and then our exile

...a Sign for them is the dead earth: We give it life... (Q. 36:33)

Everywhere overnight is green, leaf-buds nearly in bloom and the sparkles of dew on grass-blades with sunlight shining through trees o'erspread with the near-sheen of summer. i find myself watching the sky more--who saw the moon last night?

When Babaji's gone i turn stoic, but now he's back i just feel..."relief"? Return'ed with many stories of Iran, warmth of the heart and journeys to Beyond--gone for a whole month, Tehran Mashhad Tus Tabriz Nishapur... the grave of Imam Ghazali, the state of the society, meetings with multitudinous professors officials friends villagers people across most spectri.

Recent: qaylulahs--probably of previous habit (D*mbski's No Free Lunch), a race against time in varied waes, lassitude, late-night kitchen-cleaning / tea and listening for illusory frogs on a dreamy trampoline, many exhausting questions, a sphere of therapeutic comfort-rupture, immersion in alternate realizations, hacking the limbs of a brother to vindicate convention, contours of a shaded pen and now a mounting detachment. Yesterday and the night before precipitate "closure"--remember me in du'a. i wish i could remember my dreams. Usman has just awoken; i must go. He is beautiful.