Las Vegas

After 12 years I came back here on vacation even though work has brought me here a few times in between which does not count.  I think in A's eyes this should look like a Nickle City or Chuck-e-Cheeses but for grown ups.
I truly do not enjoy gambling.  Haven't stopped at one station yet.
Today we walked, and walked, and walked almost the whole day.  I hope I have shed some extra pounds (beyond what is needed for the baby) today.
What is really nice about this trip though is how family is with us.  It is great from all angles.  Many partners to chat with, many occasions to laugh, and several people to watch A at any time.  He seems really relax and happy.  I am so happy for him.
What is the nagging thought ruining my so called "vacation" is "work".  I woke up thinking about it and am going to bed after working several hours non stop on it.  Everyone tells me to relax and enjoy but I can do neither although I try to at least enjoy the memory of it all.

Change of Plans

I was hoping to make a short trip to Lake Tahoe to ski or hike or relax or work some, based on the moods. But most of the people preferred to go to Las Vegas instead. Longer drive now and less variety of activities. It's hard for me to imagine working there but I have to.
Now, if we were in Tahoe, I suppose most people would go skiing and a couple would go to a casino. I, however, cannot ski right now, both because of a stiff shoulder lately and, mmm, because I'm expecting :) So, I would take my book and laptop and would sit by a fireplace in a local coffee shop. I'd get me a cup of hot cocoa and work a few hours. Then I'd get a sandwich and a cup of tea and read my book until the family comes back. Perhaps even if I have time will take a stroll around the block and look at the local shops for a small souvenir. That's at least what I like to think about right now.
PS: for the few hours I slept so far I was dreaming about A and his presents. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Eve and A

This is a unique Christmas eve at our house. For the first time in A's life we are actually home. Add to that the fact that my dad and stepmom are here and my siste S and brother-inlay are arriving from Canada in an hour enshala.  On top of this all we have a Christmas tree and lots of presents.

I have tried imagining A a few times waking up to,or row and opening all the presents that are his.  He was worried that someone would stay up past midnight tonight and Santa doesnt show up. We assured him before putting him to bed that we will make sure all is quiet at home by midnight.

I am glad he can imagin all the magic. I think this will help him undesrtand later on that not all he sees is real and not all he cannot see is unreal. It's essentially a philosophical teaching in addition to developing his imagination.

Merry Christmas to all who believe and all that can imagine!

The Story of Two Books

A chilly autumnal afternoon, a sweetened cup of tea, a pair of slippers, a blanket, and two books.  And such a contrast!
I am reading Shirin and Khosrow's story from Nezami's book of poems, of course in Farsi.  The story goes back centuries and this version is from about 800 years ago.  Nezami starts the book with praising God and thanking him for giving him the talent to write.  The he talks about love.  Oh!  Such an amazingly lovely depiction of love.  Finally after praising the prophet and the king and all he starts the story of Khosrow. Such mystery!  Such beauty!  Such elegance in his words!  What is the most apparent to me this time (every time I read a book I find a new appearance) is its simple purity and its pure simplicity.  How fortunate I feel to be able to read and comprehend Farsi for such treasures in our literature!
I am reading Picture if Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde, from 1890.  I must say, I am enjoying the writing.  And I am most curious to know where it all ends.  The emphasis by Lord Henry Wotton on beauty and fulfillment of senses is interesting to me.  And the helplessness in Dorian admitting to impermanence of beauty.
In both books there are much depictions of the apparent beauties: faces, hair, bodies.
Both books refer to lust, a lot.
Yet, the former book has a sense of love in it the latter lacks.  Hence, it feels more moral, more humane even perhaps.
No conclusion yet though, as I am still in the middle of both books.  Perhaps, to be continued.

Old Old Songs

Old old songs are those that in my parent's collections were called "old songs".  Just for the sake of it!




Darvish, Golpa

I Am Duality

A grounded, vast, stable soul; the Sahara

A constantly moving, boundless, carefree open-hearted nomad; the midnight breeze

A chosen one able to hear God; the Saint

An explorer, delving in this alluring life; the Child

A calm, observing, kind, humble, giving person; the Heavens

A self centered, proud, ambitious type; the Mountain

A wise, enlightened soul, transforming fire to a flower garden; the Ebrahim

A desirous body, burning the frozen hearts; the Saba

A seeker of the unknown, a visionary by heart; the Soul

A seeker of the unknown, all the senses arouse; the Self

The Career Destiny

My dear R.N. says always that "your career has a destiny".  This is a phrase to pause on for me.  What she means is how the advancement in career does not need our struggle, it happens, after we put some energy and thought into it of course.
It is hard sometimes to think that things have their own destiny.  Life happens.  Death happens.  Love happens.  Separation happens.  And most likely, we had hardly anything to do with them..
Now, career happens too.  It has its own course, and it happens.

