time spent and memories saved…
the last two days spent in Toronto, reminded me once again how precious each moment of our life is…i breeze in and out of town, in and out of the life of "special people, each and every one of them" (this is a borrowed line)...doing what needs to be done, being with what is required, and absorbing the energy…
each smile touched the source of the fountain…the droplets nourishing…
Pura Vida, si y siempre...
a place to park thoughts and ideas....... the people and places.......encountered in the journey of life.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
coming home...
…to many hearts in many homes
you visiting for? hours or days?
each moment is precious…
in the pre-fix "i wish"…i sense a wish, but not of the present,
for in the present there is "no wish", there is just being…
when the present is this presence, and the joy is now…
life unfolds, with a smile, with gratitude…
the source of the fountain is found…
i am home
you visiting for? hours or days?
each moment is precious…
in the pre-fix "i wish"…i sense a wish, but not of the present,
for in the present there is "no wish", there is just being…
when the present is this presence, and the joy is now…
life unfolds, with a smile, with gratitude…
the source of the fountain is found…
i am home
Sunday, September 18, 2011
is life a dance...
or why is life a dance...
we know not, we think not,we say not,
why.
hear a tune, absorb the tune and invite yourself to move...
to a new tune, dance another dance,
find another partner, take another chance...
we know not, we think not,we say not,
why.
hear a tune, absorb the tune and invite yourself to move...
to a new tune, dance another dance,
find another partner, take another chance...
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Marrakesh…the journey continues
on the train from Fes to Marrakech…encounters…
i am flattered by one and entertained by the other. in the first instance a young Moroccan strikes up a conversation, he connects and decides that in the fifteen or twenty minutes that he has he will focus on convincing me to get off the train, return to Fes, and spend two days with him…i am smiling, he does not look more than 23, he says he is 33…he misses his first stop, and the five minutes to his next stop he pulls money out of his pocket and says "i will pay you for your ticket"…Wow….flattery is hard to resist, and he is charming…he gets off at the next stop and we say goodbye…
Henna is studying Computer Engineering, in her last year and travelling home for two weeks. We get into some deep philosophical discussions. At the Casablanca stop, three men come on the train, and we realize that two of them were in our four seater section…we move, chat, and realize they are Indian descent, living in Riyadh, one of them stayed in Toronto for 12 years, for his medical degree…the next 3 hours are spent in conversation, switching between Arabic and Urdu, with some French thrown in…we sing songs…one of the men is charmed with Henna, and I say too him in urdu that she has a boyfriend…later standing outside the train station, he says he has fallen for that girl, and if she contacts me to please give her his email address…hmmmmm, here i thought Rancho Margot in Costa Rica is a place that supports the romantic liasons, maybe its travelling that allows one to shed inhibitions and enjoy whatever the moments bring…So Ayad, Amin and Khalid are really kind, they ask the taxi driver to take me to a hotel, and one of them accompanies me in my taxi. We see a hotel in Jumma el Fna, the centre of old Marrakech, but I shake my head, I don't feel that adventurous on my own…the safe bet is Novotel, and they drop me at the hotel, making sure I get the room and am not left stranded…real people, where kindness is present.
I spent yesterday meandering, in high temperatures, my body reacted…so today i succumbed to being a "tourist", on a red double decker, i spend about 4 hours seeing the whole city. Now the vision of this place has created many images in my mind…
some highlights:
raw dates on the palm trees...
on the bus i enjoyed chatting with the English couple
or giving my coke to the guy, who slipped off his scooter as he turned the corner, i was sitting at an outdoor cafe, waiting for the bus…
the salesman in Jemma, who turned the fan on, spoke to me very softly and said i don't have to buy, just look, how I distracted him by saying if he can do the tree pose for me, I will, and he did…
the place where i paid 100 Dhirams for pedicure including tip, how happy the girl was to see me eating peanuts and gladly took a handful…
how i was short of two Dhirams, and the storekeeper waved his arms and said "manana"
how it has been wonderful to practice speaking Spanish…
how the first words that come out of people's mouth when they discover that I am neither Moroccan, nor Spanish but of Indian descent, is "Sharukh Khan"
to Salim and Hafsa, and their love story, my realization that I know another with the same name
to Abdel and to his caravan…
Rabia and Aisha…
Abjuma, the Moroccan who is often mistaken for an Indian, he took me to the best sheesha bar in town
Jamal, for his help and for coming back to meet me with his daughter, Fatimah Zohra
the cleaning girl who reminds me of Maluka
To Ayad, Amin and Khalid…i hope they find what they come to seek
to all the hearts, may they beat as one….
