Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Mercury in retrograde


You didn't see it coming, in fact it was the last thing that crossed your mind, the last thing you perceived to possibly become reality. And by fighting back, you prove them to be right. You showed them the reaction they sought, as a response to their actions.
You spent an immeasurable amount of time building up a facade, a facade that had the sole purpose of protecting you from such an ordeal - and in a flashing moment it dissolved like jelly crystals in boiling water. Not only did it dissolve but you were also infiltrated beyond your veneer - forming an abyss, a gaping chasm, only realised in absence, emptying and creating a void that previously knew no such existence.
Then there is the aftermath. Mind races through past fleeting moments, moments that were most likely taken for granted, moments that were previously unnoticed, unthought of, only known in your subconscious. Now they surge, cascading from the highest height, gushing down like a river rapid. Reminding you of what once was, what no longer is, what exists no more.
Like rubbing salt into a wound or pouring cold water on a sensitive tooth, your subconscious gives you no reprieve. As night succeeds day and the dream-state envelopes, you continue the torture brought about by the unknown, the unforeseen and unfathomable. Only with morning do you come to an agreement for a temporary armistice that will allow the progress of the new day, knowing full well that the ceasefire will end as night falls.

Picture courtesy of: under.a.glass.moon

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Warning: startup disk full

Prompted by a warning of a full startup disk this afternoon I began an attempt to clear some space. I started sifting through all the files on my mac. I stopped when I came across a document dated March 24 2008, the day I left the Baha’i World Centre after spending a year as a janitor in the Cleaning and Maintenance Department. Reading over it brought tears to my eyes, as I’m sure were present at the time of documentation. I just wanted to share a part of it:
March 24th 2008
I have been on the plane now for 3 hours. I have left my year of service behind. I’ve been constantly on the verge of tears for the past few days in the constant state of anxiousness I've been in. What has become of me? Why does it have to hurt so much? I left my heart in Haifa and my soul is floating freely somewhere in Bahji, entangled in the strings that were tied one by one and day by day to that most Holy place in the progress of the year that evaporated faster than the once oceanic-sized Dead Sea. Why couldn’t those strings keep me there? Why did they have to be only spiritual? Why couldn’t I tie myself to the Threshold? Or Collins Gate? Or even the BVC jani closest forever?

But no, I will never have that again. Bahji is not mine, the BVC is not my palace, and I am not her Queen. Handed down from year to year, the Throne is passed on with no thought of the one who kept her in shape, the marble shinning, the mirrors reflecting, the glass transparent, the carpet manicured, the trash emptied, the sinks dried, the toilet paper refilled, the paper dispenser first placed, the windowsill dustless, the walls mark free! 
No loyalty.

But I will be loyal, I will keep up the esteem of those walls. The glistening cleanliness, the calm and serenity, only interrupted by John’s wise-crack comments and the hundreds of pilgrims storming through the visitors' centre as if it were their own. I will turn up every morning as the sun rises from the East, turn on the lights, in the ending darkness, pull on the straps of on my backpack vacuum and start my daily tasks, only to leave when I finish for the day, as the sun shys away into the West, and I walk down to the Sherut stand on Derech HaArba'a, knowing I will be back the next morning.

If home is where the heart is, Bahji be home.
The most amazing sunrises and sunsets

I've never seen a bluer sky

Twenty months later, those strings are still tied as firmly as ever. And Bahji is still home.