SAND AND FOAM

Seven times have I despised my soul:

 

 ·         The first time when I saw her being meek that she might attain height.

·     The second time when I saw her limping before the crippled.

 ·       The third time when she was given to choose between the hard and the easy, and she chose the easy.

 ·         The fourth time when she committed a wrong, and comforted herself that others also commit wrong.

 ·         The fifth time when she forbore for weakness, and attributed her patience to strength.

 ·         \The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not that it was one of her own masks.

 ·         And the seventh time when she sang a song of praise, and deemed it a virtue.

[KHALIL GIBRAN "SAND AND FOAM"]

—————–

 

 

She laughed. “So you thought you could just Google ‘FIND SELF’ and a website will tell you the secrets of destiny?” more laughter. “I was only researching spirituality!” I tried. But the girl in leather just laughed. “You‘re just so delusional!”

“Then tell me already! You and every other spiritual geek I’ve ever met, you keep asking me to find myself! Where can I find myself? In those self-help books, or in religion, in this dope joint that you’ve been sharing with me? Where?”

I could see her smiling again. “You know what they say,” she began, “it’s always the last place you look.” And the smile grew wide.

 

 

 

 

 

“have you read Khalil Gibran?” she asked me. “Of course I have.” I told her proudly. “Tell me what you think of him?” she said and lit another joint. “I think he’s a brilliant. He’s so talented… his words… wow! Love his work.” I explained; glad that finally we may have found common ground.

 

“Recite to me something of his,” she puffed.

I couldn’t really remember. “I can’t remember anything right now!”

“That’s because you only read the words. You don’t remember what they were about.”

“That’s not true!”

“Why do you get defensive? Why do you have to be good at everything?”

I was silent. “I don’t know.”

She smiled at me, and there was so much love in her eyes. Then she lay back against the wall.

“What do you really want to know?”

“Why am I here?”

“You are here because you wanted to have a smoke, with me.”

“No silly! Why am I on this earth?”

“Would it have made a difference if you were on any other planet?”

“No! Look, you know what I mean!”

“I know exactly what you mean, but you don’t. You aren’t even asking the right questions.”

 

I didn’t know how to defend that. What was she talking about?

I thought she may have a retort, but she just waited. And I waited for her.

 

“Come on. Ask me, the real question that’s bothering you.”

And then from somewhere inside me, this spilled out.

 

“I’m so afraid, of going to hell.”

“And yet, you are here.”

“That’s just it. I don’t understand why I do these things.”

“Humans make mistakes.”

“What about you? Why are you here?”

“Well, I’m human too. What did you think?”

“And you know its wrong, and you are here, doing this?” I held out the joint.

 

She laughed.

 

 

“You are so naïve. You basically want someone to tell you that doing drugs and having pre-marital, illegal sex is not wrong? So you can do it without having a guilty conscience?”

I felt ashamed. I was sure she could see me blush from this distance. I wondered what to say, but she was talking again.

“You are lucky you know that? People do lots of evil things and don’t even get a guilty conscience. If that little voice inside is bugging you, you should be thankful you have it. And try not to kill it.”

 

 

 

My house says to me, “Do not leave me, for here dwells your past.”

 

And the road says to me, “Come and follow me, for I am your future.”

   

And I say to both my house and the road, “I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going.

 

Only love and death will change all things.”

 

 

She recited this Khalil Gibran verse and looked at me, perhaps waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.

 

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Have you heard of metaphysics?”

“Yes, I have. Time fourth dimension and all that,”

“You see, even scientists have proved it now, that the time we are living in, is only earth based. The rest of the galaxy has no ‘time limitation’, you understand?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“So that’s basically it. The core philosophy – we humans are confined in this time until we die. And then, we get freedom from this particular imprisonment. So what we call the past and future is just a moment’s worth in the REAL time – the TIME of God’s universe, which is beyond all this. So basically what we call ‘death’, is simply a different time frame.”

“So past doesn’t matter?”

 “Of course it does, just not in the way you think. That’s the duality of existence.”

“Why does everyone who can explain this become so ‘philosophical’ and confusing!”

“Okay let me talk in science terms. When a scientist tells you that photon is a particle which has wave-like properties, which means, basically, that photons are both wave and particles at the same time, do you believe him? Do you understand him?”

“Yes I have begun to understand that.”

“Yet when I explain existence the same way you freak out. If a person, who has never read a book of physics in his life, gets told ‘a photon can be a particle and a wave’, how do you think that person reacts? He doesn’t believe it! To him ANYTHING has always either been a particle OR a wave! Never both!”

 

It began to make sense. “Hmmm. I think I get it.”

 

She smiled again. “Yes, I know you do.”

There was still one question left. “How do I find myself?”

Her smile was wider. “I told you, it’s always the last place you look.”

“Stop being so vague! Tell me!”

“You know what the problem is? You want to be like me. Me and every other calm, content spiritual-looking person. Isn’t that true?”

I couldn’t agree to that. And I couldn’t disagree, because I knew how true that was.

 

“Just because a person looks ‘spiritual’ doesn’t mean they are any better off than you are. It’s just a fantasy. I am like this because I have always been like this, this is me! This is not YOU! And you, sweetheart, are perfect the way you are! Innocent and cute!”

 

I felt stupid and elated.

 

 

“You know, Khalil Gibran said ,“Only once have I been made mute. It was when a man asked me, “Who are you?”"

 

“A lot of saints and spiritual people have said that.”

 

“Yes, they have. And that was because they were just as curious as you are, dear girl.”

“But they know, don’t they?”

“Maybe they do, but it’s difficult to explain.”

“Why is it difficult to explain?”

“Because these limited words of any limited language are not enough to describe it! They are not enough to describe so many things, don’t you think so? Like first kisses and happiness, and love. There is no way to describe those things because of our language confines.”

 

“Paolo Coelho! The Alchemist! The language of the soul!” I interjected.

 

She chuckled. “Yes. I know what you mean. And Gibran says:

 We were fluttering, wandering, longing creatures a thousand years before the sea and the wind in the forest gave us words. Now how can we express the ancient of days in us with only the sounds of our yesterdays?”

 

I smiled. “You are right. I think I understand now,” I felt lighter now, happier, and I threw the joint away, crippling it under my heels. I don’t think I’ll need this,” I told her.

 

She got up, and threw the box of cigarettes at me. “All yours,” she said.

“Where are you off to?” I asked her, seeing that she was all ready to go.

She didn’t reply, just came closer to me, and sat on bended knee. I saw that look in her eyes again, of love, perhaps some lust, I had to admit, and I couldn’t understand it. She ruffled my hair. “I love you,” she said as her lips moved to my forehead.

And then, as I sat there, waiting, “So now you know how easy it is to fall in love with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are such a lovely person. Anyone can fall in love with you,” Her face was so close to mine I could feel her strawberries-and-cigarettes breath.

 

But then, I forced my drugged eyes open and looked at her. “You didn’t answer one question,” I said.

 

“Which one?” she questioned, carressing me with her words, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“Where can I find myself?”

 

She chuckled. Then got up.

“Always the last place you look, baby.” She said, and vanished into thin air.