i am flattered by one and entertained by the other. in the first instance a young Moroccan strikes up a conversation, he connects and decides that in the fifteen or twenty minutes that he has he will focus on convincing me to get off the train, return to Fes, and spend two days with him…i am smiling, he does not look more than 23, he says he is 33…he misses his first stop, and the five minutes to his next stop he pulls money out of his pocket and says "i will pay you for your ticket"…Wow….flattery is hard to resist, and he is charming…he gets off at the next stop and we say goodbye…
Henna is studying Computer Engineering, in her last year and travelling home for two weeks. We get into some deep philosophical discussions. At the Casablanca stop, three men come on the train, and we realize that two of them were in our four seater section…we move, chat, and realize they are Indian descent, living in Riyadh, one of them stayed in Toronto for 12 years, for his medical degree…the next 3 hours are spent in conversation, switching between Arabic and Urdu, with some French thrown in…we sing songs…one of the men is charmed with Henna, and I say too him in urdu that she has a boyfriend…later standing outside the train station, he says he has fallen for that girl, and if she contacts me to please give her his email address…hmmmmm, here i thought Rancho Margot in Costa Rica is a place that supports the romantic liasons, maybe its travelling that allows one to shed inhibitions and enjoy whatever the moments bring…So Ayad, Amin and Khalid are really kind, they ask the taxi driver to take me to a hotel, and one of them accompanies me in my taxi. We see a hotel in Jumma el Fna, the centre of old Marrakech, but I shake my head, I don't feel that adventurous on my own…the safe bet is Novotel, and they drop me at the hotel, making sure I get the room and am not left stranded…real people, where kindness is present.
I spent yesterday meandering, in high temperatures, my body reacted…so today i succumbed to being a "tourist", on a red double decker, i spend about 4 hours seeing the whole city. Now the vision of this place has created many images in my mind…
some highlights:
raw dates on the palm trees...
on the bus i enjoyed chatting with the English couple
or giving my coke to the guy, who slipped off his scooter as he turned the corner, i was sitting at an outdoor cafe, waiting for the bus…
the salesman in Jemma, who turned the fan on, spoke to me very softly and said i don't have to buy, just look, how I distracted him by saying if he can do the tree pose for me, I will, and he did…
the place where i paid 100 Dhirams for pedicure including tip, how happy the girl was to see me eating peanuts and gladly took a handful…
how i was short of two Dhirams, and the storekeeper waved his arms and said "manana"
how it has been wonderful to practice speaking Spanish…
how the first words that come out of people's mouth when they discover that I am neither Moroccan, nor Spanish but of Indian descent, is "Sharukh Khan"
to Salim and Hafsa, and their love story, my realization that I know another with the same name
to Abdel and to his caravan…
Rabia and Aisha…
Abjuma, the Moroccan who is often mistaken for an Indian, he took me to the best sheesha bar in town
Jamal, for his help and for coming back to meet me with his daughter, Fatimah Zohra
the cleaning girl who reminds me of Maluka
To Ayad, Amin and Khalid…i hope they find what they come to seek
to all the hearts, may they beat as one….
Monday, September 12, 2011
me, n Fes, Morocco
Sitting in the eating lounge of a Riad Khouloud Fes...www.riadkhoulod.com
A riad (Arabic: رياض) is a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard. The word riad comes from the Arabian term for garden, "ryad". [1] The ancient Roman city of Volubilis provides a reference for the beginnings of riad architecture during the rule of the Idrisid Dynasty.[2] An important design concern was Islamic notions of privacy for women inside residential gardens. ~Wiki~
the morning light, the breeze, the bright sky and the advent of the warm air, all indicating of the rising temperature with the unfolding day...
