The Heart is Warm

There was a dark moment in her life. A moment that was gone but the fact that it was there made her sheiver with disbelief. So dark and cruel, so scary. How could she have thought like so? She didn't want to look back lest the darkness of that moment would suffocate her.

It was a dark moment in the past but the guilt and worry made it ever present.

She gathered all her conviction and looked in the eyes of her past self.  The past self appeared miserably lonely and scared. She felt tethered and incapable. She doubted herself and her environment. She appeared as a helpless child in need of understanding and shelter. The present self suddenly understood herself and grew compassionate toward herself. She told her how she witnessed her loneliness and doubt; how she observed her lack of confidence and strength at the moment. She told her how she accepted her as she was, fraud and weak at times; dark at that moment. She told her she understood her still.

She forgave herself and loved her. 

The dark moment transformed to a shear experience now. 

Heart Multiplying

It's amazing, this heart, which fills with love beyond anything else when one falls in love.
Then one becomes a parent and experiences love of a different kind; this love too fills one’s heart yet the already existing loves in it remain intact or even increase, thanks to the compassion a new parent feels. Then comes another child and one thinks one's heart will divide; yet instead it multiplies.

Such is how I feel. Grateful for every moment of it!

Newness

I was born. I was loved. I was abandoned. I was taken care of. I was wronged. I was guided. I was cursed. I was nurtured. I was left to wallow in guilt.

I grew up. 

I learned to cope, to hide my emotions, to support the family no matter what. To study and thrive and grow more independent.

I grew up.

I moved away and I yearned for the love I was deprived from. I built a new life and rebuilt it and built it yet again. I kept silencing my true needs and feelings. I felt guilty every time I desired the forsaken childhood I was deprived from.  I talked myself to sleep at nights. I screamed at my childhood in the restless nights of my adulthood.

I grew up.

I saw my fears. I surrendered to them. Finally, I faced my fears. And I came out of this more knowing and accepting.

I am learning now what I desired was real. I'm learning now that what I yearned for was my right. I am learning now that I was indeed wronged and I deserved to feel mad and not feel guilty about it.

I'm also learning that it is my life, now, here, and no place for that childhood. No room for that adult.  They are embedded in me, but they are not me.

I grew up. 

It is my time now. To cherish what I really am. To look for the Divine within and around. To be and not to act. To take control of my life.

It's my time, now, and forever, to reinvent my life. 

Change

This is the season for change. Leaves to turn colors and fall, winter flowers to bloom, citrus trees to harvest, and rain to wash the roads for the new to come.

A birthday just around the corner.

And a new birth to hallmark the new chapter of our lives, enshala.

It's time to sit down for a change. To simply ponder on the miracle of life growing within me. To watch the cloudy sky and imagine the moist and rain drops. To go for a walk and get wet for a change. To sip on tea with friends, and nothing else, for a lazy afternoon full of presence. To read a book. To chat w the man of my life about nothing and everything.

Change is here. Let's change with it. 

Taking Refuge

I feel extremely tired. Physically and emotionally. I wish there was a refuge. I wish there was a book or website or place I could go and breathe a bit and come back anew. Alas.

I feel under pressure from many angles. Raising kids, managing sibling rivalry, practicing presence, letting go of work. Work.  It worries me. I'm concerned about my position. Will I need to fight back for my rights again? Oh so be it! Right?

Importance

I'm learning that one's reaction to her provoked reactions due to a certain event is a discovery. The reaction is to be observed and analyzed, cherished and accepted. The a reaction is the manifestation of what's really important in her view of the world.

I have felt at alert in the past week. I have felt a maternal unease in ensuring that my kids were fine and would be fine. Even though I know it's God who is the sustainer and not me.

I think this is a time of crisis. Everyone is revealing what they care about most. It's amusing to watch. 

A Few Days Ago

Dear America,

You disappointed me.

I left a home I loved and sought you in pursuit of better lives. I left the land of poetry and art, history and spirituality, four seasons natures. The land that had earlier in my life made a wrong turn, in my opinion.

I became Canadian because Canada was welcoming, it was high tech and orderly, it was nicer for the time being. But Canada had no suitable jobs for my husband and me. So with a 3 month old we emigrated once more.

