and then our exile

"ich liebe du"

- usman, looking up at me yesterday as he tried on different pairs of pants.

-

a full year and more since i first stepped into the blessed land of Shaam. today was my first full day there.

-

roosters crowing as i type, and golden morning light shining through late-summer leaves, mist rising from the far field. The dawn this morning was no true dawn, it was a false dawn, and here i impose my own life-story onto Creation, so much selfiscopy.

past few days are much driving around, covering a lot of ground in the external, horizontal sense. yesterday i went to the Biggest Mall In The World for the second time in my life. life is so depressing on this side of the world. Z poured some green Stuff onto the plate and "go ahead, try some." i licked my finger, and wow. Because he had failed to mention it was wasabi sauce. Other includes dropping letters off at the legislature, seeing muntacqs and sabri for the first time in over a year, which was amusing, writing letters to black cats and looking at cake books with little children, and F's "y'all got spandex?", a time when i should have driven the hour home, got my camera, and driven back to take a picture of the expression on the face of the attendent-person there. At the place we were getting ice cream, brother Farooq introduced me to the lady at the counter, "he's from a farm, so he doesn't know very much." he also tried telling me to go directly into education next year with him, instead of the two-year program after four years of philosophy and anthro. the fringe is on, these days: next year we're going to have a show, we are going to sing qasidahs and dress like bedouins, and so you should all come.

that is where the narrative dies. time passing so quickly. cinnamon in coffee this morning.

--

the leaves fall, fall as from afar,
as though orchards in heaven are wilting;
they fall with gesturing negation.

and in the nights falls the heavy earth
from all the other stars in the loneliness.

we all fall. this hand falls there.
and watch the other: it is in them all.

and yet there is One, Who this falling
unendlingly gentle, in His Hands holds.
--Rainer Maria Rilke, Autumn. (own-translate.)