SS Revisited

I carefully pull my copy of Spring Snow from its place on my desk; wedged tightly between Kundera's Life is Elsewhere and The Decay of The Angel (The last book in Mishima's Sea of Fertility Tetratology -which I still have not yet read).

I open the book and the scents of various perfumes; faint now but present still, greets me softly. I had stuck about twenty strips of paper all saturated with different perfumes between the pages. This I did back in Melbourne, and now the book smells as enchanting as its content. Deceivingly so perhaps.

What is love anyway? An affection for another. In my case perhaps, it feels like a fixed point in time; my affection for M. Like a derelict fortress built within the confines of my heart, secluded from the currents of Time. A garden surrounds it, now barren where it used to flower. My words have mostly shrivelled where it used to bloom.

I can say though that when I usually perceive this fantastical, infinitely precious place as if it is nighttime where it is, now I perceive it in daylight. The walls are lit by an afternoon sun, its broken windows letting various slants of sunlight spilling onto its cracked marble floor. Dust motes everywhere, broken things everywhere. What was waterlogged now dry and crisp like the yellowed pages of aged books.

This fortress. It truly is invincible. It is mine. Built for another yet it is completely and utterly mine. It is quiet here, and I am uninterrupted where I set foot in it. Loss is the soft winds stirring the dusty ground. My friend the wind; sole companion, witness of me.

These words its very walls. Each visitation feels like an astringent to an open wound. Sharp, and then; just numb.

I shall write candidly, for it doesn't matter anymore. A relic of old I can now examine like faded photographs.

How keen. How vapourous. How dark.

The wind rises

“Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!"

(The wind rises! ... One must try to live!)

                                                                              ~Paul Valery

I saw Miyazaki's final animated film today, Kaze Tachinu (The Wind Rises) and it is wonderful. It's all very familiar, the tropes and designs he comes up with. The oddness of 'evil', how he romanticizes the notion of war and villains, and then always; the sweet heartbreak of Love grasped and in the end, to let go of it. 

And then dreams, how it takes root during childhood and then flourishes upon maturity.

I am very much in love with Miyazaki's aesthete. His films leaves one aching yet contented. Reminds me of why I adore Mishima's Spring Snow too. SS which I had two copies of, the first given (returned really, since it was hers in the first place) to M. and the second now sits on my desk. 

The Japanese have very nuanced conception of beauty. So, so, lovely.

p.s. I realized I don't have a tag for films here. Oh well.

Day 10

The strange lightness of being sleep deprived when you are already fasting as it is.

.

Lay scourge to the past

Lay to rest its promises

The eye looking to the Sun

Is blinded by its light

Day becomes night

This willing plight;

         I am become abandon

Shadows

Sunset on Cradle Mountain, Tasmania Island - October 2014

Jackets on car seats, cramped in a tiny car, driving all over that Island. That was a Spring road trip I'll never forget.

The courage of kindness

Sometimes being on one's own requires courage. Courage so dense one needs to dig deep and expire all in the effort of mustering it. 

The iron will that builds the foundation for patience demands this courage. 

I remind myself that it is alright to be weak sometimes, just do it in your own time and when faced with the trial yet again, show nothing but kindness. And if a hurt is what it begets, dig deeper and forgive.

Life can make one feel so alone sometimes.

Night 2

My enemy is within. My enemy is myself. To seek to forgive in pursuit of reconciliation is better than to retaliate. [Note: Lesson from Ash-Shura ayah 40]

I am aware of my failings when it comes to curbing indignation. It is a normal reaction to being treated rudely I reckon. Then again I must remember to reflect on self-behaviour rather than others's. It is easy to be 'good' when in company of good people. Hence when in company of brusqueness, it is up to the self to forgo the desire to retaliate & instead to remain kind & forgiving.

I'm re-reading In The Footsteps of The Prophet. It still is my favourite seerah book. I should post some notes here later.

Dear M.

On another note. I miss you. The you that I address in my writings. I should finish writing that letter & just drop it in your mailbox. That postcard you sent me from Saigon made me nostalgic.

How did I manage to fill an entire journal with nothing but thoughts of you? I can't remember what it feels like anymore.

Also, I still don't think I'll ever fall in love. I lack the propensity for it (as I've said to you, a thousand times over) and suitors (lol). 

Into Ramadhan (Night 1)

Tarawikh prayers began tonight. Went to the mosque with my parents, it is strange... I thought of the Ramadhans spent in Melbourne, how different they were vs. here at home.

It is hard to let go. It has been 6 months and I am much settled in. That misplaced rage I experienced in the first few months has been (largely) doused.

And so it begins, the nightly Tarawikh prayers. I did only 8 rakaahs, I'm disappointed in myself to be honest. It is not like I work during the day, I ought to be able to perform more rakaahs. I will try harder tomorrow.

I look for something to shake my soul, scorch it clean. The pure, white heat of abstaining from desires, increment of ibadah. The word 'Ramadhan' is after all 'scorching heat' or 'dryness'. I have notes on this, I can't remember where I put them.

At any rate, tomorrow we fast.

Ya Rabb, move me towards you.

Of rain

It's narrated by Imaam Muslim in his authentic compilation from the hadith of Anas, He said: It rained upon us as we were with the Messenger of Allah (may peace be upon him). The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) unveiled his garment (from a part of his body) until the rain fell on him. We said: Messenger of Allah, why did you do this? He said: Because it (the rainfall) has just come from the Exalted Lord.

                                                                                        ~Prophetic Tradition (x)

It is raining as I type this. I've many memories of rainy days; in Melbourne, in all the cities I've travelled to. Today, at home, they come to me and nestle by my side.

10 days

Til Ramadhan. And I am not doing enough in preparation for it. If the spirit is to dwell in purity come the sacred month,  one should strive beforehand.

Like a welcoming, an act of reverence, of ibadah. 

I need to move myself, shift my tepid attempts and just do more. 

Dear Star VI

You've abandoned me.

       Turned your light 

       And fled with the dark.

Stillness

How much longer will this quiet last? I am not surrendering to this decay, I can't. 

Did Rumi feel this way when his Shams left and never returned? A kind of gaping, bloodless wound. An immolation of the heart. No wind, no breath, no song. 

Merely routine and a kind of supine rage.

Change

"We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person."
                                                                               ~ W. Somerset Maugham

Upon reading this, I thought of A. How Time hasn't been very kind to our friendship. There is resentment between us; I on her secretive nature and her on my...I do not know exactly what. Perhaps jealousy, but that is too much of an assumption.

For what it's worth, I still long for A. to reach back to me. It seems such a waste...all those years of company and suddenly nothing. Well, next to nothing. I love to be needed and it is a flaw. A kind of arrogance, a problem of the Ego.

Dear A. if you're reading this (though you undoubtedly don't), I revere still your artistry. To quote my best confession towards you (as you may still have that letter pinned to your board),

"I miss watching you draw

and stealing them into my memory.

If you enter my mind, there is a gallery

of every which drawing of yours I ever saw.

               Our mutual affection is a thing I ponder

               When my days turn sombre."

                                                                                ~Lonely Woods, 2012

Perhaps no longer mutual yet still. If you wish me by your side, I will be there. You need only ask.

p.s. Hello June.