day 13: bismillahhiramaniraheem

december 2013, december the last into the first into  a cycle of regeneration - spring, summer, fall, autumn, winter. in traditional chinese medicne the seasons are aligned with the organs, with balance and imbalance, with colors: wood-green, fire-red, earth-yellow, metal-white, water-black.

the ocean is black at midnight. so black that it is blue like krsna, the flirtatious lover, who was so expanisve and honest in his love, that each of his 16,660 concubines knew of each, knew that he was seeing that many others, and also knew he had a special thing for radha.

love is unconditional, my friend daniel reminds me in the art he is building for his lover, the one who has fleeted. she will be with me always. yes.

there is no one who i have not loved that is not with me today, writing these words with me, giving me Grace.

your children are your children but they are not your children, khalil gibran professes through his character the prophet, in his book, the prophet.

i beg for wisdom from the prophet muhammad, a man of such humility, that what your right hand does to give, to love, to serve, your left hand should not know about, my abbu tells me. my abbu, my teacher in the teachings of prophecy, of making clear that birth is both accidental and deliberate, to pay too much homage to this skin, this body is ignoring the You, beyond it, to reinforce all the injustice in the world.

i am shedding, little by little, yet some-days, when i am so caught in the cacaphonic scale of babylon, i throw on clothes that match magazine covers and mtv. i shiver, and my skin erupts into bumps larger than nfl footballs, and my fever runs so high i see the river my grandfather bathed in, the prayer beads he held in his hands as he chanted down the 99 names of ALLAH, on the mound on the hill overlooking the mud huts and mango trees of his village that he served with calls to prayers and medicines.

i am reminded of this lineage of medicine, of this path that is beyond name and money, that in its traditional form knew no degrees or labratories. i am reminded that in this present stage of searching for meaning, there lies a ocean of past to learn from, if i listen.

close your eyes and listen, my friend yari once told me. what do you hear?

the train going by, dmx blaaring from the car speakers.

what else? listen. what are the furthest sounds. shhhh. listen. can you hear the seagulls soaring over queensbridge, the fish flapping fins on the shards of 40oz bottles? shhhh, listen. grow still. be quiet. do you hear? you can only hear if you're Quiet...