Stuffing the gaps in between words

I am shutting down lightness of being. I need to discipline and allow myself to mature in some ways. I also hope that this move will quiet down the chatter within. I have really enjoyed the past two years of blogging; I have been able to explore my voice and feel her texture in varying surfaces and depths. I have also realized a lot of my weaknesses as a writer, I have so much work to do.

I am at the best “place” I have ever been in my life. I feel so cherished, showered by such innumerable blessings; inspiring this restless need to simply “do” more. The more I busy my hands and heart with the endless work of loving; the more expansive and constricted I feel in turns. Sometimes I am all waterfalls, bubbling with enthusiasm and overflowing with magnanimity at the gorgeousness of this world. Other times, I am deserts, searing in the heat of the unknown, twisting and turning my dunes in agony of remembrance.

I find myself ruminating on the archetype of Haggar (May her soul be radiating with peace); turning and turning, digging and digging through sandy tracts to provide life’s waters for her child. She represents to me, the epitome of motherhood. This necessary work of cultivation that is leading me inwards to places that are so achingly serene and so hauntingly terrible, I am left trembling in awe.

I am stretching out my solitude, seeking darknesses to secretly nurture and eventually coax out the ferociously wild and spirited woman smoldering in the ground of my being. With her laughter ringing in my pulse, I hope to pick up my pen again and channel her (this me I am molding into reality) in constructive ways.

I want to say something too of the many amazing souls I have met in the blogging world. Your writings have touched and moved me in many ways; and have inspired my quest for more. And to all the kind readers who aren’t bloggers and have commented and championed me throughout, thank you all.  I will be reading blogs still; and if I achieve some of what I am looking for, and if the blog world is still around then (that’s two ifs), I will come back some day Inshaallah.

Please keep in touch with me at lightness dot being at gmail dot com. I am not sure what to do with this space, I might keep around a little and then delete it once I have chosen the pieces I want to keep.

Take care and keep in touch (I mean that.)

May your lives be transformed by the healing powers of love and may He continue to embrace you in His folds of beauty and grace (amin.)

Cairo

Darvish’s comment in my last post, reminded me that I did take a break to read a beautiful work of art that was really different and inspiring. I am going to cut and paste the fan letter I wrote to Willow right after I finished reading her graphic novel, Cairo (yes, I am really dorky like that- and warning there are some spoilers in the letter.)

“I just finished my first reading of Cairo, my first ever Graphic novel, and I was really impressed! It’s beautifully illustrated, I absolutely loved how “hot” you/the artist made Shams (who is by far my favorite character.)  

Beyond that, being a very “wordy” person, I was also impressed by how much you conveyed of the characters’ development and plot without much words. The way you weaved so many current/pertinent issues so seamlessly and the nuanced manner you handled the whole Jinn/Iblis theme and contentious areas like interpretations, jihad/martyrdom and Israel.

It’s really good Mashaallah. When I went to buy the copy at our local comic store, the clerk promised that whether I liked your book or not he would be happy to recommend other timeless graphic novels that I absolutely “have to” read. I laughed and promised to go back. I might just do that.

Also, Tova wasn’t that bad. I had read your essay about her, and as much as I seethe against the Occupation/Zionism, I know that they are many gray area and a lot of people like her are out there struggling to negotiate the land mines.

I loved how you turned Shahid from the martyr to the witness; that was such a graceful touch.

Okay, I have to stop now. I just wanted to tell you though, because I had a really rough week and this novel definitely inspired me.

Thanks and keep on writing.”

For those of you who haven’t gotten it, what are you waiting for? Go read it, now.

Peace and gorgeous spring buds blowing your way.

Good Reads

I have been reading a lot of good books and it feels selfish not to share. I am always reading a book, in those spaces between time, I just don’t have enough pauses in between to write reviews or discuss them. Nursing is an excellent excuse for dropping everything and using that twenty minute span to read guilt-free. I read after I put the kids to sleep and sometimes before they wake up. I read into their nap time and sometimes during those lazy evenings after the bustle of dinner and cleaning.

So here a few titles that I have enjoyed in the past three months or so:

“A History of God” by Karen Armstrong: I loved this book. It gives a sweeping historic overview of the idea of “God” and how it has progressed throughout humanity. It’s an ambitious project, but engrossing to the very end. This book clarified a lot of my misconceptions. It gave me insight into the historic evolution of atheism and how in the beginning it was mainly a reaction against the Judeo-Christian definition of God. It even clarified some aspects of Islam for me, where we have gone wrong historically (placing the institution of Islam before God), and the humanity of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him.)

