Uth chalay gawadhion yaar
Rabba hurn ki kariey
Dhaand kalejay bal bal uthdi
Bin dekhay deedar
Rabba hurn ki karieyyy
Photo credits @mohammadsheri
"It is I, he says, who recite my book for him with his tongue while he listens to me. And that is my nocturnal conversation with him. That servant savors my Word. But if he binds himself to his own meanings, he leaves me by his reflections and meditations. What he must do is only lean toward me and leave his ears receptive to my Word until I am present in his recitation. And just as it is I who recite and I who make him hear, it is also I who then explain my Word to him and interpret its meanings. That is my nocturnal conversation with him.
He takes knowledge from me , not from his reason and his reflection; he no longer cares to think of paradise, of hell, of accounting for his actions, of the Last Judgement, of this world or of that which is to come, for he no longer considers these things with his intellect, he no longer scrutinizes each verse with his reflection: he is content to leave an ear to that which I tell him. And he is at that moment a witness, present with me; and it is I who take charge of his instruction."
From Ibn e Arabis Futuhat e Makkiya
Ghous and I were sitting outside class and talking when he spilled his tea, on his coat, on the bench, everywhere. How many times have I seen tea being spilt, how many times have I spilt it myself, I'm sure more than a dozen...or never? Yet there was something so authentic so real about his tea spilling, it was like the first tea spill of the world, like a spell breaking, it woke me up.
Lately I feel like I've been asleep or absent, life is happening all around me but not to me. I dont feel present in situations. Nothing on the outside is important or real enough to wake me up, pull me out of my thoughts, I'm in my mind too much. It is as if I went for a walk in a forest, sat in a clearing and while I was immersed in thought it came to life, slowly creeped up and grew all over my mind, over me and by the time I came to notice it had me in its grip and now I cant get out. When I see the world outside or talk to someone, it is through the thick screen of branches and cobwebs and mirages. The outside world doesnt feel real anymore. Its hazy. Foggy. There is nothing there that would make me want to snap out of the forest thats grown over me...
Ghous spilled his tea almost as if on my thoughts, on the blanket of moss covering me, on my stupor. Have you ever seen a perfectly orchestrated tea spill? Can you recall a single tea spill to the very detail? If not, then, there probably is a forest growing over your mind too...better get out while its sleeping.
After he left I kept staring at the spilt tea and the forest slowly grew back.
Emaan salamat her koi mangay, ishq salamat koi hu
Emaan mangan sharmavaan, ishqon dil nu ghairat hoi hu
"To fly is the opposite of traveling: you cross a gap in space, you vanish into the void, you accept not being in a place for a duration that is itself a kind of void in time; then you reappear, in a place and in a moment with no relation to the where and when in which you vanished"
Good tea, good books, good people. 🔮
"There is a part of everything that remains unexplored, for we have fallen into the habit of remembering, whenever we use our eyes, what people before us have thought of the thing we are looking at. Even the slightest thing contains a little that is unknown. We must find it. To describe a blazing fire or a tree or a plain, we must remain before that fire or that tree until they no longer resemble for us any other tree or any other fire."-Flaubert
A better option than attending the super crowded and noisy Faiz mela.
Rab dushman kisi nu vi kadi hijr da rog na laway
Sanu ek pal chain na aaway..
The structure Ranjit Singh, had built, for Baba Nanak G at Tilla Jogian.
تمسے ہمکوں ایک ہو جی
ہم-سی لاکھ کرور ۔
Tillay ja k jogi ne hath joray, sanu apran karo faqir saain
Terey dars e deedar de veikhnay nu, aya des pardes mein cheer saain
Bullehya ashiq hoyon Rab da, howay malamat lakh
Tenu kaafir kaafir aakhday, tu aaho aaho aakh
The art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss.
Aye dard bata kuch tu hi pata
Ab tak yeh mu’ammya hal na hua
Hum mein hai Dil-E-Betaab nihan
Ya aap Dil-E-Betaab hein hum
O grief! Now you give me some clue
For this puzzle isn’t solved yet,
Whether a restless heart is concealed within me
Or I myself am a restless heart
We must have those books that act upon us like ill-fortune, that pain us greatly, like the death of one who is dearer to us than ourselves..like suicide..a book must be an axe to break the sea frozen within us.- Kafka