This story was written hundreds of years ago by “Saadi Shirazi” The Iranian poet. It relates to these days, so I chose to translate it for my dear friends.
This is a photo of Saadi’s monument in the city of Shiraz.
There was a green and beautiful kingdom.
The king had a unique ring with a precious Gem on it. This valuable Gem shined even at night, and the jewelers couldn’t put a price on it.
Years passed, and the farms went dry. Drought took over the kingdom. People stayed hungry and everyone was suffering.
The king asked his wise men to sell his Gem and pay every single resident to be able to survive for a while.
The king’s minister scolded him, telling him he made a mistake to sell such a precious Gem, as he would never find one like it.
It’s become a challenge now. I’m 10 days in to my lockdown and so far I’ve not stepped outside the house at all. Not even once. Not even to clean the seagull shit off my car. I’ve seen it from the window. It’s not a denim blue car anymore. I don’t fancy cleaning it just yet.
It’s still vitamin D tab day every day. At least the tabs – unlike the sun – are ready and waiting for me at breakfast time.
I’ve been wondering what the world record for self-isolation lockdown is? Google doesn’t know. It’ll be sad if I break the record without knowing I’d done it. Nothing comes easy.
So, no outside photos to take. Instead some pictures of pictures hanging on the walls. The same walls that have me in lockdown.
The way inward and outward are the same,
it is common to all,
it is contained in our past and our present;
all of our time is a perpetual memory,
point to one end or another- an echo,
our thoughts are echoes in a world
of speculation.
To what purpose shall we follow them?
Are they no more than dead leaves-
the deception of trees
falling into the earthenware of our souls.
Look down into your drained pools of thought,
fill it with water from inside your head,
quickly, quickly;
and then a cloud passes and your
pool is empty again,
we cannot bear much reality-
what might have been,
what has been;
it is much like clots of mud in the saucers
of your veins,
circulate them, the scars which you carry;
they are neither flesh nor fleshness-
reconcile them with stitches.
The Celts have some very interesting lore concerning fairies and the Otherworld called Tir nAill. These Celtic fairies aos sí, older term aes sídhe were made up of an ethereal race who live under the mounds or Sidhe they were known as “The people of the mounds.” According to Irish legend the aos sí are the guardians of the mounds and lakes. These ethereal beings were the earlier deities evolved from the Tuatha Dé Danann and literally shrank in stature when Irish folks abandoned revering them in lieu of a Christian god with his Saints. Aos sí were eventually demoted as demons by the Christian cleric. No longer loved and honoured by their people they retired to the Celtic Other-world called Tir nAill which could only be accessed through a cave or ancient burial mound.
The Otherworld has various names including Irish mythology Otherworlds’ such as
Hi my dear friends, I must first apologize for my failures in the last post as I have mentioned it in the night in the bed!! Anyway, I have a seriously this time as I have to work and to ordinate my household; my wife is a woman of the world. Just let’s begin.
As I mentioned in the first part, it’s not easy to be born and grown-up by sensible parents; a writer as a father with a lot of wishes and dreams and a bookworm as a mother who her biggest wish was to be left alone in a room fulfil with books and glass water and a loaf of bread would be enough for her!
Mother in everlasting posision; Dreaming
Here man can say; God saves the soul! and yes; my childhood was based on a lot of trauma. especially, after father died it became much harder but first the very beginning;
It is of course not so much to explain; I have written there about in my some memories; a time of love, a time of happiness, a time, of also, strike, strife, discord and again love and forgiveness.
You might read my post http://A CHARACTERISTIC LOVE STORY There I have told the crazy beginning of the foundation this family and the result can be mostly a chaotic high-spiritually tensions in the area, of life, of our life.
Let’s now begin after the father’s death, because I can remember better. I don’t know why; maybe because I had to work a much on this; My father had died in the night after we have come back from a wedding ceremony at very late night and we both “Al and I” got nothing about what happened. In the morning, mother told us he has travelled (He did travel often, but surely not after a party in which he was almost drunk!) for me this wrong announcement was acceptable, but for Al, it wasn’t enough. He was a thinker even with 9 at age ( I was 7 when father left this Earth.) but of course, we both have taken it as a fact and according to the mother’s order and went to the uncle’s house with pool a great garden and so on and on. It was an offer which can no child refuse.
Those days were the those days, I’d bet! 😉
The main tension began after this time, because, Al was almost sure there ‘s something wrong with this and me, the bloody child, I might have mention something but surely wanted rather ignore it! Therefore, it began a funny, might better to say a tragical play between us three: Mother, Al and Me, and it was and still remains a trauma which I will try to tell you next. Thank You All who read this and forgive me for my failure. take care and be safe. 🙏💖🙏
