perspective – seeing beyond your SELF

hoarder-perspectives
perspective – seeing beyond your SELF

i’ve never wallowed in my misfortunes,
never questioned my lot,
whatever I have or don’t have,
all the broken things,
and mended things,
and things and things,
i’ve kept.
i’m no hoarder,
but herewith, is this mountain of me,
i stand on top of these things,
and see so much better.

W.E.

Underneath me are my woes, my troubles,
My failures and shame,

Everything I hate about myself,
And all the blame.

And I know, when peoples fingers will fly,
Towards me like sidewards rain,

I’ve yet another molehill to add to this mountain,
And height to gain.

I’ll see further,
And beyond the plains,

I’ll take whatever, add it to my pile,
And improve my reign,

That’s why I don’t fret, don’t wallow,
But invite the pain.

W.E.

hole

self-love-hole

 

hole

There’s a stench that accompanies self love.
Usually, it is the death of your soul

W.E.

I’ve never met a person of worth,
that wasn’t perfumed with the truth of self scrutiny.
Never will you see them repeat a mantra of loving themselves,
regurgitations of utterly selfish inclinations.
Justifications, for lack or purging,
laziness in holding themselves to account,
for the most mundane of passing thoughts.
Nay, the fragrant ones are those who would saw away at their sinews,
if it meant purifying themselves from the egotism of self flattery,
adoration of their own reflection,
narcissism passed as self development.
You don’t see them seeking dispensations for their lowliness,
creating escape routes from their abased natures.
They stop, and won’t travel further than where they are meant to be,
until the room they reside in is white noise of purity,
operating on another frequency,
than the clemency,
people offer themselves in conformity.
W.E.

what do you want to be when you grow up?

what-do-you-want
-what do you want to be when you grow up?

At some point,
you do have to ask yourself,
do I want to be a weed,
growing wild, yet annoying the garden,
and all that pass by,
or,
do I want to be an oak,
slow, patient, yet offering, shade, breeze and
comfort to all that pass by

W.E.

then be kind and gentle with yourself
wait and the signs will surely come
one by one
one by one
always one
but kindness and gentleness do not translate to laziness and laxity
attack your ego with the utmost of ferocity
that’s how you calm the storm
that’s how you go from being a raging sea
to a pond in gentle tranquillity
kind to wildlife
and a reflective mirror
a sign for narcissus
but he had no humility
yet there the sun relects
in all its majesty

W.E.

Until death do us united

death

Rumi Said:
“Our death is our wedding with eternity.”

If that is the case
Life must be the engagement

-W.E.

For those who know where they are going, perhaps death is the wedding, the night of elation, finally, it is here, you sigh, you exhale a years, two or eighty of planning. The longest wedding plan in history with the goal in mind to meet their maker.

What is the honeymoon then? Is it being able to finally face Him and the mere presence of Him alone, irrespective of your destination, the final effacement of self? Just to be there in His presence? What is it going to take? Embarrassment on the day, regret, biting of ones fingers off wishing one could return? To make that engagement all the more beautiful and orientated towards Him?

Here is the whole poem, you make up your mind about this profound wisdom.

Our death is our wedding with eternity.
What is the secret? “God is One.”
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don’t call all these lights “the Light of God”;
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
…Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.

Liar Liar Soul on fire.

soul for sale

 

I won’t lie

I’m like everyone else

My soul is for sale

The highest bidder hasn’t even reached half the reserve
-W.E.

 

Who are we kidding? The right person with the right words, with the right mind, with the right touch for all the wrong reasons and you could be sold for a few pennies.

Let’s be brutally honest and stop regurgitating this cliché. We all have that spot, somewhere or something inside of us that if it is found puts down all our defences.

I have experienced it with the most hostile of souls and the most gentle. Everyone has something about them.

The problem is, the navigators of the human soul have become few and far between.

I’m a rebel without a cause in most of my pursuits.

Authority? I stick a big proverbial in their face.
Law? What law?
Sensitivities of humans? Push me and I’ll tear you down in a heartbeat.
You want to get physical? I’ll hit you seven ways before your anger has fettered to your fists as I’m on my toes all the time.