I must say you were not welcoming. You kept us waiting in the secondary checking before boarding our plane to our destiny. We lost our flight. Our baby boy was tired. We were heartbroken.  Yet we came. We thought it was temporary. It was not the majority. We hoped may be it would get better.

And it did, somewhat. A few years later Obama made the country hopeful again. He seemed genuine, honest, and grounded. The secondary checking was released.

As soon as we settled, we labored and we paid taxes. We bought a house with our savings paying interest to your banks. We endured some racist behaviors even in this blue state of California. Yet we remained respectful, friendly, and neighborly. 

We raised our kids responsibly. Teaching them about the law and purity of the heart. Telling them they were no different being emigrants.  That the whole country was made of emigrants with a united dream of better lives for those who perseveres. We taught them to respect everyone including themselves. 

Then we watched you carefully in this recent election. We were first appalled at the candidates you chose. We were disappointed to realize once again that your democracy was really a dichotomy. We were disappointed that you decided to vote for a certain candidate, some for the first time, despite his positions about people and money. This is what you were waiting for?

My dear America!

You disappointed me tonight. I must say I am proudly Canadian, proudly Iranian, proud of our accomplishments and friendships we have made in the US. And tonight, I feel ashamed to have chosen you as home for my children when I have to tell them we emigrated here for better lives but don't take clues from the majority.

Time to Call A Friendship Over

Friendships evolve over the years. Some flourish as if forever. They persist despite the forces of life, despite the forced disconnections. One picks up the phone and punches an old mobile number which still works and the words simply flow. The friendship reignites; the connection was everpresent. 

Some friendships persist and survive, despite different paths of life, emigration, moves, separate destinations; hearts stay close and connected.

Then there are those friendships which expire even if digital connections elude. Social media and group chats bring news but not necessarily connections; such mediums remotely or rarely resemble a friendship.

Sometimes, despite disbelief, dear and darling friends of the past fall out of touch; the daily chats become weekly and monthly then yearly, the news may be observed from afar, through social media; empty texts and forwarded emails replace meaningful discussions. Then, one day, through the clouds of an old affection, one realizes that the friendship is over. Time to let go. 

It doesn't mean that there was anything wrong with the original connection. It simply means that time conquered the old connection. The beauty and even love in the friendship of the past is still beautiful and darling. But the friendship is nonexistent as of late.  A dear friend quoted yesterday that when one let's go of an old friend who doesn't exist anymore lets room for new and meaningful friendships.

Here is to friendship! Old and new and meaningful...

Malady and Apple Watch

Since I've been diagnosed with this malady, gestational diabetes, my Apple Watch has become a part of my wrist. I use it for tracking my exercise activities, also to time my hour after each meal to mark when to poke and measure, plus following my calories just to give myself some daily boost. It matters. Somehow achieving the daily goals has been motivational to me. Oh this malady has helped in achieving my activity goals and beyond!! I must say that's what I'm grateful for this issue.

Here comes the catch: my fasting glucose is spiking every morning. I've changed and modified my evening snacks but to no avail really. My dear Doctor friend, M. Sh., attributed that to my engineering mind: to assume there is linear or even nonlinear but explainable correlation between my diet and activities and this blood sugar mystery. Alas, even though I'm almost at control during the day, during the night I lose complete control and predictability.

Gestational Diabetes

I got diagnosed with gestational diabetes on Thursday, which is two days ago. I must say I was the least prepared for the news. I had taken the test six days prior and had called it "an unnecessary torture".  I was the least bit suspicious it would happen. And it had.

I was shocked. This was the first time it was happening. Then I felt sad. Then I felt a tiny bit panicky but I felt mainly and profoundly sad.

And then I spent three hours on the web reading about it and educating myself.

My Ob wanted me to visit with a nutritionist. So I made an appointment for the next day thinking we would talk about food and exercise.  Simple stuff, right? She also wants me to not gain any more weight and I have 12 more weeks to go. I have already gained 14 kg or 33 lbs. not unusual based on past experience.  How to manage not gaining any more is underwhelming.

The nutrition specialist was way more serious that I was prepared for. She already had my "starter kit" ready complete with 50 needles and a home needle disposal bin.

Sigh. It was serious!