I am joined by the cheerful smile of Selim and his girlfriend Hafsa...last night Selim and I talked late into the night, his turmoils and inner conflicts...his love for his girl and his fears that he will not be able to fulfill the requirements to make her his wife. Very real conversation, at 27, when what your inner knowing contradicts with the outer world of conditioning and expectations, the torment is internal. The belief i heard was that there is something “wrong with me” ...Hafsa is a delightful 18 year old, she speaks fluent Spanish, and we converse he laughs, saying to us “i may not speak it, but I understand your conversation”...little encounters, un masked, while we eat breakfast...The analogy that comes to mind is of life as a train journey...we are traveling in different compartments...and the best part is one can move between the compartments, spend time with others and share the view from where we are, and then return...
The train journey from Tangers to Fes....three people in my compartment...switching between Arabic, French and Spanish...once again I am wowed with the brains that speak multiple of languages...two stops before Fes, Jamal comes onboard...he speaks English as well, so the conversation for me is a little smoother. I have a few places in mind where I was going to stay in Fes, but Jamal recommends a Riad, near the Medina (walled city)...we are half an hour short of Fes, he gives me the card of the place he had just stayed a week earlier with his family...i tell him i have a UK sim card, and he says no it will be too expensive, I will call for you, just because you seem like a nice person...gives me the phone, its all arranged, and sure enough I get off at the station and a smart looking man, comes up and greets me, tells me his name is Sheriff, but he is not Omer Sheriff...I find out later that the expensive car he is driving belongs to his boss and he is hired...we drive into the gates of Medina which i understand to be the centre, or the walled city. There are parts being restored as a UNESCO Heritage Project. The centre is close to 800 acres, with a population of around 300,000.
I experience the Medina, when an official guide takes me for a three hour walk through this labrynith...it is a world where people walk, mules and push carts carry stuff, and a whole village exists...shops, and goods, perishables and non, electronics, and woodworking, brass and gold, churches, schools, morgues...the guide I am with, Ahmed, does not say it but i sense that as part of his “tourist” guide job, he is to direct people into stores, and although I had mentioned to him that shopping is not part of my trip, we did go into a couple that were interesting. Along the way, he stops and chats with his friends, and I look on, gives me a reprieve to do my own “culture watching”.
Through a small doorway we enter the carpet weaving place, here they make berbers. I am whisked away with a salesman, only French as the language of communication...he showed me how to make knot on the carpet, the “right handed way”....took me into the showroom which had the most beautiful hand crafted carpets, and here I sensed that I will need some skills, beyond language to explain that i am not in need of any “thing” to buy...yoga of course comes as a saviour, again...i show him the tree pose, he tries it...then i ask him to bring me the smallest rug, i lay one down and do a head stand, i am laughing at myself, that i am “using” yoga as a form of communication. Soon a woman in a local costume (long kaftan), the secretary comes, and other salesmen are called, and i am asked to “perform” for them...i later sit for a few quiet minutes, with my eyes closed...and the message is received...as we leave i ask the guide to translate this message, that “they have beautiful clearing in the middle of the showroom, if they put a sign outside and let other guides know that we are doing a yoga session, then they can get money from the tourists, that is my gift to them”...we laugh and part...i would like to mention here that the mint tea they made was the best so far.
We also went into another store, that made and sold oils, and creams and bakhour (the rock which burns with a fragrance)...the smell and looks of the “rock” is similar to the one used by the shamans in their ceremony…it is also interesting to see how the seeds from the Aragon are processed and ground, to make the aragon oil, cream and paste for exfoliation.
Hafsa says goodbye, and is off to her school, she is keen to learn yoga with me, i am sure i see her later and we chat more…she is a wise soul, a little girl, who fell madly in love at 15…i smile and pour myself another cup, must remind them to not add sugar…mint tea will help digest the fried egg and the “paratha” i ate for breakfast…
A riad (Arabic: رياض) is a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard. The word riad comes from the Arabian term for garden, "ryad". [1] The ancient Roman city of Volubilis provides a reference for the beginnings of riad architecture during the rule of the Idrisid Dynasty.[2] An important design concern was Islamic notions of privacy for women inside residential gardens. ~Wiki~
the morning light, the breeze, the bright sky and the advent of the warm air, all indicating of the rising temperature with the unfolding day...
