Introversion – 25


Few are the women that have tested my mettle,
 Have measured the fabric of my soul,
Or lined the seams of my ego,
Only one, wore my cloak.

The cloak is one of armour,

Full metal jacket,

Heavy not with material,

But my character weight,

Laden with my demeanour,

A burden of my attitude.

It’s weight can only be tolerated by thighs of resilience,

A fortified back,

Shoulders of breadth.

As a result, it will shield her,

Harm won’t be near her and even if it were,

It would crumble in attempt.

It will swarm her with a desire to rise to it’s responsibility,

Build her own mettle, her own metal,

Until she doesn’t need me clothing her,

But is my equal, removes the cloak and walks besides me,

Rising to the occasion to hand her own cloak, with me, to our children.

– W.E.

Dear Daughter


Dear daughter,

If you read this and I am no longer here to tell you myself, know that I will entrust your brothers and uncle with this will.

You will not be permitted to marry a self-absorbed arse-hole.
I don’t care how many houses he can buy you on different beach fronts in different countries. Or bracelets of gold, necklaces of pearls, believe me almond locks, he will not please you.

Know that since you could grasp a pen, you’ve been an artist. I watched you travel into your world and seat your soul there. You switch off and trance into your fingers, caressing pages, pen subservient to you, paper the altar of your souls sacrifice. You draw, you love it. I know it because like you I zone out into various arts. You’re me, introverted, happy to be on your own.

You’re a sensitive girl. I don’t know what life may throw at you and how you react, nor how it may harden or shape you, but I am telling you this to give you the treasure map back to your core,  that core is sensitivity.

You might get lost along the way; your experiences might drive you off the path, so we all need a compass. Some people go through life and have to struggle to learn where theirs is. I’m blueprinting it for you so you can shortcut back to your essence at a finger click.

Your true north will be buried deep into your DNA. It can’t go away, the purpose of DNA is to wire your whole being back to its reality. This is not only physiological, this is spiritual. You were born innate with it.

Don’t let a man convince you that true north is external. This is what is meant by misguidance, people who pull you away from truth, your truth, everyone’s truth that they were born with.

Live as a beggar if you must but be surrounded by love and truth. A beggar is nothing to look down on, if humankind had any sense they would realise that in their outstretched hand they receive kindness, beauty and selflessness of souls. Who in this world is receiving that in utter purity?

Things aren’t always what they seem, my teacher reminded me that everything that glitters is not gold, so I too will remind you.

Find a man who feels, a man who weeps at words, but can draw from them strength to protect you with the sword of his soul and grit of his teeth, he’ll gnash the heart out of anyone that comes to corrupt you or your children.

He should not be a meek man, he has to burn his back with labour should he need to, he has to stand in front of tyrants with a gaze so fierce he will stare them down. A lion only has to walk through the jungle for everything to be silent and still. So too should people be in awe of him, but let they be in love with him when they hear him speak and notice he is just and fair and does not transgress the laws of nature and men.

Let your husband be of wind, cool and tranquil to dry the sweat of necks of the farmers but a hurricane of destruction should anyone disturb societies peace.

You want that man who’s embrace will feel like he’s swallowed you whole and you would rather be devoured by him than be away from his watchful gaze for a moment. He must possess a mad jealousy over you, never to allow another man’s gaze to enter your realm.

He must teach your children love, art, poetry, music, physical culture and above all, in this chaotic world of worship of self, to worship God.

He must be willing to sully his nails with soil, know his eventual worth is only that, soil… We’re all soil.

You in turn must be his ever burning lamp, keep him awake and alert with your warmth. Keep him seeing when darkness might prevail. You have to keep this blueprint and refresh it so you can stay true to him.

My dearest almond locks, don’t settle for tongue prattlers, nor smooth actors. If you stay true to your blue print, he’ll be magnetically pulled towards you and you will know because all of societies rules will fall to the floor and you will not need to think about him. Your soul will decide for you.

He won’t be a nights deliberation, nor a week’s emancipation,
He’ll be faster than a moment’s hesitation,
A split second decision.

You’ll know, your soul will recognise him from the pre-world where all souls existed prior to the physical world. That sight is all you need and you’ll know.
If you have to think about it, it’s not him. Look elsewhere.

Don’t worry almond locks, even if the noise is too much and the colours are too bright and the map seems a blur, your brothers and uncle will know and their Lion souls will stare intruders away but recognise another Lion. They will welcome him into your kingdom.


Nobility of Bedouins.


As he argued and debated on, he was met with an unfamiliar silence from his opponent. Never before was he defeated so gracefully.
“Cat got your tongue?” he yelled across the dinner table. Shamed and red-faced guests turned their gaze towards the insulted.

He was there, invited, as a formality of hospitality, the dignified thing families of prestige do when a marriage proposal walks through the door. The young man was unknown, of no formal royalty or family of status. The polite way of refusal was to invite them to a first and final dinner where the suitor would be ridiculed intellectually and demoralised spiritually as he would be met by a fury of wit and cruelty lashed in literary prowess.

After being met with a onslaught of words, poetry and prose, wity belittlement, his head lifted from the bowed neck position he maintained, a sign of his impeccable nomad training, training of the ancient Arabs that was all but forgotten as the city he resided in was modernised with the attire, technology and culture of the British invaders, poised as businessmen trying to advance a backward nation. He smiled sincerely, affectionately as if he read right through the pain of the father, his fears of letting his precious first child and only daughter go to someone unknown,  someone unlike him, unlike his friends, a dust faced nomad.

His gaze pierced right into the heart of her father as he quietly said, ‘Uncle, I am no match for your intellect and charm, I am but a desert nomad, enshrined in the cloak of our people of past, clinging tightly to our heritage in hope to pass it on to our sons untainted. I have fought battles for you and our people and my guard is lowered before you, I dare not rise to your elucidation, and impeccable speech.

Forgive me, your generosity and hospitality is unsurpassed but I have overstayed my welcome and must leave.’

The father grinning from ear to ear rose and loudly proclaimed ‘Nonsense! You will do no such thing and my daughter will marry no other man, come and sit nearby me oh eloquent of tongue and noble of lineage. If Arabs have any dignity left it will only survive with men like you, men whom I wish all the daughters of men like me to find and wed. Our people will only be given back their honour through the likes of you. Come, near me you will sit.’

End part 1

On men and women


Men who are doormats deserve women who step on them.
It is unbecoming of a grown man to allow any woman destroy herself or himself with incessant infringement of his rights.
It is unbecoming and classless of a woman to stoop and lose her self respect by disrespecting her husband.

A wife’s stature only increases, the love for her compounds and the world lays at her feet dependent on the level of manners and etiquette she executes in the most trivial of matters through to the most vital.

A man’s respect and awe for him, only increases by having a sensible and noble firmness of conviction in all matters. Lack of confidence and belief in oneself is unattractive as is egotism and arrogance. The balance is fine and takes an artist of wisdom to know the limits of both without being meek.

This is why the single most important thing in this day and age of being bereft of timeless values, for both males and females to do is to culture themselves with the arts, wisdom, the sciences, religious and sacred knowledge and all intricate details of all the physical, emotional, spiritual and mental.
Practising a technique makes one a master of it.
Practise culturing yourself.

Death is a wedding night

‘Death is the wedding night of the marriage with eternity’: Bab ‘Aziz the movie

I have not watched a more eloquent, poetic, spiritual and inspiring movie.
The writer of this movie is one special mind and rich soul. Do yourself a favour, watch it and tell me what you think about it.
It’s freely available on Youtube with subtitles.