The eternity of forms

Battling intense mood swings and depressive episodes is not easy — and it’s harder when we forget the little things that made us dream and look forward to a better tomorrow. Even worse, we tend to discard and leave behind the small habits that keep us connected to the “now” — which is the more important between the past and the future.

One of my small creations

Recently, I bought a new journal — engraved with a drawing of the Little Prince (my best friend) hanging by small ropes to a flock of birds, taking flight off his tiny planet and into the unknown. A line underneath the drawing reads, “L’essential est invisible pour les yeax.” The essential is invisible to the eyes.

It’s true. Once I started writing in that journal — after months and months of leaving this habit– I realized that I had the answer all along: I shouldn’t look outside of myself to battle my demons. But perhaps I should look inside, to the things that I already have and thought  I lost, and instead of battling demons, perhaps I should befriend them, even love them. They’ve lived with me for so long, I’m probably their only home. I wouldn’t throw them away.

I’m loyal to strange things.

Writing, and sketching — creating form, ink on paper. Therein lies the magic that perhaps will free me one day. In my first entry, I wrote, “When writing, a person is in the moment, like right now. If you’re focused on getting ink on paper, nothing becomes more important than ink on paper. And within the ink and the words, there’s a certain magic, an incantation and a spell. Am I going crazy? Or is this me finally becoming sane? Finding beauty in the mundane. Or more correctly finding miracles in small things.

Words have a god. And whoever masters words becomes close to this God. If you become a word, the word, you become god. This is the essence of spirituality: becoming infinite inside something. Consigning your soul — this limitless presence– to a single point in space. Points are timeless, or rather not bound by time.”

Self portrait

So are words. And so will you, if you focus so much on the task of producing a word on paper that you disappear in it. Watch the pen move, the ink dispensed, sink into the pores of the paper, grow and stem out into a form that gives meaning, makes sense. Suddenly, the ink takes on new meanings. It becomes alive in the shape that it has created. Iqraa, read it back, breathe in, breathe out, in, out and everything changes. This is the present. Welcome to it.

Words can change the world.

How can this idea not be healing?

Similarly, I tried to re-explore sketching. A beautifully talented Tweep gave me a drawing book, as gift, a week earlier, and I haven’t stopped drawing ever since. And last night, I wasn’t too afraid — as I always were before– to share that bit of myself. So I posted some of these online, and I even changed my Twitter avatar to a self-portrait that I have drawn myself.

Will all this cure my dark episodes? It might. And if not, then it will remain there as testimony to how I tried.

“Nous écrivons des choses eternelles.”

Listening to: Nothing
Mood: Indescribable, hovering in a grey area between happiness and sadness.
Wants from the Universe: Love, love, love and more love. For people, and for things. Mostly, for myself. Because I need that.

The memory of the intellect & the eyes

“Voluntary memory, the memory of the intellect and the eyes, [gives] us only imprecise facsimiles of the past which no more resemble it than pictures by bad painters resemble the spring … So we don’t believe that life is beautiful because we don’t recall it, but if we get a whiff of a long-forgotten smell we are suddenly intoxicated, and similarly we think we no longer love the dead, because we don’t remember them, but if by chance we come across an old glove we burst into tears.”

— Marcel Proust

Listening to … nothing, cos I’m in a hurry and I have to head out
Mood: refreshed thanks to a cold shower

A new (good) blog is born

Glad to announce that Don Young quoted in my blog post Young Reflections has been convinced by someone (couldn’t resist bragging really) to create a blog and share his thoughts with the world. I personally became his first follower, and I love his words. Take a look:  http://sleeplessdisorder.wordpress.com/ It’s a new born but it’s worth watching!

Let me take this chance and recommend a few more blogs that I check every morning:

That’s all for now.

Over and out!

Listening to: still stuck on Abbady Al Johar. Follow me on twitter @pakinamamer for updates
Mood: lazy, thankful, calm  (Life is good in this late hour for some reason)

Young Reflections

A friend of a friend called Don Young wrote the following words and I found them to be an immaculate rendition of thoughts that haunt most of us, they touched me …

Young says, “We come up with rules, regulations and social norms for everything. We create these imagined realities for ourselves and then we read and write volumes upon volumes on topics such as how to find love, the rules of dating, the guide to successful marriages and so on so that we can learn how to do these things within the guidelines we have set out within our own imagined world …

The thing is though that shouldn’t these things be easy? Does any of it really mean anything when you really think about it? I mean, isn’t it all just really kind of silly, or is it just me?

Is it just me, or is everything and everyone just way too over complicated?

It seems to me that we need to eat, sleep and love … That’s it, that’s all. The rest is just a bunch of imagined nonsense that we create in order to give ourselves some sort of purpose or importance or justify our own greed.

If you really stop and think about it, does any of it matter? Is anything other than sustaining life and finding happiness simply in that, really anything other than nonsense? Ridiculous notions that we dream up as ways to separate ourselves from one another and waste our lives hoarding and hating and hurting each other; and for what? So at the end of our short little lives we can say we have won some sort of imaginary competition? So we can be dead and somehow feel better that our group has gained more ground over another?”

Listening to Brick City Love Song, Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles
Mood: Thoughtful