“The outer reaches of Inner space” and “Power of Metaphor” by Joseph Campbell: I like the way he gathered wisdom on God from all corners of the globe and the way he distills wisdom into archetypes/metaphor. Reading both of these books has helped me even in my own reading of the Quran; it has helped me step back a little to see verses that I have always glossed over as “historic” and understand them from a timeless prism. I love the way he goes on and on about this Ineffable Reality that defies our own understanding. I don’t like the way he dismisses religions so quickly and his argument on the “Way of the arts” being the future was lost on me.

“The Collected spiritual writings of Flannery O’Conner”: I love this woman. I adore her. She is bold, witty, unapologetically religious and insightful. I could relate to so many of her observations, critiques (of both fellow believers and non-believers), and loved her humor. When I grow up, I want to be like her.

“Disappearance of Childhood” by Neil Postman: For parents or want-to-be-parents someday, this is a must read. Postman outlines the history of childhood and how the construct of children as a protected class started only recently in history (with the advent of the printing press.) Now TV/internet/mass media have given rise to the “adult-child”; selfish, whiny, emotional, immature adults who are behaving more like children (and running away from the twin responsibility of taking care of their own children and parents.) And on the flip side, jaded children who are growing up much faster for all the exposure to sex, violence and rampant consumerism. He did offer one consolation that is the last line of resistance is conscious parenting. It was affirming to read that some of the choices I have made for my own family are in line with “revolutionary” parenting.

“End of Education” by Neil Postman: Postman loves the public school system and this book is an attempt to salvage or save a dying institution. He is a lot more hopeful than I am, but the book has some really good suggestions on education and how to make it “work.” For those interested in education and critique read John Gatto’s “Dumbing us down” and Weiss’ “A well trained mind” both books offer excellent critique and alternatives to education.

“Last Child in the woods” By Louvs: Speaking of a generation of children growing up without adequate time and exposure to nature. The result is what he coins “nature deficit disorder”; self evident in children who need constant entertainment to keep them “arrested.” He delves into the spiritual significance of spending time in nature; if all the signs/messages around us are systematically bull dozed for the next super-wall mart what will happen to our relationship with the universe? with each other? and what happens to a generation of children who have never experienced that awe of being such an infinitesimal part of creation? He gives good tips on how to create meaningful outdoor experiences with your children and how to make “living with nature” a part of our daily experience and not simply a weekend or vacation excursion.

“Mystical Dimension of Islam” Annemarie Schimmel: I am still reading this one; but it came highly recommended from a dear friend of mine and a professor of world religions. It’s an intellectual read on the definition, history, path and stages of Sufism. It’s objective and I am enjoying the way she evenly points out the different dynamics of the movement and areas where orthodoxy has raised some concerns. I am still reading it, so I will save some more comments for later.

“The Quran: A new translation” by Thomas Cleary: I love, love, love this translation. No lengthy footnotes, index, introduction, nothing. The English is beautiful, fluid, and rhythmic. It looks like I got my copy right on time, for they have run out of prints and amazon has like three used copies left for a 100 bucks each. If anyone knows where I can get more copies for a reasonable price, please let me know.

“Message of the Quran” by Muhammad Asad: I have heard a lot about this translation and CAIR’s give-away prompted me to get my own. I ordered it on Amazon and the copy that was sent to me bore one of CAIR’s stamps (apparently some people turned around and sold their copies.) I am going through it systematically and have learnt a lot from his explanations and notes. He relies a lot on Razi and other intellectual (rational) luminaries. I like the intellectual approach to the Quran but sometimes I find his interpolations a little over the top as are some of his conclusions.

That’s enough to keep you busy for a while. We are all recovering from a nasty rounds of the flu, including my precious six month old Yusuf. I am just starting to get my energy back and my “needs” have gone beyond the “please let me be able to keep down a morsel of food…” It’s amazing how little else matters when we are struggling with our health.

May your days be full of grace. Amin.

