Shalabieh’s World

You make me smile even when I cry.
You make me laugh it hurts.
You make me fly I soar so high.
You make me climb walls of desire.
You make me loose my mind.
You make me write words that were strewn far apart.
You make me come alive.
You make me every color.
You make me sit in my corner when I want to jump.
You make me sit on my hands when all they want to do is play.
You invigorate me.
You infuriate me.
You electrify me.
You pacify me.
You make me…

Let me tell you some of what you are:
You are the twinkle in my eye, the red flush of my cheeks;
You are the smile on my face, and the far off gaze;
You are my mountain, you are my valley;
You are my every emotion.

 Let me tell you some of what you are:
You are the horse that carries me away, you are the knight that slays;
You are my tyrant, you are my refuge;
You are my day, you are my night;
You are my everyone. 

Let me tell you some of what you are:
You are the rose, you are the thorn;
You are the sea, you are the shore;
You are the cool summer breeze, and the warm winter heat;
You are…

This is a poem I wrote earlier this year. In May to be exact. It is one of my favorites.

You are everywhere.
In every sky, in every cloud.
In every star, in ever moon at night.

You are everywhere.
In every city, in every village.
In every place, in every town.

You are everywhere.
In every café, in every cup of coffee.
In every street, in every corner.

You are everywhere.
In every song, in every lyric.
In every picture, in every line.

You are everywhere.
In every tree, in every leaf.
In every flower, in every petal.

You are everywhere.
In every color, in every blue.
In every city light, in every firework.

You are everywhere.
In every morning, in every night.
In every dream, on the pillow.

You are everywhere.
In every waking moment, in every thought.
In every book, on every page.

You are everywhere.
In every breath, in every sound.
In every touch, in every sight.
In every word that is spoken.

You are everywhere.

 You are everywhere.
A constant reminder of what can not be.

Clocks, cars, rivers, birds, and animals all move forward in motion. It is rare to see a clock ticking backwards, or birds flying in reverse. All motion projects itself forward or so it seems.  One thing that keeps going around in circles is despite all the activity forward, is us.

We try to move forward in life, whether it be at work, trying to make more money, getting that bigger better job, or just completing the tasks at hand. In our day –to-day lives too, catching up with laundry, dusting, socializing, grocery shopping, or putting food on the table. Our physical selves too, trying to stay healthy, diet, and exercise. Even our minds we try to improve them by reading, debating, learning, growing, and exercising it too. But I find the place where moving forward is the hardest is the heart.

Our emotions, our hearts have a way of running around in circles, not wanting to take the emergency exit, no matter how hard our minds point to it. The heart is a very complex concept. In anger, we know we should count to ten but instead we act in fury making us loop around ourselves or even fall backwards. In happiness, we are impulsive, childlike and perhaps here we move forward and out of thoughtful circles or do we? In love, I think we definitely become giddy, and warm, but also reckless, we take risks and then in loss we go into a spin.
 

We know not how to move forward in love or loss. We are afraid to loose, and when we do, we are afraid to love. When we love with abandon, with passion, with sincerity, with all our heart, we come alive, we radiate, we become. When we loose it is like a candle that is put out. With no light, we know not where to go, how to move forward, how to be. We are lost and the way forward is in every direction, for all roads are all the same: dim, lifeless, pointless.
 

So where is the way forward? How do you get there? As I was telling a friend yesterday, I don’t know, but I do know that you keep walking. Even in the darkness you have to believe there is light at the end of the tunnel. And when you least expected your eyes will be blinded by a bright light that comes at you when you least expected. It blindsides you and there is hope once again. The way ahead is clear, and you walk in the light. With time you forget your fear and you regain your wonder. You move forward.   

Why is it we kid ourselves?
Why is it we name things different than what they are?
Why is it that we learn to feel for the wrong reasons?
Why is it we fall?

Why do the twists and turns lead no where?
Why the two faces of life?
Why all these questions with no answers?

Oh why, why, why?

Life has a funny way of moving you along in and out of people’s lives. The other day, and out of the blue, I ran into a woman I had not seen in ages. We stop and chatted only to find out that she will be working in the same place I am taking pottery classes. I had worked with this friend for years, only to loose touch with time as our careers took us in very different directions. Now after five years we see each other and will be seeing each other and reconnecting on a regular basis once again. Such is the nature of the world.