I am still trying to get a hang of it all, what I shall eat and what I shan't, what to do if I felt hungry, what kind of exercises to do and when and for how long.  How to poke myself to ache less.  Where not to poke.  How to deal with nightly heart burns and the last snack of the day.  What to eat when I will be traveling to Orlando for business next week (my last for a while or so its the plan). 

And here is the beginning.

On the Path of Love

I have started a soul searching practice. It's really nothing new; have been at it since I got to know I was a being in teenagehood.

There are many things in this world that I can't explain. There are people’s reactions and actions that have no explanation in my books. I don't take them personally. Or more precisely, I try to do so. I believe everyone reacts and acts based on their state of being. I do too.

I am trying to do my best, everything I do. I feel tired in my body. My back sores and my eyes need a shut time. So I'm laying down and doing my best in blogging about my learnings and practice as of late.

Finally, I'm trying to be watchful of my words as I recognize their power. I try to do my best in being impeccable with my words.

In fact, the Toltec four agreements thought me these:

1) Be impeccable with your words

2) don't take things personally

3) don't make assumptions

4) always do your best

On my Path of Love I'm being watchful of my negative feelings on a nightly bases and making a diary out of them. I'm required to particularly notice feelings of pride, resentment, and envy. I'm coming up this realization that most of my negative feelings are actually fear. Pride, envy, and reset meant in me stem in the feeling of fear.  For now, I'm only acknowledging them.

May our Path be lit with Love!

One More Time, Home

It's beautiful and green. Thanks to new management and the ban of suboptimal gas, the air pollution is almost gone. The river is dry though because of the anusive laws for upper cities to pomp out the water for their farms uphill.

People are fine. Calmer perhaps at least on the surface.

We have been jet lagged and managing it. The kids are having fun, they are calm in presence of loving family; they look happy and content.

My friends are arranging a get together. I hope to get to see them. It's very nice to meet them again. Albeit it will be for a short time and visiting many, yet looking forward to it.

In Defense of A Nation

Once upon a time there was a great emperor governing a great nation. There were poetry and art and hospitality and faith.

Now that nation is divided with several political borders. Perhaps the most central and largest border is called Iran today.

Today Iran is still thriving with heart filled poetries and soul touching movies and beautiful arts. Yet there are politics and greed and corruption and pollution too. Then there are other foreign politics who feed off of what's going not fully to their political tastes.

It aches my heart when the nominated Vice Presidebt at Democratic National Convention calls the harsh sanctions against Iran as a triumphant glory along with the constant mermer of several congress members who too, for whatever reason, take the harsh criricisms against the Iran Deal. It proves to me how much they don't know. How selfishly and narrow mindedly they think. How forgetful they are toward the history they built and we all built together.

From experience I must say: sanctions kill hope.

Sanctions destroy trust. 

Sanctions divide. 

Sanctions deepen the poverty and greed at the same time.

Sanctions, to me, are sucking out the blood from a nation and leaving them a weak prey for the vultures of global greed.

It doesn't change anything for good, if indeed that's their goal, which I highly doubt by now; because they too must have seen what I saw.

Iran has been destroyed time and time again. Romans. Greek. Arabs. Moguls. Americans. Iraqis.  I wished by now the maturity in humanity would have made a difference.

Alas.

I take my refuge in timeless Persian Poetry of Hafez-E Shirazi:

"Hafez! Since both the sorrow and the joy of this world are transitory

I better keep my spirit high!"

حافظا چون غم و شادى جهان در گذر است

بهتر آنست كه من خاطر خود خوش دارم

And the beautiful hopeful words of our beloved Molana which I try my best to translate from Persian:

"Verily! Don't be disappointed if the Beloved pushes you away

If He pushes you away today won't He call you tomorrow?

And would He shut the door at you, don't leave, wait there

Because of your pacience He will put you on high

And if He closes all the doors and passages for you

He will show you a different way which no one knows about"

هله نوميد نباشى كه تو را يار براند

اگر امروز براند نه كه فردات بخواند

در اگر بر تو ببندد مرو و صبر كن آنجا

ز پس صبر تو را او به سر صدر نشاند

و اگر بر تو ببندد همه ره ها و گذرها

ره ديگر بنمايد كه كس آن راه نداند

Peace! Love! Humanity!