Surrender

Imagine you are going into the unknown. It is dark. Terrifying. It holds all your fears; yet all that you desire lies a little yonder. Imagine you are in a tunnel and the light is beckoning to you from the other side. You have a choice to hold on to the walls; to remain cooped up in your self made prison; or take the first step. The catch is, you never know if the step will ever land. There are no guarantees. You might fall deep, deep, down into an abyss or fly. You might first fall then fly. You might not fall at all.

Or imagine it’s a maze. There is a tangle of bushes all around you and a path barely decipherable for you to walk on. You have a theoretical map that tells you how to get out of it. It’s not enough though. You know there is a way out; you know the base laws are constant; yet there are many surprises along the way. The theoretical map is just one tool you have. You also have your senses and instincts to guide you. The thing is, you always have to keep a clear head and a placid heart and this will take up most of your energy. When things flip up, and the unexpected (and usually what you perceive to be unpleasant) occurs; you absolutely have to go with the flow.

At any moment, you have to be willing to let go of what doesn’t work. You have to be a lover of leaving; even if that leaving requires you to abandon pieces of you that are holding you back. There is no meaninglessness here; everything is purposeful. Every thought matters. The actions that follow are deliberate. To proceed in this journey you must both master your self and let go at the same time.
 
For example, if the path is straight and relatively easy; then all of a sudden a huge wall appears out of nowhere; you can not bang your head against it. You must take a deep breath; collect yourself; and find a way around it. Sometimes the wall is an illusion; you poke it and it crumbles. Sometimes it’s brick. You have to either walk around it; or scale it. Sometimes, it requires you to stop. To just stop and look around a little.

Other times, the only way out is to crawl on all fours; taste a measure of humility. Sometimes you kiss the ground and the path miraculously unfolds. Miracles happen when palms open too. Letting go is key.

Resistance is futile. Resistance is death. Everything is fluid. Nothing is what it seems. Stressing for the path to bend to your will; is ridiculous. It’s as if someone is perched on a swollen wave, either wholly complacent that it won’t crash or striving to hold on hoping that they won’t be flung off. We are all perched on that swollen wave.

When you are flung into deep waters, you must master the art of letting go. Limb by limb, you must relax, let your self go limp; and then miraculously you are floating. You are one with the water. Alternatively you can learn how to swim and practice, practice, practice; so that when you are flung off, you master the water. Panicking and thrashing about is death. Cursing the fate that had you thrown off is pointless.

Remember reading all the maps in the world (alone) will not get you anywhere. You can argue and compare who has the best map; you can burn other maps to prove your loyalty; that still won’t get you anywhere. You can get on a podium and chant MY MAP IS THE BEST AND ONLY MAP THERE IS; you’ll still be in place. You can have study circles and discuss the map; you haven’t gone anywhere either.  You can judge/condemn others or use them as a pretext for why you haven’t done anything about yourself yet; it won’t help. You might spend all your time trying to instruct others on what you know (theoretically) of this journey, it will be hollow. You might try to save others from drowning, but the likelihood is you will all sink.

Memorizing the twists and turns of other people’s journeys might give you a clue as to what to expect. But at the end of the day, you must take the first step, and the next, and next… At the end of time, all the mazes, walls, water and illusions dissipate and you are left in stark aloneness wondering what held you back.

Surrender is not that hard. Just do it.

Admin Stuff

Salamaat,

After noticing people are actually checking out my “about” page, I went and re-read it and was a little embarrassed at how pretentious it sounded. I changed it up. I don’t promise it’s any less pretentious. It just makes me feel better that I did something about it.

Peace and gorgeous snow flakes blown your way.

Lingering spirit of the night…

There was once a little girl called Maryam, who lived on a small island and who simply adored the mysteries of the night. She didn’t have too many opportunities to be outside, since her parents were really overprotective and sunset was a firm curfew. But she found little reasons here and there to sneak out. Sometimes her mother would send her to their neighbors with a plate of food or an errand and the little one would seize her chance. She would rush into the welcoming arms of darkness and feel enveloped by a certain lulling depth, something she couldn’t quite define. The closest (and crudest) feeling she could compare it to was when she snuggled next to her mommy at bedtime. There was safety there; intimacy and comfort.

The night air soothed her and provided plenty of fodder for her imagination to run free. She listened to the stories the leaves told her of events that unfolded in the time before time. The ocean breeze gathered songs and tales from far and wide and gushed their melodies into her small frame. She dawdled on the steps climbing out of their home breathing in the beauty that serenaded her unconsciousness.

