then she threw glitter at my face took a photo of me and showed it to me saying that I am shining without no darkness something a star can't do . We were young then . And they still wonder how we are so close . Now I believe that I can do anything even if they say I can't you believe in me and I promise I'll  make you proud photo of my school college de la Mere de Dieu -alexandrie  dedicated to hoda adam for all the things we've gone through together   

i didn't realize i was becoming so materialistic so ungrateful . i sat on the ground cursing the skies and weeping for what i don't have rather than embracing what I've got i bowed down to time and let it walk all over my existence and then i complained about all the clocks around me about the ticking that is the background of my dreams of my nightmares of my music of his voice i watched my self circling from 12 to 12 again my boyfriend's face turning into another clock the magazines covers featuring watches the big Ben on billboards a little watch blossomed from my core till i had a big ass clock between my legs ticking louder and louder each second until it all turned black . i love my pale smooth skin that turns a pretty pink under the hot water i love how feminine my voice sounds i love my little hands and my wide eyes i love it when i get so determined and i love it when he gets me all soft at 3 am i love my lips my hair my feet my waist i love my sensitivity...

“Bartoli—last night I felt as if many wings caressed me all over, as if your finger tips had mouths that kissed my skin. The atoms of my body are yours and they vibrate together so that we love each other. I want to live and be strong in order to love you with all the tenderness that you deserve, to give you everything that is good in me, so that you will not feel alone. “From the little bed where I lay I looked at the elegant line of your neck, the refinement of your face, your shoulders, and your broad and strong back. I tried to get as close to you as I could in order to sense you, to enjoy your incomparable caress, the pleasure that it is to touch you…. if I do not touch you my hands, my mouth and my whole body lose sensation. I know I will have to [imagine you] when you are gone.” apart from love-making I know there is something indestructible and positive that unites us. It gives me equal pleasure to kiss you, to make love, to listen to you, to look at you, to watch you sleep, t...

"Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belonging to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virle. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chastity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chastity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched.”  —Monica S...

to the sound of the anguished words to my young steps i had an ocean in my chest that had a volcano in it's farthest depths. i had an ocean in my chest that was only calm when i would taste his laughter in my mouth .when i would have a chance to give him some of the passion that was swimming within my veins .feel myself become the words that tumble from his mouth when drunk in love. the words he gives birth to on a full moon. yes he gives birth to words we all do .we all have conversations that we remember by heart: every word every syllable every breath pause and sigh w all have conversations stuck to various parts of our bodies but the best thing about him was that he was actually aware of that . he was aware of me and i was aware of the emptiness he was cursed with often. i was aware of the ghosts above his head the monsters that signal their presence through his eyes if i made an appropriate joke i was well aware of that and i was willing to fix it all. time was j...