To Accept The Hardships of This Era

"Verily, with every hardship comes ease!" 94:6

I have been contemplating on the nemesis of the time.  From the clashes of theories and beliefs to the lies in politics close to home to the straight bullets shot in the head of a fourteen year old to the monetary value of the currency back in the mother land, to the constant unhealthy interference in our food and our drinks and our land.  It feels depressing, pathetic, and hopeless at times.
Yet, it is not the only worst time. Is it?
They say there have been kings who killed all the men in a village.  They tell us about wars that swiped a whole civilization.  There have been dynasties coming and going.  And the men of the world have never been all just, never been all true, never been all man-loving.  There have been families burnt.  There has been drought.  There has been volcano erupting and destroying a whole city at once.
What makes this time any different?
I keep reciting this poem of Hafiz:

جهان و کار جهان جمله هیچ در هیچ است

هزار بار من این نکته کرده ام تحقیق

The world and what is in it are all unrully
A thousand times I have experienced it

Yet. Beauty is.

It is falls.  The weather is changing visibly.  Shorter daylight, stronger winds, dried leaves.  I was standing at the backyard walkout yesterday, listening to the birds chirping.  The grass is still green.
I stopped at the school, and "the queen of the class" came to me and said she remembered me from my last year's presentation in the class.
I talked to my mom and she was full of hope.
I picked up A and he gave me a big hug.
I talked to a dear friend about a work situation that made me feel vulnerable and he cared to listen.
We had a delicious dinner at friends' and enjoyed listening to their parents talking about samanu pazoon and noon berenji.

"Remember, no human condition is ever permanent. Then you will not be overjoyed in good fortune nor too scornful in misfortune." Socrates

Pure Blessed Love

When you see the eyes you want to look at them. The shape of the eyelashes, the length, the color, the pattern. You look at the eyebrows and touch them, course or neat. Your fingers in the hair. The smell of the skull. You trace the nose with your watch wanting to touch. The lips, you want to be kissed; trace to the jawbone, then the soft skin below the ear, tracing down the neck. One kiss. The fragrance of the body. The touch on the shoulders to the back to the side to the thigh to the back of the knee to the toes... When you feel the vibes from the skies; it is then that you know that the love is real, pure,  blessed.

Tonight

If I had FB it read: Madonna.

Pause

Laying down sleepless for hours. Freed myself from the nightmare of repeated mistakes to wake up to the reality: repeated mistakes?
What is happening? Why? What went wrong? How to make it right? What is right?
War?
I remember the calm. I remember the running water in the city's beautiful river. I remember the kindness in the eyes of the men and the women. I remember the compassionate people. I remember the support.
I cannot imagine what it is like today.
Alas.

Welcome Home!

We arrived in San Francisco Airport and rushed to the passport check.  There are two separate lines: one for citizens and permanent residents, one for visitors.  We have bought a house here, our son goes to school here, we both work here and pay taxes and dues and social securities we will never see a penny of.  Yet, we are considered aliens because we are on visa.

Long long lines were moving forward and it is our turn at last.  I talked to the immigration officer:
- We came here because we live and work here
- Yes our son goes to school here
- Yes we have been to all over the places
- I have been working for the same division for more than five year now

- I work as a Global Product Manager for them

- Yes San Jose is our home address
- No we don't have any meat of fruit or alcohol with us
- ...
He stamped the passports, wrote on some papers, punched some keys on his keyboard and returned the passports to me: "Welcome home"!
Yes.  Home.
I graciously thanked him and smiled.

Paris Day: Two: Versailles

It took us about an hour in the Jardin and then one and a half hours in the château.  Point is to get the audio guide, which is free. Albeit not given to kids younger than 8 years old. So M gave his to A. It was one of the best, or the best, audio guides I had ever taken with me, with very short and precise narrative, dialogues, and short audio plays. It was fun and in formative indeed.  A also enjoyed the palace while looking for the numbers for each audio guide. The company of a our friend's son was also a delight keeping him go.

