How do you weave the tapestry of gratitude into your heart so that your limbs lead the way?
I could answer, but answering would be worse!
Gratitude sitting in the mind,
is lesser than;
gratitude sitting in your heart;
is lesser than gratitude sitting in your limbs;
is lesser than gratitude acted out.
I adore your poise,
your pose, and your noise,
that is, your lack thereof.
How orchestral is your quiet,
majestic is your silence,
this deafening and drumming of nothing at once,
this wonderful humming of quiet and calm.
I’m mad I say, deeply mad,
obsessed with ears that listen,
and a mouth that’s mute.
The beautiful picture is by Hossein Irandoust
Perhaps once upon a time my soul met his in this abyss of pre-world obedience and silence.
I’m infatuated by his work to say the least.
All beautiful things are concealed well.
Pearls, diamonds, sages, gnostics and my favourite;
artists and writers who only become apparent when they pass.
If you think you’re going to arrive,
at beauty without a struggle,
wisdom and truth without suffering,
peace without a war inside of you,
if you think you’re entitled to it all by default,
just for existing,
then you’re deluded,
and deserve to be barred from it.
Do the work and be patient.
-Wesam El dahabi
Amazing pieces by Hossein Irandoust
I refused to lay in my pit of wallowing,
because of Your promise.
I’ve used brokenness and defeat,
to fuel everything beautiful I can learn,
and always relied on my hands,
to guide me to the truth.
The truth that all beauty,
is an indication of one’s inclinations,
and ability to recognise it,
and to remain downtrodden,
is a reflection of one’s low opinion,
of You and Your promise.
This is how I carry myself,
defeat after defeat,
sin after sin,
finding trinkets of beauty,
even in my most despicable state.
I’m never ashamed,
because I know,
there’s far more beauty yet.
The heart can dry up,
even the most moist tongue,
uttering litanies of thanks,
uttering wanton prose of need,
is quietly begging rainfall,
to stir the seeds that lay dormant,
because we have a desire to be content,
and we know we can’t get it with stuff.
I’ve thus found it easier,
fought myself at both ends of my wit and found,
it’s not hard to be wet with contentment,
when you’re bathing in gratitude,
when you’re drowning in gratitude,
Alhamdullillah, wa shukr lillah
Nobility has its passage,
and it is not a dragging robe,
it’s dragging your ego in the dirt,
until it is one with the soil of humanity,
until you care not from where truth comes from,
as long as it comes.