There were few other times when her escapades were lengthened and she could scarcely believe her luck. Whenever they went away on holidays or took off to a little resort at the edge of her island; she was able to stare up into the heavens and connect stars, wondering how far the galaxies truly are. There something about how darkness gently effaced reality as well as her sense perceptions, elongating shadows and alluding to something else, something a little beyond the edge of her consciousness.

Sometimes she felt the darkness enlarged her. It removed the distinctions between her frame and the rest of the universe. She blended in with the earth and her heartbeat was magnified to become the center of the universe itself. Other times she felt there was a great nothingness “out there” and she was simply an extension of it all.

At home, on those nights she was forced to stay indoors, she would close her eyes and unfold her wings. She flew into outer space, straddled the milky way, and took in the millions, no billions of other galaxies dancing to some unknown beat expanding into that space beyond space. She felt small then and awed by the magnitude of it all.

Much later she was happy to recall something of the preciousness of those moments.

{-}

Two decades removed, and she could barely walk from her car to the illusory safety of her apartment without clenching her fists, tensing her shoulders and holding her breath. Something always loomed over her, the darkness snarled threatening her with evils she couldn’t quite name. She distrusted the night, hated it even for the way it wrapped her fears around her; the way it forced the mask off her face.

{-}

“Why are you taking so long” Her aunt barked at her, “Come on hurry up!”

Little Maryam was dancing on the steps. Two up, two back, one, two, three, up and down.

“Maryam, you shouldn’t play in the dark the Jinns will mess with your head!”

“Jinns?” Maryam looked up, she had heard of them of course, but never thought they would be interested in someone as inconsequential as her little self.

“You mean you don’t know about Jinns?” Her aunt’s eyes widened. She licked her lips and started talking in urgent whispers “You see, they are these invisible beings that live in trees and hide in shadows. They love waiting for little girls, just like you, to possess and if they like you, they might even marry you and then kill off any man who dares come near you!”

“Nuh uh” Maryam said, unable to respond in any other way.

“Oh yeah! That’s what happened to Hafsa-the-spinster. You think no one wanted her? Every man who dared to look at her was struck down at the first instance. Her Jinn is possessive! Besides have you seen her dance? She goes into this trance and you know that’s the first sign of a possessed woman.”

Maryam just laughed a little at her aunt’s apparent silliness, but when the leaves tried to say something to her, she resolutely turned her ears deaf and ran up as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. She would never, ever allow a jinn near her.

{-}

Of course, as the years turned so did the accumulation of her fears. Jinns were augmented by rapists, kidnappers, robbers, and all forms of psychopaths. She resisted darkness so much that she eventually forgot the softer things in life, and immersed herself in the harshness and grind of daily living with cautious stress.

{-}

“Wait till after Isha, then we can go to the lake…” Sarah whispered to her during dinner.

“But that’s like 11:00pm and the lake is two miles past thickets, bushes and trees!” Maryam’s adult voice squealed a little.

“It’s okay, I have been there alone plenty of times, it’s gorgeous and so serene!”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know like Jinns or something?”

“Jinns? Don’t be a FOB Maryam!”

“Fine, what about rapists or something?”

“It’s a pretty safe place. Don’t be a worry wart, just meet at the gate at 11:00pm okay?”

{-}

“Why are you scared sweety pie?”

Maryam’s little hand clutched her cousin’s fingers as they made their way up the stairs. Her palms were sweaty.

“It’s the Jinns” she whispered her eyes wide with fear, steeling herself not to look at the menacing shadows of the trees; or listen to the evil whispers of night.

“aww habibty! Don’t worry about them. Do you want me to teach you a supplication that will protect you from every evil out there?”

Maryam nodded vigorously.

“Say In the Name of God, the most Gracious, most Merciful, in whose name no harm can befall any of His creation.”

Maryam memorized it promptly.

{-}

As they walked towards the lake, Maryam chanted “InTheNameofGod, InTheNameofGod, InTheNameofGod, I Seekrefuge, I seek refuge, I seek refuge….” She tried to even out her breathing, and willfully relax her muscles. “Just trust” She championed herself. “Just trust.” It was hard unclenching after being wound up for so long.

The breathing helped but there was no songs in the air, no mysteries, or beauty; just menacing shadows with hidden intentions. Just a threatening darkness that was ready to envelope her into oblivion.

