Saudade

Remember Eve? She still comes to mind, less often than before, but as certain memories are triggered with scent, sound or season, Eve's memory is triggered by all Three, and today all three got together and flooded me like a sudden Tsunami, and swept me off to a distant time and place, funny how time catches up with you sometimes, even if you try to evade its border patrol! So today I was an illegal alien in the land of Eve, I wondered around and visited the Forbidden City, strolled in the narrow streets of Time, and watched people walk by, as time and place froze for a fraction of a second.

Eve is somewhere else though, and her scent is complimenting the season that sounds with birdsong wherever she goes, and where lilies bloom as she walks by. I'm still spellbound by her charm/curse, even after I've taken the antidote and thought I was healed, but some illnesses are persistent, they invade you and refuse to withdraw their forces even if you declare resistance; both armed and passive, whichever you decide to wage first.

The Thin Thread of Sanity

It was early evening..and the ancient sun was getting colder, as her journey across the western sky was about to end..giving way to serene darkness, and the last shy rays were teasing his face..causing him to close his eyes..not to dream, but to remain awake.

She still comes to mind..whenever light touches him. Light touches..invades without permission, often reaching the heart before the skin, and whenever light is gone, his being became possessed with a weird feeling of longing, a subdued one, he knew that night would always give way to light, and that it in turn would always give way to night..and in the short distance between the two, when the sky became washed in that distinct color of goodbye..whenever he witnessed that..his ever present sadness would mature..for he knew that the sky was expressing her own sadness..for parting with light, ironic..since that same sky would be literally glowing with that same color moments before light came back a few hours later. The color of a parting embrace..and a reuniting embrace..is the same, the only thing that sets them apart is the freshness in the air of the latter, the scent of a renewed promise, a promise that is both kept and broken every day.

He sat on the cliff, every evening..and watched the sunset, he saw the sky turn her bright blue color into a sad shade of purple..as she fought with the thought of losing light, he saw the songbirds stop their singing and return to their nests in an act of protest and solidarity with the sky that carries their wings on hers. He sat and saw off that purple color of goodbye..and witnessed the return of darkness..every single evening.

The sky still glees in that same color every dawning morning, forgiving and forgetting the earlier unwilling parting. But he remains a resident of those moments between light..and night, and his sanity..is slowly becoming purple.

Eve..Encore Une Fois

She's still looking into her crystal ball, as I write these lines once again, a heavenly ode is being sung by a choir of angels, with golden wings and little harps, their voices are purer than the water from melting glaciers..tiptoeing gently through a small brook, and their smiles shine like the sun in a mid-summer afternoon, children are flying kites..colorful kites, with glittering tails, running in a field of lilies shadowed by a green hill overlooking eternity.

Her smile isn't a smile of simple happiness, but that of someone who knows they're a source of great joy, comfort and content..she knows she's got that magic, the power to turn an ordinary dull day into one from the pages of novels, with those same golden winged angels in the background..she never leaves their sight.

Eve is that same mystic nomad, sitting in her tent, seeing me..seeing her, as I write these lines, and with every letter I write, Eve's heart draws nearer..by force of Gravity, nature intervenes to bring people together..people use their freedom foolishly sometimes.

The calmness in her eyes, with their narcotic..hypnotic effect makes even the most patient Buddhist monk in Tibet instantaneously withdrawn with enlightenment, the most sincere dervish drunk with ecstasy. Nirvana lies in her eyes. I'm still writing, and she's still watching, and in the time and space between us, with those golden winged angels, those children flying their kites, with the never ending sunshine..I remain.

The Long and Winding Road..

On the One Thousand and Second night, he left the comfort of storytelling and mythical adventures of phoenixes and flying carpets, his mind was saturated with the thoughts of victories and defeats, princes and peasants, of sinners and saints.

He decided to relieve his fertile imagination from the daily duties of polishing the utopia in his head, he grabbed a handful of dirt and kissed it as he embarrassed reality, reality has thorns, and sometimes those thorns draw blood, but blood is an indication of life..or a trace of it, his blood was warm as it flowed from the dark secluded valley called his Heart, like the flowing streams in the deep jungles of Africa; unexplored..mysterious and maybe dangerous.

He walked East, in the direction of light, life is where light is, his mind was rushing with thoughts of discovery, renewed chances, and infinite possibilities, he looked down..seeking reassurance that his feet were indeed on the ground, as he took one step after another on the unpaved road, shedding his imaginary wings aside, he resolved to reach his destination..where light is, and where people know his name as they see his father in his eyes, his mother in his smile and both their unbreakable valiancy in his steps.

An Account of Events..

He rises at 3, sleepless..insomniac, he looks out the window as the distant promise of light draws closer, he opens the window and takes a deep breath..one that reaches the very last nerve tip in his lungs..resurrecting his soul. He ponders..at the rules of probable outcome, as the fire rages within him like the Holy fires in ancient temples..a thousand year old flame..he watches the distant hill, as the east lights a candle called dawn..Demons are now starting to hide..for light is their enemy..she reveals their hidden truths.