The Jardin de Versailles was really nice and majestic. We enjoyed strolling around but we made sure not to tire ourselves. The reason we started from the garden was because there was a fountain show we wanted to watch.  Nothing too fancy, just the fact that the fountains were working at all cause apparently out of that time span the fountains were not working.

We started the day at a local château.  It was a short drive to château de la Madelaine because we are staying with our dear friends K.T. and Sh.Sh. in Gif sur Yvette, south of Paris.  A really had fun, especially while his friend A.T. was also with him discovering the château together.

Paris: Day One

We planned a perfect day with K.T. and Sh.Sh. to whose home we arrived last night and we are staying with.  The most important input was how they also are experienced I traveling with kids.  So, we left for Paris around noon after a relatively nice jet lagged sleep.

1) Luxembourg metro station - apparently most central part of the city.
To see Luxembourg Jardin, which was indeed beautiful.

2) Panthéon: one block on the east of the Lexembourg Jardin.
Panthéon is the burial of many famous French people but the building which was built by Jaques-Germaine Soufflot was initially a church.  The building is a huge monument with tall columns and a humongous door which is at least ten times my hight.  We didn't walk inside in the interest of time and energy. By the way, on the way there on the Souffle avenue we fed A subway sandwich.  This way, with A being full, we were sure M and I could be more adventurous with food and also get A the energy to walk some more.

3) Sorbonne: the university.
We walked north and west to Saint Michelle boulevard. On the west side of the street walking north suddenly the sidewalk opens up to a row of cafés and bookstores and a fountain that leads to the Sorbonne university monumental entrance.  It was good to take a few pictures and check out "I have been to Sorbonne".

4) Quartier Latin: the Latin neighborhood.
It was a favorite spot for sure, with narrow winding allies that are abundant with Mediterranean and middle eastern restaurants, cafés and tiny local eateries and souvenir shops.  There were a group is street musicians playing some local song and people had gathered to watch and dance.  K.T. had recommended a local eatery and had warned about the quality of the other shops. So we followed the lead to Maoz for a Falafel and salad bar sandwich. Mmmm was it yummy! And then to the famous Amorito creamery. A had a vanilla bean ice cream Ina cone that they decorated like a flower. Fantastic presentation and fantastic taste, indeed the best vanilla bean gelato I had ever had (and I am no vanilla).

5) Notre Damme: the cathedral.
We walked north some more and crossed the river to the cathedral.  The line to get inside was long but walking very quickly.  It was an easy visit getting A busy by showing him the candles and getting him to write in the guest book and show him the chandeliers. We all sat down for prayers and got to listen to a mass, very beautiful.
Note: A had a hot chocolate before the visit, so he got warm and energized.
Note: there is a public restroom by the cathedral. It is important, because there are not many, or in our walk until then any, public restrooms.
PS: we went back to the Anorino for a second round of ice-creams.

6) Shakespeare and Company Bookstore
Just south west of Notre Damme cathedral, there is this bookstore that has a character of its own. Indeed a treat. We were lucky where there was a writer who had a book reading reading from his book. Most of the books were English actually, but the whole building from top to bottom was filled with books.  Such a fun intellectual place. 

Mom Son Dad

I had put my hair up just to keep the bangs off my face; very casually how my mom used to adorn my hair if I wanted to go to a birthday party as a teenage girl.  I was busy packing.  A came over and lay on the bed and started: "mommy! no other mom has hair like yours.  No other mom is like you.  I love you!  You are the best mommy!"

My heart melting.

This morning I watched M and A leave for school.  Such a simple scene: A holding his backpack on his shoulders and carrying his lunch box.  Daddy walking by him.  Daddy and son walking away together.  I was watching through the door.  Thinking this is a scene worth captured still.

When to Change Something

"When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: 'If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right.' It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something." Steve Jobs - 2005 - Stanford

I read and heard this quote three times in the past 48 hours.  Pondering.

Why do I write

I write because I like to write.  I try to write when I have something worthwhile to say.

I do not have something worthwhile to say all the time.  I cannot say all the worthwhile things I like to write.  So I do not write.

I have been thinking, after 12 years of blogging, after 12 years from my emigration out of the mother land, after 12 years of submerging in a language other than my mother tongue, why I have been writing.  What the meaning of my blogs has been.  And what the true subject of my blogs has been.

The conclusion was simple: I just write to feel connected to the world in a literal fashion.  The meaning associated with this blog is to capture a glimpse of my thoughts and feelings at a particular time.  I write about life, my life, some ups, some downs. And I keep quiet about many many write-worthy things.  There are some thoughts and feelings that are to be kept private; forever.

