A long pause?

Hits on this space has for long verged on scarcity and that is notwithstanding my own. Once or twice a month I come here and I feel ancient, like I have disturbed the dust that’s been sitting here unperturbed for centuries; dust that flies around as I read through the words with heaviness that creeps and with reluctance not of the wise, but of the old.

On top of feeling ancient, I feel estranged. Not so much by the words but by the power that summoned them. I try to find familiarity in that haggard grey room of a blog, or cluttered distracted room of a self, and can’t. Whether from art or memory, my words are farther than my reach could grasp. A comeback? A new beginning? A hesitant call upon the blog, to wake up? To try and cause a silent riddle, into someone’s life? heart? I don’t know.

It is such a mystifying sensation. I realize now that disconnection is the ultimate fate of whatever I produce today, for this blog used to not only be a list of thoughts, but an amalgamation of connected feelings, memories and reflections; a fusion of reality and fiction, and a most heartened record of a history too personal. A live being that is now in hibernation. The mess of words and adjectives are early signs of noted fate, don’t you see? How can I write now when two years are off this record? Do I pretend the world knows? Do I swear a new vow of secrecy and break it? Or do I make do as I go? As it flows?

Traces of music in my utterances are too faint. A hint of excitement begins to emerge. A shock of thoughts destroys the tone. A sigh of chord relates the hope.

Or not, ibhog.

Or not,

[HBBC] – Why do people lie about their feelings?

This is part of HBBC. We’ve been quite inactive lately, but we’re trying to get our groove back with a new topic.

I’m not sure if it should be called lying in the absolute sense of the word, but we all at some point in our lives have, well, given inaccurate accounts of what we truly feel.

You’re depressed beyond sigh. Someone comes up to you and asks you if you’re okay. You tell them you are, even though you’re not.

You’re angry and frustrated at someone you care about, they feel it, and you know they feel it. They ask you whether they made you angry, and you tell them that they didn’t.

That something that everyone speaks about, that climbs up the walls of your heart at night, and makes you smile in tears, at your own future, or cry fiercely, that it won’t happen. Love. No one knows about it. Not even its subject. Especially its subject. And if someone so much as hovers around your emotion, you bury it under swallows. Worse, if the subject themselves so much as begins to take notice, you flee to a desert, take out that feeling, dig a grave, and throw it there.

At home, your father. He wrongs you. He hits you. He gives you that look that stays in the back of your eyelids for nights on end. You start to hate him and deny it. You hate that you started to hate him, because you’re supposed to love him, and then you’re afraid God would be angry at you. All that processing, on one poor pillow of yours. Next morning, you wake up and find him in the kitchen. He asks you what’s wrong. You say nothing.

At work. At school. Your friends. Your spouses. All the people in your life. It happens all the time.

You see? Why do we do this? Why do we lie, when we have all those chances to just express what we feel?

Well, because we think we’re not supposed to.

Sometimes, your want of being understood trumps your wish to express yourself. You just want to be understood, and that is all. You just wish you’d surmount that stupid thing called talking about it, and find someone, anyone, a stranger maybe, who’d just, get it. You keep it in, down, deep, it gets stronger, heavier, but never out of you. And it’s so significant to you, so important for you, that talking about it feels as scantiest a thing as ever. For you, you always don’t know where even to begin should you really entertain that thought of ‘talking about it’. Talk about what. I have a mountain inside me, and you want me to talk to you, for an hour, two, ten? That’s just stupid.

Some things are made to be unspoken. They are the province of feeling only, and of understanding. They say that in human interaction, the body language constitutes like 70% of the stuff communicated. This is true. It is even truer with those big burdens that become incumbent on our breathing. You usually want someone who’d get what you want to say, just by being there.

It’s professed that love, true love, is born this way. When the parties in question learn to coexist more through silent presence, than with verbal expression. The exchanged feelings this way are not only greater, but much more profounder. The feelings are too released and free, even of words. They just jump from eye to eye, or heart to heart. Just like, Mom and baby. Babies don’t even talk, but the love, you’d feel it just by looking at them. No one messes that up with words.

And you know who’s the most glorious silent companion? Your creator. It is said, and experienced by many, that the short session of prostration during one of the five prayers, if your soul is clear enough of Dunya, is guaranteed to release the worries of entire days. Accounts are narrated also about walking to mosques at dawn, and the wonders that is done in those steps. After all, who’d understand love more than the One who created you with it?

So don’t fret when you counter a bold request for freely spending your sanity on an attempt at words, with a blunt denial of everything. It is not really lying, it is just wanting to be understood.

And that is why people ‘lie’ about their feelings.

Zumaran

The confused state of this blog aside, I would like to take this chance and invite you all to join something I’m a part of now, something that is making me sleep better at night, and breathe better by day.

Zumaran

It is a community called Zumaran. We are a Muslim group of companions who are trying to present our faith in a thought provocative manner, and to help ourselves and other Muslims around the world return to the primordial values of our great religion.

You are very kindly entreated to join us on the blog, facebook and twitter.

ibhog,

Minister of Written Enlightenment at Zumaran

(Yes, we have awesome titles like that)

My Book is now on Goodreads!

Hello awesome people,

The Cashmere Scarf is now available for free direct download from Goodreads. I might consider publishing in bookstores again in the future, but for now, the book is all yours! Just click on the image, it’ll take you to the book page on goodreads, hit download, and that’s it!

The Cashmere Scarf
The Cashmere Scarf

Read, review, rate and most most importantly, spread to and share with everyone you know! :)

Thanks for everything,

ibhog

Back, and the book

Hello dear readers,

April really is my favorite time of the year. My muse is always hyperactive around that time. I don’t know whether it’s because I love the warmth and the Spring, or because of some memories along the years, but well, here I am again.

I don’t know which is the longer story; why I’m back, or why I was ever away in the first place, but do be sure that I miss writing so much. Also, I really really miss you all as well.

Now a quick piece of news for you..

I’ve been trying to publish a book for months now and it never amounted to any success. I’m sad to say that the publishing business in this country is a complete fiasco, and that I really was disappointed. Also, to be completely honest, I’ve been constantly having second thoughts about actually publishing the book (which btw is an edited selection of this blog’s archive, with few additional texts). So anyways, to cut to the chase, the book is now an electronic version that I’d be happy to send to whomever wishes to read it, especially that the online archive is now all privatized; a twofold decision about starting fresh and giving the book a chance to actually be read.

I have two small requests however: there would be no download link, I’d rather receive an email from the ones of you guys who wish to read it, and I’ll just send it back with a heartfelt thanks. Another thing: I’d really appreciate it if you don’t distribute it without my knowledge.

The feedback I received so far about the book is very encouraging; but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t send any remarks my way, positive or negative. All welcomed very much.

With a new much shorter about page, and a to-be-posted page specifically for the book, I hope the yet another attempt at writing ends somewhere new this time.

Thanks and have an awesome weekend,

P.S. Special thanks to Souzan Mansour for being an awesome editor, and for Nema Al Araby for the very precious advice about publishing during the previous period.