Clearing The Fog...

Clearing the fog, sweeping from under the carpet, cleaning the dust - a theme that has been repeating itself as of late...will get down to the bottom of it.

That's how I operate, that's how I function...get to it, expose it to light, see it for what it is, then decide what to do with the knowledge...keep it, discard it, transform it...these are my inner workings. This is the inside job.

Clarity and Cleanliness are synonymous in my mind...when your space is clean, you see clearly...

There is no other way to dispel fog, there is no other way to do away with dust.

Is that not what the proverbial - The Truth will set you Free - all about ?

Truth, Clarity, Cleanliness are One and the Same.

Fog In My Coffee.

Today has been a particularly hard one.

I stopped over for a coffee and a croissant before heading to an appointment...usually coffee dispels clouds and fogginess...not today though. I had three in a row, like a junkie hoping that his next fix will produce the intended result...did not happen.

That gut wrenching sinking feeling that I've been carrying inside since the early hours did not evaporate with my fix. The act of being in a café, something that usually brings me some form of comfort, I suppose due to the fact that I feel am in a "shared place" with the "social other", did not do it for me either. The sound of coffee being grounded and its strong aroma, with the secret hope of being grounded myself through my senses, did not do it for me...

My immediate band aid, my temporary fix failed...I am still stuck in the fog...I will just have to accept it is so for now.

The Power of Words...

I love writing...writing for me, when it gushes from the very depth of the self, is akin to the rapture from a union with the Lover. Ever since I was a child, I did not play with dolls and what have you, I wrote instead...I'd write about everything and anything.

My first poem was composed at age 11. This is something I managed to later on salvage from the debris...I still have it. The poem was no love poem, it was a political poem at age 11. I was exposed to politics from a very early age, "par la force des choses"...and since, it runs in my blood...

I did not study literature per se, but I read a lot, daily. Again, when asked what I wanted for a present, my standard reply was - I want a book.

My father was a very astute man, and he noticed my love for the written word, he nourished and encouraged it in me...At times he'd pick the kind of books I was allowed to read, am talking pre-pubescent years here, and I'd rebel, I always wanted something more complex...so we'd have these long arguments in bookshops about what I was allowed to read...at times he'd give in and at times he'd stand his grounds...and at times, I'd save every single penny and go and buy the forbidden book.

One of these forbidden books was Nana by Emile Zola. Dad gave a categorical no when I pointed my finger at the shelf and at the book. I don't know how I did it, but I still managed to get hold of it, actually buy it "en cachette", in secret...

And each book I got hold of, regardless of the subject matter, was for me a universe in itself...a universe where I can drown, escape, fly...I felt I had at my fingertips knowledge that no one had access to, but only me...

All to say that I discovered very early on, the power of words...and their power to transform, shape, change and usher in new directions...

I suppose it is no coincidence that I was born an Iraqi, after all, Mesopotamians invented the alphabet, they invented words...