I am joined by the cheerful smile of Selim and his girlfriend Hafsa...last night Selim and I talked late into the night, his turmoils and inner conflicts...his love for his girl and his fears that he will not be able to fulfill the requirements to make her his wife. Very real conversation, at 27, when what your inner knowing contradicts with the outer world of conditioning and expectations, the torment is internal. The belief i heard was that there is something “wrong with me” ...Hafsa is a delightful 18 year old, she speaks fluent Spanish, and we converse he laughs, saying to us “i may not speak it, but I understand your conversation”...little encounters, un masked, while we eat breakfast...The analogy that comes to mind is of life as a train journey...we are traveling in different compartments...and the best part is one can move between the compartments, spend time with others and share the view from where we are, and then return...
The train journey from Tangers to Fes....three people in my compartment...switching between Arabic, French and Spanish...once again I am wowed with the brains that speak multiple of languages...two stops before Fes, Jamal comes onboard...he speaks English as well, so the conversation for me is a little smoother. I have a few places in mind where I was going to stay in Fes, but Jamal recommends a Riad, near the Medina (walled city)...we are half an hour short of Fes, he gives me the card of the place he had just stayed a week earlier with his family...i tell him i have a UK sim card, and he says no it will be too expensive, I will call for you, just because you seem like a nice person...gives me the phone, its all arranged, and sure enough I get off at the station and a smart looking man, comes up and greets me, tells me his name is Sheriff, but he is not Omer Sheriff...I find out later that the expensive car he is driving belongs to his boss and he is hired...we drive into the gates of Medina which i understand to be the centre, or the walled city. There are parts being restored as a UNESCO Heritage Project. The centre is close to 800 acres, with a population of around 300,000.
I experience the Medina, when an official guide takes me for a three hour walk through this labrynith...it is a world where people walk, mules and push carts carry stuff, and a whole village exists...shops, and goods, perishables and non, electronics, and woodworking, brass and gold, churches, schools, morgues...the guide I am with, Ahmed, does not say it but i sense that as part of his “tourist” guide job, he is to direct people into stores, and although I had mentioned to him that shopping is not part of my trip, we did go into a couple that were interesting. Along the way, he stops and chats with his friends, and I look on, gives me a reprieve to do my own “culture watching”.
Through a small doorway we enter the carpet weaving place, here they make berbers. I am whisked away with a salesman, only French as the language of communication...he showed me how to make knot on the carpet, the “right handed way”....took me into the showroom which had the most beautiful hand crafted carpets, and here I sensed that I will need some skills, beyond language to explain that i am not in need of any “thing” to buy...yoga of course comes as a saviour, again...i show him the tree pose, he tries it...then i ask him to bring me the smallest rug, i lay one down and do a head stand, i am laughing at myself, that i am “using” yoga as a form of communication. Soon a woman in a local costume (long kaftan), the secretary comes, and other salesmen are called, and i am asked to “perform” for them...i later sit for a few quiet minutes, with my eyes closed...and the message is received...as we leave i ask the guide to translate this message, that “they have beautiful clearing in the middle of the showroom, if they put a sign outside and let other guides know that we are doing a yoga session, then they can get money from the tourists, that is my gift to them”...we laugh and part...i would like to mention here that the mint tea they made was the best so far.
We also went into another store, that made and sold oils, and creams and bakhour (the rock which burns with a fragrance)...the smell and looks of the “rock” is similar to the one used by the shamans in their ceremony…it is also interesting to see how the seeds from the Aragon are processed and ground, to make the aragon oil, cream and paste for exfoliation.
Hafsa says goodbye, and is off to her school, she is keen to learn yoga with me, i am sure i see her later and we chat more…she is a wise soul, a little girl, who fell madly in love at 15…i smile and pour myself another cup, must remind them to not add sugar…mint tea will help digest the fried egg and the “paratha” i ate for breakfast…
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