Thursday 24 September 2009

Rumi


Reading Rumi reminds me of how inefficiently I think. It reminds me that I am not a scholar, and that I don't truly understand Sufism, although occasionally, just very occasionally, I think I do. At any rate, I'd like to be a Whirling Dervish once, just to see.

But anyway, with a nod to dependence on translation, I did think this was rather super.

Lets hope so, Rumi, hey.



"One day you will look back and laugh at yourself.

You’ll say, “ I can’t believe I was so asleep!

How did I ever forget the truth?

How ridiculous to believe that sadness and sickness


Are anything other than bad dreams.”


Someone put some coffee on, please. It's time to wake up.

Tuesday 22 September 2009

We are very dull, Eliza...

I feel utterly stifled - silenced even - by these past couple of days, and so I am deliberately Not Doing Any Proper Thinking for a while. Sometimes you have to be the one to nurture your own sanity, or at least be able to define its limits. Diversion is so much cheaper than psychiatry.

And with that in mind, here's a pointlessly random thought. What price the effort of learning Arabic if you could use it like this?




I'd forgotten about Souad Massi, until I found her while looking for Richard Bona. Tut.

Sunday 20 September 2009

Oh, Sunday uproars and Richard Bona...

Actually, it's a rotten shame, but you can't be truly honest on blogs because it means revealing the Issues of Other People and they are bound to get miffed. Much better the old system of the diary hidden in a bedside drawer, hunted down only sneaking siblings... whatever they read, these naughty easvesdroppers-by-text, they DESERVE! Isn't that what we are told?

But I have to say it's been exhaustingly eventful recently, (in a pathetically unimportant way, in the grand scheme of things, natch) and more so this Sunday evening. Soredomo, in the present lull of serenity, thank GOODNESS for a sudden flash back to this song. What on earth was I thinking, forgetting about Richard Bona and Suninga?



I can't write more because I've had too much red wine. How awful is that, on a Sunday? No wonder I am completely without wit.

I could explain, but I had absolutely better not...