People come and go in our lives. To me it is such a joyous event running into and old friend whom I’ve lost touch with. Every time this happens I think of a bowl of spaghetti. Why pasta you ask? Well if each of our lives is represented by a string of spaghetti then it is only natural that our journeys in life intersects with other spaghetti strands. Sometimes, we end up swirled together, other times we crisscross in and out of each other’s lives. Sometimes a strand has more spice or salt at some point, others are bland, some are hot, some are cold, some end up at the other side of the bowl, and others are always with us till the end of our strands. That is the bowl of life spaghetti.

I’m never sad when I say good bye to my friends, because deep down inside I know that if it is meant to be I will run into them again. The spaghetti gets tossed every now and then by the craziness that is our lives and if it is meant to be we will meet again and again.

Yesterday I took my first pottery class, and for a little over an hour I got to play with beautiful red mud. It is such a calming relaxing experience. Toying with the clay, plying it, transforming it from a clump of wet dirt and giving it shape gave me such a feeling of calm. There are at least three factors at play here: the dirt, the creativity, and the concentration. 

The earth is one of the elements around us. It is the ground and thus grounding. Playing with it, having pieces in your hands, your pores absorbing its various qualities and minerals as you work. Rejuvenating what is essentially ours. Dispelling all excess energy, especially the negative can only be healing. 

The joy of creating something from nothing but a clump of mud, seeing it take shape and form. The process of deciding your next move and taking it. Stepping back and seeing your vision come alive. How can that sense of accomplishment not give you a surge of good energy? To create something tangible and physical that is your creation, that is a manifestation of your imagination and choice, is uplifting.

When the mud I played with had to be formed, the racing thoughts in my head ceased to exist. In their stead came focus. I was focused on the object in front of me. Making it resemble the image I have in my head. While turning my handiwork into a piece of pottery, I was so engrossed in the details of the work, I barely noticed the time flying by, let alone all my worries and stresses. 

Looking at my first piece, it isn’t perfect, it isn’t anything special. But to me, it is my first piece, it is very special. It is my work, a labor of love and joy. It is perfect. I loved the learning process. I loved the mud. I loved the absorption. Getting my hands dirty was blissful.

I wander around aimlessly, as is my habit, wondering about you.
I wander around curiously, as is my habit, wondering if you too.
I wander around purposely, as is my habit, searching for you.

I think will we meet?
I think will fate allow it?
I think will we plan it?
 

We talk not.
We walk not.
We play not. 

Our paths do not cross, not even by chance.
Our lives a coincidence that will not be.
Because every coincidence can only be…
a well planned step by you and by me. 

Last night, I had an unexpected encounter with a man, a very unpleasant encounter. It was all too brief, and perhaps that was the best thing about it. So you’re probably thinking “what happened?” Let me tell you the story.

I had just left a reputable establishment in Abdoun with a friend. We decided to walk up to the circle to get some fresh air and falafel sandwiches. The walk is a short 10 minute one, nothing special I thought. Little did I know. Halfway through and on a deserted patch of road, as I was quietly talking to my friend, I felt a tug at my shoulder. My handbag, slung over my shoulder was yanked off by the hand of a young man. As he grabbed the bag, he ran away into the darkness to the right of the road. What he didn’t expect was my habit of holding on to my bag straps as I walked, and so with my bag came me!

I held on as he ran, and as I was holding tightly the thoughts in my head raced in two opposite directions: let go, and hold on. I was holding in because I really didn’t want to get robbed, it would be a great nuisance. I didn’t want to go through the hassle of dealing with the police, the government, or the bank among others. I wanted to let go because my personal safety comes first and there is nothing irreplaceable in the bag.

As these conflicting thoughts were going through my strong grip prevailed as did my screaming voice. The man let go and ran into the abyss. I know that had he not let go when he did I would have. Nothing is worth being dragged in the dirt. I am glad though that he didn’t know that . I dusted myself off and got up. Intact, safe and with all my possessions where they should be, I stood up and started walking again. I was calm, and collected. I felt my friend was more shook up by the whole event than I was.

I don’t feel scared, angry, or upset. I am no more paranoid about walking in Amman than I was before. The only visible imprint left from the whole ordeal is a scrap on my left shin. The memory I believe will become a laughable anecdote in the future. Until then, walk cautiously, look behind you regularly, and when necessary LET GO!