The Language of Murder

Killing

Mass Shooting

Psychopathic Misbehavior

Hate Crime

Terrorist Attack

Suicide Bombing

Drone Targeting

Killing Robots

Massacre

Slaughter

Homicide

Self Defense

These are a few words added to my arsenal of English vocabulary thanks to the American news lately.  I am learning where one is used instead of another.  There are many considerations.  We first hear about a tragedy, then when the murdered identity, background, skin color, religion, origin, parents' beliefs, and a few other items are identified then the verdict is out.  I wonder, aren't these all horridly and simply "murder"?  Get simple please!  And factual too.  When an innocent life is taken away with no trial, no proven guilt, it is m-u-r-d-e-r.  Period.

Last week more lives were taken away by police.  A social activist said NPR radio on Friday afternoon: "it broke my heart when her daughter said 'I am right here with you'" and her voice cracked just a bit.  I read the fuller news today and my eyes welled with tears too.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/falcon-heights-shooting_us_577dd795e4b0c590f7e8058f

I think to myself, I am living a good life.  Then I ask myself, am I?  I think to myself that I am living a secure life; then I dream (you read nightmare) of a mass shooting on the highway when I find myself sliding to the back of the car trying to hide my bulging tummy with a baby inside; I wake up all sweaty and shaken: What a wonderfully secure world we are living and growing our families in!

I read this other article about international travels this weekend: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sidonie-sawyer/how-i-travel-across-the-g_b_10912412.html 

As a 1K frequent flyer I am full of advice myself but I like reading others' experiences too.  This article nicely summarized many good points. It was almost funny though where Ms Sawyer, the journalist, noted that she was flying out of NYC and in the next paragraph she says: "Whenever possible, I avoid airports layovers in sensitive territories. I would never fly to a country just bombed by terrorist groups. I avoid countries at war, with whomever.”  I know what she means, thinking Turkey and Belgium perhaps.  And I think to myself, did you not, my dear lady, just pay a "September 11th Security Fee" for your flight out of NYC?  I feel a tinge of bias or ignorance and such remarks in travel news casting baffles me. Tell me where is safe to travel to and from and through anymore.

My mom is travelling internationally and she was researching for a safe route.  I told her remorsefully that I was so afraid that there was no place safe left on this planet.  Due to my growing English vocabulary of:

Killing

Mass Shooting

Psychopathic Misbehavior

Hate Crime

Terrorist Attack

Suicide Bombing

Drone Targeting

Killing Robots

Massacre

Slaughter

Homicide

Self Defense

Ramazan

"Ask anyone who has heard the call to morning prayer for the first time and he will tell you the same thing. That it is beautiful, rich, and mysterious. And yet at the same time there is something uncanny about it, almost eerie. Just like love."*

I'm fallen into the the past again. The call for morning prayer waking me up ever so softly. I intentionally left the window of my room open just a little for the morning breeze and Azan to wake me up.

During Ramazan however, I was woken by the subtle sound of my parents foot steps, walking to kitchen, preparing sahari, the cooked meal we had prior to dawn after which we fast.  The house was softly filled with Doaa ye Sahar, the dawn prayer. Allahomma enni as'aloka men nooreka be anvarehaa va kollo nooreka nayyer. 

It was beautiful every time. Then we all gathered around the table. Sleepy faces. Slowly eating. Rushed to the washroom to brush our teeth. The tic toc of the clock counting down to the moment of morning Azan. And then the Azan itself filled the house and the streets and the city.  Glorious and powerful. Merciful and compassionate. Forgiving and promising.

Ramazan began and so did our individual journey amids the crowd.  Everyone in their own inner search for the Truth, for the Light, for the Grace.

Days stretched silently, with nothing as much as a family table to summon us together. Until a few hours before sunset when the smell of something sweet filled the house as my mom baked a sweet dish to break our fast with. Halva, shole zard, ranginak.

My dad had taught us a prayer to open our fast with: Oh God! Yours is our fast, and on Thy we trust, and upon Your sustenance we break our fast, for sure You are The Listener, You are The Knower.

