When I was a child, I saw God, I saw angels; I watched the mysteries of the higher and lower worlds. I thought all men saw the same. At last I realized that they did not see....
—Shams of Tabriz
Lately, wood works has caught my attention. Thought of some designs, then decided to not to let go off them into the abyss. The techniques of wood bending and dyeing and resin coats, I mesmerise them.
First is a desk, imagine black dye at top flat portion and the rest being brown dyed, top being carved out of single slab of wood.
Next is a bed setup, I have not yet thought of how to reverse bend the wood, will think of it later. Storage beds never really interested me. I liked the flowy look of it. The back being plain simple slab, however I think if adjustable back support can be integrated, it would be great.
Last is a book shelf, glass door, with glow lights and seamless flow.
Maybe someday, when life offers some time and space, would execute it.
Khabar-e-tahayyur-e-ishq sunn, na junoon raha na pari rahi
Na toh tu raha na toh mein raha, jo rahi so be-khabari rahi
Learn oh absorbing love that neither the obsession (for the beloved) is left nor and the object (pari) of love survived. The only thing that is left is a state of self-unconsciousness: where neither you exist nor I exist.
Shah-e-bekhudi ne ataa kia, mujhay ab libas-e-barahanagi
Na khirad ki bakhiyagari rahi, na junoon ki pardadari rahi
My beloved (shah-e-bekhudi is a reference to the beloved. Knowing what little I know about Siraj I am leaning towards God as his object of love rather then a worldly being) has bestowed me with a dress of nakedness (libas-e-barahanagi). Neither the intellect (khirad) can repair it nor does the insanity (junoon) rip it. Meaning what a dress (nakedness) my beloved has conferred upon me! I am now free from the trouble of ripping it or mending it (depending on the mental state I am in). My focus is my beloved not my own appearance or even existence.
Chali simt-e-ghaib se aik hava, ke chaman zahoor ka jal gaya
Magar aik shakh-e-nihal-e-gham, jise dil kahe so hari rahi
A breeze came from the outer space (simt-e-ghaib) and burned the entire garden of existence (zahoor) but a branch of the tree of sorrow (nihal-e-gham) that is called heart remained green. Since in the first line poet is referring to a wind coming from the direction of God (ghaib) that has burned the whole existence (chaman) it can be assumed that tree of sorrow is a symbol of the poets own being. In the burned garden of existence he stood like a sad tree. Nothing grows on that tree except sadness, caused by the separation from his beloved. Now that entire existence is gone, only the abode of the beloved (heart) is survived.
Contd.
—Siraj Aurangabadi
Didn't I tell you?
Do not go there, for I am your friend
In this mirage of fading shadows, I am life without end
Even if you run in anger for a hundred thousand years
You will return to Me at last, I am where the path clears
Didn't I tell you?
I am the Ocean, and you are the fish
Don't go to the dry land, I am the only water you could wish
Didn't I tell you?
Don't be fooled by the world's design
I am the Painter of your joy, the Artist of the divine
Didn't I tell you?
Do not fly like a bird to the snare
Come back to Me, I am your wings, I am the power of the air
Didn't I tell you?
They will rob you and leave you cold
But I am the Fire, the warmth of your soul, as I foretold
If you are the lamp of the heart, you know where to roam
And if you seek the Divine, know that I am your Home.
—Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
—Rudyard Kipling
I once bought all these pens very passionately with my own lil stipend money, one after another, played, cherished, maintained and cared for. Now they just lie in the corner of my study table, collecting dust. Nor do I care to clean them. All of them have broken nibs now. Now that I look at them, all I remember is, not their broken nibs but the passion I once had for them. I will buy some more in the near future and they will be even more heart-wrenchingly expensive.
Life is a book, only one book and one point of view, skipping chapters or quitting is not an option. Reader know not the author, nor the genre, nor the plot, nor can someone else read this book. Readers may discuss their plot with others but they can respond only upto the level of their understanding acquired by them from their own book. There are words the reader may not understand till the very end and sometimes not even after the end.
