STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

Can’t take more than two days off work? Still want to stay in alignment with this modern world’s obsession with healing, growth, and emotional maturity? This guide is for you. 1. Go with the flow. Listen to yourself in the moment. You’ll be surprised. I was pretty sure I’d fight. If you asked me two minutes before the monologue I launched into, you'd find me mentally clinging to this. But two minutes later? A surge of unprecedented serenity. And I let go. 2. Ritualize your meltdown. a.  Go home. Shower. Pray. Remind yourself of your nothingness in the grand scheme of things. “I don’t know. But You do. So, alhamdulilah—even though I don’t know or understand.” b.  Put on your comfiest clothes. Choose the filthy habit you’ll drown your sadness in. Then get back to work, because we cannot help but Sisyphus our way through this life. 3. Be honest. Be open. Be a little unhinged. Sprinkle vulnerability with sarcasm (because is it even worth it if you're not making fun of it?): "S...

It is weird and interesting-  life.  It is weird and somewhat interesting- the wait.  It is somewhat weird and mostly interesting- living in the moment.  Life does not go beyond the moment What moment? this or that?  It is the  moment  As in life changes  in the instant- the ordinary instant  Life does not go beyond that instant  of constant change,  constant suffering,  constant joy,  constant grace;  all which abound life itself  which is, as explained the moment.  Which is, to be honest,  weird and interesting.  It is also as weird and as interesting  participating in this life  in this truth, as you liked to claim  Truth? What truth?  I refuse to believe there is a path  one the path  truth is in the heart,  the mind  you name it it is within  and within is divine  just as that moment- that? what that?  the moment.  Weirdly, though...

"Yellow paper and a red pen" that's what she said. "Write with a pencil," he said, "it's smoother on paper." Write what comes to mind as it comes to mind, that's what I imagine Virginia would've said. A stream of consciousness is sometimes what is there for you to see, and to document your hell of a sight.  Moon, I'm back to writing. Take it all but bring me back my language. Write dozens of letters to Darwish, and you shall never find your words. Till, one day, you meet a complete stranger and perhaps their entire role in your life was to bring you your language back, and hug you so tight on that hell of a night.  Moon, I'm back to writing.  I write about people, Portraits are drawn Not so different from that one you drew of me last night.  I take out my 20-color pack  and on a recycled piece of paper, I draw  a soul that is a reflection of your thoughts.  My features shift and change  with every mind  and my bones bring me back to...

 “Yellow paper and a red pen.” That’s what she said. “Write with a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper.” Write what comes to mind as it comes to mind, that’s what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness is what is there for you to make sense of this thing you call your life.  See my sweatpants?  Drowning in a river of nostalgia of past identities and present ones. You're here as you were there. So you, so true like monks on mountains and fish in the sea. Monks would stay monks dead in the sea, and the fish would stay fish dead on land.  See my sweatpants?  Swimming in a pond of rocks and shells. Remember the time you cut your feet? Who would've thought it would've been the same place? And in a month or two, who would think it would be the same place to lose it all?  See my sweatpants?  Floating in a red sea that is as blue as the colorless skies, you close your eyes and feel the immensity of water on your body and watch with a...

 “Yellow paper and a red pen.” That’s what she said. “Write with a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper.” Write what comes to mind as it comes to mind, that’s what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness is what is there for you to see, to know, to understand perhaps. Hills or oceans it doesn’t matter. Life changes in the instant, the ordinary instant. “Why be tormented?” I asked, and followed that question all way long, all our way long. Here I am in a city that used to be ours. Here or there, the nights were ours; we always found our way around the sleeping city. Wandered around the streets of chaos and coldness, searching for warmth and companionship. One is searching for what one feels they’re ought to find. But, also, as much as one loves this city, they know they would never stay. I am here now to question my so-called peace amid chaos itself. Looking for scraps of what is left of hope, serenity and wisdom. Roaming the streets at day, searching f...

 “Yellow paper and a red pen” she said. "Use a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper.” Write whatever comes to mind as it comes to mind, that's what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness is sometimes what is needed to see, to perceive, to absorb. I am not a robot. That’s what keeps on playing in my head. I am connected to people, things -to life. This connection brings me back to Earth, makes me grounded, even when I feel like I’m floating up in space.  Going back to thoughts of connections, of emotional bonding with whomever I’ve encountered, I remember Amal. We’ve just had a phone call, one that can be anything but light. “Do you believe? I don’t care if you do or don’t, but it is true.” She kept on repeating this sentence one way or the other for a full hour. And in my head, I had no doubts that it was true. We are connected to the people around us, even when they’re thousands of kilometers away. We’re connected in ways I cannot fathom nor absorb...