Some evenings we had guest for Iftar, to feed those who fast for God. The house would suddenly fill up as all the guests arrived just a few minutes before the call for evening prayer.  One by one they greeted each other praying for blessing for everyone they greeted. Namaaz roozehaatoon ghabool. We were responsible to pour hot water and offer everyone a cup with dates. The cling cling of teaspoons in the small cups filled with sugar rocks and a drop of lime was the symphony of the evening as some stood up to pray. Then the meal was served. Always extras for everyone to take home for their morning sahari and even more to be sent to the poor.

Some nights we were invited to a relatives' place. Everyone arrived at once again, cheerful after a full day of obstinance and contemplation, greeting each other and pouring wished of blessings on one another.

Then came the Ghadr nights. The night that was better than a thousand nights. Most of the evening was spent at mosques, starting with prayers and meal and then night vigils of prayers and Quran till dawn at which point everyone was promised forgiveness, given a new life, except for those who owed to other human beings. Lest the all Merciful forgave everything except any wrong one had done to another.

Finally Eid arrived. Like a new bride  shy about when to unveil her beautiful face. It was to celebrate a month of barekat. Melancholic yet joyful, we once again met at the elders' house, greeting each other and praising little ones for their efforts to fast and wishing each other more blessings.

That's how I remember the Ramazan of my childhood. With busy streets just before night Azan and quiet and peaceful just moments after. With dates and sweets and melody of Quran as my grandmother, God bless her soul, was listening to the radio in her quest to finish the verses one whole time as the month unfold. With many hours of contemplation and many nights of presence in community.

May this Ramazan bring Grace and Blessing to all!

* The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak

Multiply

I love traveling and living in different places. Far away. Close by. With family and friends. Alone by myself.

I marvel in sceneries and cities and towns and people. It teaches me so much about the world and about myself. Knowing thy self is knowing thy One.

I tend to plan and then worry about the execution steps. Exactly how I read Aziz in the book I'm reading does, The Forty Rules of Love  by Elif Shafak who seemingly is a citizen of the world herself.

This is the intriguing aspect on authorship to me; to travel as part of the journey of life and career.

I am having a tough time with this pregnancy. I try to remind myself how I'm involved in the works of God. As if I'm not involved other than feeling queasy and getting big without eating.

Here we go. Floating in the Divine ocean of Love. 

Empty Words

She thought about him a lot this past weekend.
She thought about how she thought about him a lot this past weekend.
She thought to tell him when they met.
He said he would come but warned her to not think about it.  She refrained herself from thinking about it.  He had said several times before that he would come.  He would be there for her.  Yet he had broken his words equal to the times he had promised.  She knew better to not believe him. Yet she did.
She imagined how he would show up this time.  How he would assume she ignored his words.  How he would then think he would surprise her.
She imagined if he would call her when he gets there: "I am here".
She imagined if he would just walk up to her and she would look up and see his eyes.
She imagined if she would feel surprised, relieved, loved.
She imagined where they would go for dinner.  The venue didn't matter to her.  She thought they would talk, like before.  Had he changed?  She had changed she knew that.  How about his feelings?  How about the look in his eyes?  What did he have to talk about?  What would he share about his recent experiments in life?  She thought how late they would dine.  Perhaps they would be the last couple leaving.  Perhaps walking for an hour or two afterwards.  Perhaps it would get too cold and they would shelter in each others' warmth.
Perhaps they wouldn't say goodbye this time.
The phone rang.  Her heart stopped for a minuscule moment.  She knew before the hello.
His words were all empty after that.
They were empty before that too.
She thought about her naivete.  She smiled at herself, happy about all her fantasies.  She remembered how she couldn't imagine his eyes.  She remembered how in her dreams he was faceless.  The dreams were all hers.  Nothing of him.  Nothing about him.
Every time she thought about him, she thought "empty".

Chicago

Downtown Chicago. My hair smells like smog. I'm in a crappy Hampton too. I think this is my last time at a Hampton. Or Embassy for that matter. I might switch to SPG.

Found a sandwich shop just five minutes walking distance from the hotel. A shop with a character! Antique wall decor, a bookshelf with ancient books, and tasty well priced sandwiches.

These are my last business trips for a while.

I know I'm not a mommy type. A lady staying home and caring about everything in every hour of every child's life. Yet God is blessing us with one more.