{-}

Later still, she took her first tentative step outside (at night!) under the pretext of taking out the trash. Cold air bit into her skin, she willed a deep breath and waited, listening.

“There is nothing to fear but He who pervades everything; who has willfully shrouded existence with Mercy and Compassion.”

There was healing in dark spaces. She was just beginning to reach into her inner spaces trying to find her way back into the galaxies without.

{-}

Sepia toned woods

There are woods close to my home that capture my imagination every time I walk by. Winter has ruffled off the leaves on their crowns and painted them in faded hues. I can’t help but stare at them, captivated by how ancient the age-old trees look. It feels like they have been around forever and if they aren’t bulldozed to construct yet another shopping mall, they will continue bearing witness long after I have faded from memory.

I wonder how many solitary souls have gazed at them in wonder before me. I make a small prayer that many more will trek by to behold something of the way such a sight pulls at the soul.

I have always associated winter with “death” but the more time I spend outdoors (and this is perhaps the first winter season in over a decade that I have consistently made time to be outside); the more I realize how much exhilaration is in the air. It’s as if this piece of earth I am standing on has gotten a chance to exhale all her nonessentials and get back into the brown, gray, black tones of her own clay; in touch with her own essence.

I am aware this is merely a projection of my own state onto my surroundings. The “death” and winter blues I saw earlier; the vibrant intimacy I see now; are snapshots of my journey homeward. I took such a long circuitous (and at times torturous) route to get to the point that I can hear the poetry in the air again; I wake up with a sense of smoldering excitement and anticipation for the day ahead. It’s reliving my childhood again, except this time I am nurturing the tranquility and creating the spaces to play; my children are soaking it all in.

Out of all the symbols surrounding us, nature speaks most eloquently of “that which can’t be named, described, or conceived.” I am detoxing myself from the word “God” because the moment I say it, I feel my understanding of Him constricting, anthropomorphic, and glazed into the rote thinking I grew up with. This Ineffable Reality pervading everything, giving rise to mountains and valleys, universes and heavens, oceans and skies, creation in all its depth and complexity; this Ineffable Reality can’t be named or contained in a single word/phrase or even in the narrow circuits of reason; has me striving to connect the dots.

Sometimes when I read the Quran I sense that the function of those words (like nature, like all of reality) is to simply pull us inward facilitating certain states. Tasting a little of fear, of hope, of vulnerability, of worthlessness, of the awesome quake of recognition; and the sweetest sadness at realizing the overwhelming embrace of His Compassion and Mercy. In a world where sensory overload is producing the walking dead; this ability to feel and experience reality in the fullness of its depth is the first step towards redemption and healing.

My living room overlooks some woods. In the summer time, they are so dense with greenery and foliage; they give us the illusion of having a whole forest in our backyard. Now I can see the road just a little beyond and the buildings clustered further on. I am a little deflated to be reminded that I am still stuck in the middle of the suburbs; a truly artificial construct if there ever was one.

I am really struck by the bare branches though, and how beautiful and different they each are from each other. Some make intricate patterns against the clear blue sky that remind me wistfully of gorgeous henna dyes decorating a bride’s hands and feet. At twilight, I sometimes turn off the living room lights to see Sufyan’s eyes widen at the tangle of shadows against “glow in the dark” purples and pinks of skies. I love how I am constantly pointing the heavens to him, and how he always scavenges for crunchy leaves, a weird shaped rock, or a funky branch to give me as a present. He grounds me like that, and keeps me sane.

The last couple of weeks have been chaotic on a micro-scale. Both my children fell ill (and are much better Alhamdullillah) and the escalating violence in Kenya; has driven home some painful truths. I have relaxed my being to trust in the moment and my lack of resistance has cushioned my anxieties and allowed me to navigate murky and tense waters with clarity. There is only so much I can do, but if I care to do it in the best of form, willingly and lovingly, then the difference I make is much more meaningful.

This is partly why I seek shelter in trees, water, earth, the canopy of ever changing skies; it keeps me in harmony with a larger song, allowing me to penetrate my own surfaces and realize my own depths. Like a succession of many souls before me, I will soon turn into a distant echo; I am afforded but a single glimpse to utter the “Ah” of recognition. These archaic woods of mine remind me of ancient paths I had once trodden and yet never have; paths I have left behind and yet I am inexplicably headed towards.