Love and Attention

Last week, I was listening to the podcast of Robert Abdul Hay Darr talk at the last Baraka retreat.  It was so coincidentally inline with my line of thoughts at the time.  Prior to that I was talking with my dear Sh.K. about love and the need for attention from the lover.  What was the reason for this need for attention?  Was it just or wining of a longing heart?

I was then thinking about what makes you feel drawn and affectionate toward another person, deeply affectionate I mean, not a fleeting crush.  It dawned at me that it was hidden in how that person realizes you.  You know you are unique with all your capacities and flaws.  But what makes you feel driven to the love of a person is how that person wants to know you more, all your capacities, all your flaws.  How he looks at you dearly, how he listens to you attentively, how he wants to know more about you and your day and your experiences and your thoughts and your feelings, how he cares about how you feel, why you chose a certain word, even what you wear.  He wants to know you in order to make you happy; in order to be able to claim part of your feelings.  This is love.  You have no choice but to be driven to this person deeply; this drive is really beyond the comprehension of logic, it is all heart.

God said, "I was a treasure, I oh so wanted to be known".  And so there were lovers of God.

Now, that is true love.  Yet, it is the experience of this earthly love that makes you realize that true love through example and experience.  So, may be being in love and feeling loved is actually equal to paying attention and being attended to.  May be it is actually very just to demand this attention of a real lover.

I was smiling listening to the podcast when this saying by God got recited and this theory got validated remotely.  I love it when the universe rhymes with your thoughts!  Now, the universe is paying attention, right?

Grateful

The book I am reading at the time is The Spy of The Heart (Robert Abdul Hay Darr).  It is a fascinating story of an American truth-seeker and his frequent journeys to the war-ridden Afghanistan between 1985-1990.  I feel completely drawn to the book; all the adventures, are the yearning, all the unheard-of experiences.  You can read the few first chapters on-line actually which is a blessing.

I have met the author once, in one of Baraka retreats back in March.  He speaks a pleasant Farsi with a complete Afghan accent.  He has many Persian poems memorized.  He has a calm penetrating gaze.  All in all it felt nice dining with him at the first night of the retreat and get to listen to him the next day when he gave us a talk.

Now his book has gotten me deeply thinking, calmly perplexed with what he has found in Afghanistan.  I have never been to that region.  The most Afghans I have met have been in Bay Area and uniformly they have been very attentive to us, Iranian Persians, even though there were many Afghan refugees in Iran when I was growing up.  I understand that the very dry restrictive political Islamic doctrine is being practiced over there.  And I understand that many years of war have left many in poverty and the lack of knowledge and illiteracy doesn't help with more p[en understanding of this religion either.  Now I am thinking, what are the main differences between that part of the land of Persia, the way explained in this book, and the part I grew up in.  I am immersing in the appreciation he feels for the mystical path of Islam, the tolerance, the beauty, the kindness, he has found and felt through those people.  I feel that I understand what he means; I have experienced the simplistic sincerity in the old villagers I had met in our frequent travels around Iran in my childhood; I feel grateful for being part of that great culture.

It is also interesting to me how the book emphasizes on Mowlana Rumi being "an Afghan".  Fact of the matter is that Mowlana was born in the region of Balkh, at the time belonged of the land of Persia.  The language he has written his poems is Persian.  He was born in the 13th century, and at that point in time there was no Afghanistan or Tajikistan as countries.   He was Persian; even though where he was born is now a province in the country of today's Tajikistan.

Truth of the matter is that Mowlana is timeless and place-less.  He belongs to all the truth-seekers of all times and from any origin.  And I am grateful for being able to read his poems in original language, now comprehending his messages is another matter which will come with God's Grace.

Departure

She looked around.  It was a crowded airport.  Many gates, many people, crammed in a tiny space.  She found herself wanting to run away; literally, run.  Stump stump.  Breaking away tethers.
She looked around some more and the only way out was the escalators to the baggage claim.  She felt suffocated.
She head to a gate further away from hers and sat down where there were a few seats empty on her either sides, a rare relief.
Wished to drink a mocha, wished not to be there.
She was alone...  So very lonely too.
There were many kids strolling around in t-shirts and shorts wiggling and waggling while walking with their tiny feet.  Would any be able to speak two languages?
This place was impossible.  The beach and sailing boats and ocean breeze in the palm trees right in front of her eyes. But unreachable.  Heartbreaking. Aggrieving.
Time to fly away. No looking back!