I like my job. It's on the track and it will eventually move up where it should. I feel it. And I am doing it.

A leave of absence.

The job won't wait.

The baby will grow, on breast or bottle.

My heart will break every time the airplane takes off away from my family.

Money will go low. We need to ration and prioritize.

I feel a couple years won't shatter a 30 year career after all. I feel there is a place for me. I will come back enshala.

For now, enjoying carrying the baby inside me while doing business in Chicago.

Surrender

Suddenly, with no prior warning, I found a cocoon being woven around me.  I was living my life, walking my walks.  And suddenly I felt these strings around my fingers and toes and arms and legs and neck and face.  The realization of being tethered! The pull from the strings!  Oh the feeling of suffocation!
I struggled to untangle myself to lame results.  There I was.  Inside a tight and unforgiving cocoon built around my whole life.  Unexpected.  Unwanted.
So I suffered.  And I wallowed on sorrow.
Then, with God's Grace, I suddenly calmed down.  I suddenly stayed.  Still. I tried to realize the cocoon.  The limits.  The shape and feel of the material encapsulating me.  Then I waited.  And waited.  Until I felt a smile on my lips.
Here I am now.  In this tight cocoon imprisoning me.  I am dreaming of the days I will be free again.  A day I can walk again and talk again and feel the rain again on my skin.
When that day comes, I will live my life.

Sometimes

Sometimes it's all right to feel down.

Sometimes it's all right to feel bored.

Sometimes it's all right to feel cheated.

Sometimes it's all right to feel cold.

But then there comes a time

it's hard to believe

Sometimes there is too much too heal

Just too much to heal

Then there is pain

There is no one to blame

But just one

The only one

You thought you trusted the most

It hurts to ache

I'm not sure anymore

How can I forget?

How can I cure?

This pain within?

This trust without?

Hawaii

Day 1: we arrived. Per many recommendations, after picking up the rental minivan, we made a stop at Costco. The drive to the hotel afterwards was nice and different with a warm yet pleasant weather. We checked in at Kaanapali Alii at a beautiful mountain view two bedroom apartment rental. The kids made a splash in the pool and also ocean.

Day 2: we made a plan and some activity reservations including dinner at sunset on a table with a view at Ruth's Chris in Lahaaina. In the morning we hopped between the three pools in the hotel area. In the evening we walked in Lahaaina outlets and then a delicious Hawaiian steak.

Day 3: Drove to Hana. We woke up around 6:30 AM and headed out before 7:45. There was virtually no traffic and the drive was marvelous.

Little m was badly sunburned. But we managed it with home remedies.

The most fascinating sight of the trip was the Rainbow Eucalyptus. They were amazingly beautiful and different. Made me think of a certain eucalyptus grove that has no resemblance of this one.

We made a splash at the Seven Sacred Pools. Our guide was a Gypsy GPS which was informative and fun. On the hind side we thought the cave right before Hana could be the last stop. By the time we head back it was 5pm already and the kids and grown ups were getting a bit carsick and antsy. The final stop was at little town on Paia where we spotted the Mana Store with a character. Much fun walking in the isles and exploring the new. The highlight was a root called Termeric. The Termeric!! I marinated the Mahi Mahi with it the next day and it was delicious!

Day 4: we took it easy. Stayed indoors for most of the morn and went to the pools in the afternoon. I made the fish for lunch and in the evening we walked to Whailers Village by Westin. It was fun. M got me a necklace with Hawaiian waves design. Loved it and the gesture. We stopped at Hula Grills for some tropical drinks.

Day 5: drove to Napili beach to spot turtles but found none. By noon we decided to drive to Haleakala dormant volcano. It was beautiful!

Day 6: sailed to two snorkeling spots including Malakani and spotted many fish and a few turtles. Much much fun!

We have a reservation for Ulalena in Lahaina. I'm excited to dress up and walk the beach town afterward. Looking forward to it all. 

To Divorce A Family

When you feel alienated from a closed family member, it feels sad. You think about all the discriminations, all the selfishness, all the lies, all the ugly powers imposed, then you feel miserable. You want to flee from it. But it is a relative you can't divorce.  You are stuck. You have to make the best of it. And keep your trust only and only on te Beloved.