Old Politics in a New Year

Salamaat,

It feels strange to welcome a New Year on the precipice of fear and uncertainty. Please pray for my extended family in Kenya, caught up in the madness and chaos of post-rigged-elections. It’s really tense around here. There’s too many words crowding my throat right now and a disbelieving sadness blanketing them….

May the New Year arrive heralding peace. Amin.

Nurturing awe

I wish I could pour words into this song. Or better yet, I should learn to play an instrument to help me capture the melody right under the surface drumming of my heart.

The further inward my gaze turns, the more I appreciate veils. These long nights silently healing and nurturing what the light of day refuses to acknowledge. I was reflecting on the Arabic concept of “stara” stemming from the root word S-T-R to cover, protect, to veil, to keep hidden. In shame-based cultures this concept is taken to an unhealthy extreme. Where the Beloved’s gaze is stripped from daily affairs and every one becomes preoccupied with surface issues like “reputation” and what “the” people will say. We are witnessing the other end of the spectrum though; an obsessive need to bare it all refusing to heed the corrosive effect this aggression has on our hearts and societies.

I am stringing together quiet moments, and my relentless need to articulate is rendered mute. There is nothing else to say; nothing beyond what is being expressed countless of times over in the outer reaches of the universe replicated in depths beyond this illusion of “I”.

The “Sattar”/ Veiler/ Concealer/ Disguiser demands a certain quietness of spirit to approach. Keeping me close to the earth. I let this music be my guide, and when I am deeply in tune, I sense the dark clouds rending it obscure, so I retreat further into prayer, into silence, into the soft patter of raindrops mingled with tears, into healing.

Sitr conceals certain things, but in their concealment others are magnified. In a world where everything is stripped down to an ugly “core”, revelation comes in the ability to gather, to stuff empty spaces with silence and weep a little at the brokenness within; at the brokenness of it all.

I am learning to celebrate the gentleness that mystery lends to life. Pausing to open my senses to the universe; the chill of winter air against my skin; the purifying breath exhaling smoky fumes from within. Listening to the chatter of squirrels and birds, wondering where I have been all my life.

There is a misconception among those religiously bent (including a younger more fervent “i”) that senses are somehow to be vanquished in the zeal for God. Yet how are slumbering senses supposed to help us decipher the symbols soaked in beauty surrounding us? How are dead instincts supposed to help us respond to the inner logic of events that confront us at each moment?

When our eyes are glazed over and we are unable to appreciate the intrinsic preciousness of each moment, then what is the point of life itself?

And more importantly how do I nurture the “common” sense my children have, to wake up each day full of enthusiasm demanding to touch, taste, to explore, to see, to listen, to jump, to embrace the universe in all its variety and wholesomeness. I fear contracting them into narrow anxieties of “pre-defined” adulthood where life is systematically desecrated of its layers of spontaneity and gorgeous appeal. My children demand my full attention, they keep me awake cultivating still grounds for harmony riding sun beams to seep into our lives.

They have inspired a wakefulness that keeps me running between the universe, books, revelation. This wakefulness that keeps me yearning to “shout from the roof tops” and at the same time master the art of magnifying the Mysterious; internalizing the integrity of silence.

May we all taste the healing beauty of ineffable songs; a gentler way to efface this certainty of “i” to embrace a larger and more expansive/expanded self (amin.)

Opportunity to write for an anthology

Salamaat,

Please check out dear Baraka’s call for stories and writers. “We are looking for talented writers to pitch well-written, surprising and compelling anecdotes for a book on loving and looking for love while Muslim.”

I can’t wait to read the collection, love and more love is all that we need. The search for it, the finding, the celebrating, the praising, the loving…may we learn to love wholly and to heal in loving spaces. Amin.

While you are at Baraka’s blog, take a cup of chai and spend a moment strolling through her amazing, beautiful, inspired writing. Mashaallah.

From Clay, another insightful soul, has started a new blog to put his longer writings. Do read Mere Acknowledgments when you get a chance. It’s a short story that has been published in Mizna. I have wanted to publicize this for a while, but didn’t get a chance. I am still waiting for him to put up more of his longer pieces there.

That’s enough to keep you busy for a moment. I will be back soon, God willing.

Peace and chocolate cup cakes for you.