He sips his coffee..trying to jump start his brain cells into functioning correctly..as he opens the book he set sail into the prior evening..page 47, the second paragraph..the wind outside rattles the door like a persistent salesman, day light is now coming to age, as the golden wheat fields in the distance sway in a choreographed prayer motion, and the shepherd gathers his flock for the morning feed, shepherds are noble...prophets were shepherds.

She comes to mind, and his being.. declares the State of Emergency..

"You'll remember me..when the west wind moves..among the fields of barley..you can tell the sun in his jealous sky..when we walked in fields of Gold."

Eve..Once Again

She reads my mind..a mystic nomad in her tent, staring into a crystal ball..seeing me..seeing her as I write these lines..she smiles, and lights some incense..in an attempt to gather the powers of this and the other worlds..to have them implement the plan..it's working.

Eve has a hypnotic effect..an ancient gaze..one which is inherited through the genes..Aphrodite had that same gaze, Venus..Astarte..Diana, they all had the same gaze..the same eyes, the same mythical charm, there's something sad in those eyes..like the sadness in the eyes of The Virgin Mary, the sadness in the eyes of Hagar and Sarah, the sadness in the eyes of Aamina..a subtle sadness..one that is submissive to fate, but still..despite the sadness..you can see the future in her eyes..generations to come.

Eve..my Eve, is still watching...as I write these lines, and her call for the powers of the worlds to gather is being answered..as the long line of long lost Eves comes into congregation...Helen of Troy, Cleopatra and her foe Olympias, Balkis, Jeanne d'Arc..and the line stretches all the way back to the end of time, Eve is at work..giving color and scent to the black and white odorless world of "man" kind.

Eve looks into the crystal ball, deep into the future, maintaining her smile, she sees something..as the congregation circles around..seeing what she sees, they all smile, in an emanated divine revelation..each in her tongue..recites a prayer..blessing Eve, and what she..and they..are witnessing.

Dream Catcher

How does an embrace, become a homeland? the scent of a loved one..a doorway to Heaven, her smile a field of lilies on a spring day, How does it feel..to be able to hear someone's heartbeat, miles away..their actual existence near you when they're beyond your reach, when you wish you can become void from the laws of nature..time and space to be in the company of a person who would make you feel that when you're together, existence..becomes you.

Life is amazing in its complex simplicity, but sometimes, reality is best embodied through fiction, for fiction is just that..fiction..not real, life becomes a movie clip..memorable..unforgetable, something right out of a novel, breaking the vicious cycle of utter nonsense of daily routine..compressing one's existence into a small capsule of inexplicable, never before experienced happiness, one which would serve as a narcotic..rushing through one's veins when the low end of the balance of life weighs in more..numbing one's mind into a trip to a world of past tense reality.

To be able to think with your heart..feel with your mind, knowing that life is but a dream, probably soon to end..some dreams have no ending, nor are they remembered, but still, people tend to hope that dreams do..will come true, in one way or another, reality strikes though..more often than one expects..or indeed wishes.

Morning wakes up with my "Eve", she combs her brown hair into locks of chestnut, and starts her day with a glance out her window on the east..rising with the sun to the infinite skies above, as the warm rays wash her face with a thousand year old light, she recites a short verse of prayer, seeking the blessing of God, before blessing people with her subtle smile, velvet voice, and incomparable grace and propriety.

Eve..

This Post was actually a challenge given to me by the anonymous "commentator" also known as Noura, so..here goes it:

So far, I've tried to avoid matters of the Heart..as much as I can, and if needed..as covert as possible, for they have had a huge effect on my life, and on the composition of my personality.

I'm constantly captivated by an "Eve", an actual one..or one that's only visible to me..living inside my head..the sole common thing between the two is their noble mystery, the kind of mystery that would dissolve a grown man into a school boy..running up and down the library isles in search for the hidden truth behind the great mysteries of ancient Greek mythology.

Eve can be cunning, but her doing so is a natural defence, justifiable..in the instinctive sense of the anthropological argument, but her cunning, when we like it, is called seduction, one of the most beautiful arts of womanhood..an art where men were destined to be amateurs..even if they do sometimes reflect signs of genius. Seduction, is a woman.

Nothing is more beautiful than being taken on a mental trip to the stars by someone.. mind seduction..when a woman has the "perfect" mind..bearing in mind the relativity of the term "perfect", it somehow reflects the perfection of the Creator..how amazing is it to have beauty represented physically..and mentally.

To me, Everything beautiful is a woman, Amman is a Woman, noble and dignified, Motherhood, the highest, most supreme of all human relations, Patriotism is a woman..despite the frown some people might have upon its "innocence", Spring, Love, Music is a woman, Belonging, Longing, Victory, and yes..Defeat.

I'm a man who's captivated by Eve, there might not be a perfect Eve, but there certainly isn't a perfect Adam, for relativity..and imperfection, are only human, and some day, Freedom from the laws of Earth; gravity, and relativity will echo Sinatra’s song..Fly me to the Moon.

To be continued..