A Calm and Smile

Some people say business is not personal. I humbly disagree.

Everything we do is personal.

We make personal decisions everyday to do the works and sometimes make counterintuitive decisions. For example we leave a sick child behind to stay late and finish a task.

I think we make these odd choices because of a passion, and s belief. Believe in something big that needs us and is enabled by us.

And because of a dream. Dream of a day that our hard work and sacrifices will change lives to the better.

Thank God for a great Medical Advisory Board Meeting!

I feel grateful. I feel I can relax this morning even if for an hour. And reflect on what went on.

Thank you God for an extraordinarily support! Thank God!

Waves

It is never the same

The world

It turns but not around

Nothing repeats

Nothing

It's always different

Always

Feeling close doesn't last

Feeling apart doesn't last

Being favored doesn't last

Not being recognized doesn't last

Patience

And hope

And trust

Oh God! It's all You!

A friend shared the poem below with me. He said it was about "waves" and I immediately knew.

Trough By Judy Brown

There is a trough in waves,
a low spot
where horizon disappears
and only sky
and water
are our company.
And there we lose our way
unless
we rest, knowing the wave will bring us
to its crest again.
There we may drown
if we let fear
hold us in its grip and shake us
side to side,
and leave us flailing, torn, disoriented.
But if we rest there
in the trough,
in silence,
being in the low part of the wave,
keeping our energy and
noticing the shape of things,
the flow,
then time alone
will bring us to another
place
where we can see
horizon, see land again,
regain our sense
of where
we are,
and where we need to swim.

Life Oh Life!

There is nothing perfect in this perfect land of the Gods!  This is it. As sh*tty and glamorous as it is. As boring and exciting as it is. As deceitful and brutally honest as it is. As disappointing and hopeful as it is.

Oh life!

This is what it is. As good as it gets!

Live it!

Lucky Not to Be a Millenial

We used to get bored.  I mean bored in one afternoon when parents were taking a nap and we had to stay quiet and wait for 5PM so the kids' program would start which would last for an hour, after several days of summer break before our summer classes of English, tennis, swim, and painting would start. I mean bored when it was too hot to go to the backyard to play with our scooters and bikes. And then, we would improvise. The basement was a refuge if we could maneuver the tiny lizards zooming away as soon as the giants of our feet stepped down the stairs.  There was a pingpong table, paint brushes and oil paints and painting boards, there was a small mosaic water pool with a few fish swimming around, there was the plants in the flower boxes, there was a bed to sit on and read a book or play with my sisters.  Or we would just walk around and imagine and ponder and dream of far far away lands and animals and planets and deep sea ventures. We got bored but too late and the boredom would last far too short but long enough to dream. I  mean bored not at any moment without a smart phone or wifi. We were lucky to have born in the age that it was not easy to get bored!

To Build Anew

Europe

Greece

An ancient city by the Mediterranean Sea

And old house made of bricks and mortars atop a steep gravel pathway

A small garden bearing tomatos on vines, green peppers, squash

A flower bed; roses; red and pink; bees buzzing around

My kids on the terrace running around in their flip flops; kicking a ball around an old well

A kitchen; Detached from the house; windows opened to the sea; door almost nonexisting

My man is in the kitchen with me; sitting beside an old island in the middle of the tiny brick kitche. I'm standing by the counter, mixing onhredients for a Persian/Greek dish of stuffed pepper and tomatoes. He is cutting freshly picked tomatoes on an old cutting board. He throws jokes at me sometimes. Sometimes we talk history and architects sometimes ideas and opinion. Politics. Virtue. Socrates.

The smell of the sea is enhanced by the flying afternoon breezes. The kids rush in and grab their simply made plates and fruits and rush out to play some more with the couple local kids the befriended. We pick the aromatic dishes and Poe ourselves a couple glasses and step out, pass through the terrace, walk by the garden, and sit at the patio tables over the cliff looking down at the sea. The sun is setting down. The drink smells like flowers. The food melts on our tongue. The moisture in the air so soft on my skin. The company warm by my side, looking in my eyes at times, looking away at time. I know he is happy with me. I am. 