It’s hard to tell my stubborn ego what to do.
But one look from my teachers and I melt.
They bought me and have me shackled, key thrown away rusted chains to my ankles, anchor me to humility in their presence.

They know how to spear my heart from all vain desires with a line of prose or an anecdote of a master sage.

What did they pay for my capture?

A smile.

I love you teachers.

May God sanctify your secrets.

In loving memory of her, who gave me the lantern niche illumed with oils and lit the flame for me to see the way to him.

Him, who carries the torch with love and forbearance, with patience to my folly until the day where my ego can finally be slain a mighty death on the alter of the masters before me.

Who’s the beggar?

Beggar-at-Dambula-Rasterized
Thank you for taking the time to talk to me homeless man,

For even though you appear to have nothing,

The world beams out of your hand.

As for me? The ingrate!

I have all possessions in the world,

But it is I, not you with demands.

From a very young age, my mother taught us a tradition of the Arabs. The Arabs, – and I’m talking about the very traditional ones with rich history and wisdom of the ancients, not the modern media hystericism’s stereotypes inexperienced people have come to believe – were never ingrates. Being people from nomadic desert areas, they were an environmentalists delight, respecting the land and water, they were a humanists friend as no ethic or moral was left unturned, they were philosophers muses as they could relate life issues so enchantingly it would silence the staunchest of opponents and they were the scientists assistant, their arts and sciences taking them to the peak of unified experiences across the world.

They understood the blessings of whatever it is they had, be it a plentiful harvest of fruits for the season or a single goat that they drank milk from. The tradition my mother taught me was never to leave bread on the floor or allow any piece of food to be on the floor for that matter. But it went one step further, we were to pick it up, kiss it and put it on our forehead and that would show God we were utterly appreciative of what we had and we’d never look down on the tiniest and most taken for granted of things. That action made the food magically ok in our little minds, we’d eat it. Of course I am going to get many of you conjuring images of germs and bacteria, that is not the point. The point is forging gratitude into a child’s utter being and letting it run course through their veins.
We grew up never forgetting this and we have passed it on to our children.

All of my five children have this wonderful trait of gratitude and empathy with those less fortunate but one in particular is moved by it. When you ask all seven years of him what his aspirations are, he’s quick to quip in his partly Australian, partly American, somewhat European accent with strangely Turkish-European-Mongol-Philipino looks, warm dark eyes that he wants to open a burger shop and he’s somehow convinced his older siblings to forget their previous aspirations and to join him, his ultimate aim was to feed the homeless.

For the last few weeks though it seems to have amplified. He has been bringing his own pocket money wherever we go and takes it out and gives it all to destitute people wherever he sees them. He empties his whole little velcro wallet into their hands. When I ask him why, he says “It’s ok, I have more at home and can get more later but they have nothing”. Broke my big alpha male heart!

Sometimes if he forgets his wallet, he asks of us to give him some money, always offering to pay us back. Not that we need his money of course but to see that he is that conscious of the act and how it’s intention should be, is inspiring.

The latest of his actions had his mother crying in the middle of a super market. She looked behind her to try and find him as she noticed he wasn’t near her after entering the store. Finally he came walking through the doors crying profusely like he was in pain. My wife was shocked and thought someone had hit him or he fell over and asked him why he was crying. His reply was, ” I feel so bad for the homeless man outside, why are there so many homeless people?”
This is a seven year old who has been taught to kiss bread and put it on his forehead, ask yourself, how do you teach kids gratitude? Prattle your tongue as you may, you have to let them feel it in their bones.

Always let them see and talk to the less fortunate so they never learn to forget that they are humans like them.

As my teacher would say, ‘The world is still in spin and we never know where we may end up.’

-W.E.

Conversations

tumblr_inline_nduk5lUqCi1syb4jt

What if we had those conversations

even if only in our imaginations

dissertations

between each other that might unite our nations?

Palpations

of societies trivialisations

touching probing, questioning,  discussing agreeing, disagreeing but opening up the discoursation

an invitation

to awakening from hibernation

to unhinge our inclinations

to egotism and trepidation

to one another

to humanisation

of the other.

We talk over, through and past one another, it’s time to talk TO each other.

-W.E.