My Escape Lately: Nezami Ganjavi

I have found a nightly escape routine lately. I started browsing poems of Nezami; one of my favorite Persian poets whose master piece, Layla and Majnun, granted me my name; An Arabic love story between two young schoolmates in olden day tribes of that land.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Layla_and_Majnun

I started with Khosrow and Shirin, a Persian love story and a tragic one with Farhad's suicide in his love for Shirin.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khosrow_and_Shirin

One thing that peaqued my attention was the nuances in relationships and dialogues between the lovers. The similarities and the differences between the Persian correspondences and costumes versus Arabic ones. How modesty and pudency were present in both while in the Persian version the ladies were more forthright with their words and even their bodily presence while in the Arabic version we hardly "hear" Leyli's words.

Leyli, by the way, was the original Arabic name than evolved to Layla and is also spelled as Leyla and Leila.

The beautiful words and meaning, the poetic expression, the softness of the dialogue, these all have me recharged every night; somewhat the starch contrast to my daily life as a business woman, tough and strategic and analytical and matter of the fact; this nightly reading is my haven. I think if I live to old ages this will how I will spend my days too, reading Persian poems, marveling in their beauty and meaning.

PS: the land of Persia has shrunk but the poems of Persian language will always be Persian. Even if their birthplace or tomb is not within the current borders of the modern map of Iran. This is how I see this. 

Image from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Layla_and_Majnun#/media/File:Story_of_Mejnun_-_in_wilderness.jpg

To Be Tried

The wise say when you feel the burden of life, when you feel you are being tried, look within for the lesson you needed to learn. Then learn it lest it would be repeated.

I am being tried with human's true nature, with their wants and desires, with their determination to gain what they please even if they didn't earn it.

I wonder how I'm being tried in that. It's not my doing. Yet it will be my reaction to it.

Let it be. Bring it on. I'm ready for my lesson. As God be my tutor lending me a hand or two when I need it. Amen!

Life Happens While You Wait for It to Start

A rainstorm hit her on her way to airport, so hard the wipers on the fastest mode couldn't clear the view. She slowed down gazing into her memories of a rainstorm worse that this. A road trip from Toronto to Philadelphia. It was April. Lush green and young and new. And so they were. Hardly two years in their marriage.

She called him to chat. Still heavy rain and traffic. His demeanor was like always. That she would be there. Like always. And she would call again. Like always. And they would talk, or not. Like always. Scattered minded.  Zipping his laptop bag as he was settling at work to start his day gazing at the monitor until it was time to leave. She told him about the rainstorm and the memory. He chuckled. His voice changed for a fraction of a moment. She continued with recalling the memory. And how it was 14 years ago. But he had already lost interest.

Beautiful, Confident, and Kind

A beautiful lady is sitting beside me. I'm at the window seat, a guy who snorts every 5 minutes or so at the isle. We knew the airplane was full so it was just a matter of faith who the middle person would be. She came at last. With a business tote that she shoved under the seat in front of hers. Then called someone and inquired them to be in a certain place as she would certainly be late. I thought she must be a manager. A very self assured kind too. I have not demanded of my subordinates anything like that yet. Or so I think because you know how one can be oblivious to her own actions while spots them in others. Then she dialed again and this time the tone was more familiar. Not sure if it were a sister or a husband. It was quick and sweet. It wasn't until a couple hours into the flight that I got to see her. I was looking at the flight attendant to look at me when my flight mate turned to me and smiled. I smiled back.  Then she commented on my salad. A big bowl heaping with kale and spinach.  I offered to share if she wished but we both knew the refusal. Finally she offered me a delicious Godiva Creme Brûlée Truffle. Mmm it was yummy. And kind.

I'm reading this book, Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter, and in it there is an American actor who is supposedly very beautiful in the eyes of this Italian main character. I was thinking the way this guy author has described her gives me an image in which the actress knew she was beautiful and she acted like so too. Exactly like my seat mate. And I wonder what gives these people this confidence.  I love it! And I hope to give this sense to my daughter. She is the most beautiful little angel and she better know it and act like so. How do I do it though?

30 Day Challenges

A friend told me last night how if you do a new ritual for 30 days it will become habit.
I have 3 30-day challenges that I am committed to do:

1. Wake up at 5AM every workday - Pray - Be at work by 6AM
2. Write a little of my book every morning
3. Sit upright

Here we go!