Nasser's Blog About Stuff

Archive for the month “March, 2014”

Lost truths

The truth is not to be found
The truth is to be embraced

Have I been alive all these years?
Perhaps only the years I live should be carved onto my grave.

Or perhaps the years I died
What is life but a journey of decay

Do you not see, why my soul, my essence is not mine. 
It is but a star on your face
It is but a sparkle in your eyes
It is but the breath when you pray

When I was only I 
There was 
No moon shining behind the autumn clouds
No light came from darkness
No rain followed the drought

One night as I stood  at the doorstep of my home, the rain called me. It had a song it wanted me to ponder upon. I listened as I would everytime however, contrary to what I had anticipated. There was no music. 
Have you ever listened carefully to the sound of falling rain? Have you noticed that the revelations had never stopped? It was us who had stopped listening. It was us who killed the messiahs. But God never despaired, the hope of the hopeless and the love of the heartless never despairs. Everynight he makes visible the stars, or he covers them with the majesty of the origin of life. He does so to attract us to where the message is now being preached. On occasion he strips our scattered souls naked and manifests them in darkness and lightning, it is shocking how we prefer to walk in blinding light than in darkness, even though the light is not ours. Do we not reflect? Have we not been told that if we seek light from other than our own essence,  our eyes will surely be blinded?  
There was no music to be heard. I turned to my door intending to enter and be embraced by the warmth of my freezing house, but the rain pleaded and begged, it roared and protested, it struck with its lightning but I was not blinded. The thunder was no longer threatening me, it was singing to me. Thunder never sings, it was created with the intention to throw fear into the hearts of those blinded by the lightning. But this time the lightning was from within. The thunder accepted me as her brother, and she sang to me, she sang to me the notes of my death. She cried through her smile as she pointed to her stars, she hummed cheerful tunes as it lifted the eyelid off the moon and unveiled a bright shining sun. There were now two suns shining in the heavens. Their heat melted my eyes and their beams of light pierced new ones in my heart. They were majestic, bright and powerful but they did not overwhelm the stars thunder had serenaded. I was filled with pride and joy to think that all of these wonders were manifesting from my soul. As I entertained that thought, thunder lifted herself in anger and rage and with one strike of lightning she awakened my blind eyes and blinded those which could see. I was once more standing at my door listening to the silent rain, no song was to be heard.
For years the rain did not sing to me and thunder did not descend from her home on the clouds.

One day I saw a face I felt I had seen a million times. A face I remembered like it had been carved into my eyes. 
I noticed it’s eyes wielded enormous power, power it did not wish to hide. They were bright and embracing yet sharp like blades, they brought me both comfort and pierced my heart time and time again. They left me to bleed in a bed of their warmth. They looked at me with every intention to kill and I looked at them completely content. I gladly sacrificed the love bleeding from my heart for the Glory of the manifestation of The Beloveds Beauty.


Paradox of The Well

A well, prosperity and desperation. As the traveler struggles through the desert dying of thirst they find a well, at that moment this well to them is both the peak of hope and the peak of desperation simultaneously. It is their only hope yet what are the odds of there being water in a well in the middle of the desert, so for the moments they are pacing up to the well they are thrilled by both happiness, hope, life and being slowly destroyed with anxiety, hopelessness, and the prospect of inevitable death. If the well contains the very force of life, water, he seemingly lives, if not he undoubtedly dies. Yet if he finds water in that well, and drinks, he may find comfort in this oasis of life, so much so that he fears to continue his journey, he fears to move from beside the well because the desert is vast and repetitive in imagery and even if he walks a small distance he might lose sight of it forever, so he sits there next to the source of his life in both happiness and anxiety   until he starves to death. So the well of life becomes the very reason he dies. Much like love after intense heartbreak. The person finds one that has god traits, eventually they fall in love with them, but their love is draining, it slowly destroys them because even though it provides them with the water of nourishment it cannot provide them with the strength brought by food, but they fear to journey to find someone who can provide both out of fear of previous heartbreak so they hold on their well of water as they slowly die in a fusion of happiness, content, and sadness and dissatisfaction



There is a room. The room contains objects. The objects can be seen, touched, smelt, heard, but they cannot be experienced. Not because they are not there, not because they do not have their own existence, but because there is nothing to experience them. The senses are present, the objects are present, but the sensor, the experiencing subject is not. Either that or the existent objects have no essence to reveal.

In Being And Nothingness, Sartre says that the essence is not a property sunk into the cavity of the existent, it is the manifested. So what is it? Is it a matter of consciousness? Is the conscious being in this case faulty? It must be a matter of consciousness, the sensors are fine, the objects are without a doubt existent and manifest. Then what else could it be? This absence is a lacking in the consciousness itself. But what is the consciousness? I understand it as a force exerted outwards from the being, consciousness is not a receptacle rather it is aimed at something outside itself (Sartre). Consciousness is an act, taken upon by the existent being in its metaphysical state. Are they in the soul itself? 

Do I have a faulty soul? If so what does that tell me about the soul? Is it multifaceted? Is it independent of physical existence? Or is it a dimensional extension? If it is a duality then what binds me to this body? And on what account should I experience anything existent on the physical level? Rather maybe extensions of each other? All existent but like a light that dims as it travels, Maybe we are lights that dim travelling in nothingness. If so where am I in comparison to others? Am I on a level above them? This would make no sense since I am the entire light, as are they. So it is not a matter of being more existent it is a matter of being aware of myself on different levels of existence but if that were the case and I was more aware then I should 1. Be able to see what is beyond mere physical existence. 2. Be completely aware of the lower levels of my existence. It cannot be that. Then is it that I am less aware? That would fit all criteria except the fact that I understand more than others, yet they do not experience similar dispositions. Then it is not a matter of awareness of the self. It is a matter of awareness of what is external to the self. I suppose I am aware of myself or selves. In all their states, I just do not have authority at all times, awareness does not require authority and the opposite is true. So does acquiring authority require the being becoming aware of the surroundings?

هل كان لقلبي قبلك وجود
هل كنت ممن ذاقوا ذهول
طبيعة اشراقية شاء فيها ان اكون
صدرك مرادي و الارض لا.تحول
لقد أرداني الزمان قتيلا قبل موتي
فشربت من كأس ملأته ساقية كافور
فمشيت في سقر غير مبال لنار تلظى 
ورحت اناجي الرب بقلبي المكسور 
شئت ام ابيت قاومت او رضيت
قلبي لنفسك المقدسة بيت
عرشك في قلب عرش الرحمن قد بنيت
سميتك الجمال و نعم ما سميت


كفر العاشق

روحي تلاقيكم و نفسي ترهبني
الأسماء أعلام في حدودي تجاوبني
رسائل في كنه وجودي
لا تلتمس أعماق حدودي
عبير فجوري قسم لتوحيد سطوري
قصيدة يتذوقها السالك
لا يفهمها الا السفير في روحه

وديعة يتركها الشاعر
تنقش على تابوت ذنوبه
رأى الانسان يتبع
نظام سير كالأفلاك
يتفاوت ما يتوسط الجرم
بحسب نور المشكاة
رأى الجمال ينهزم و ينعدم لشدة ضبط الكلمات
اوصاف هدّت أركان الوجود و عاهرات فكر
حجبت عن العاشقين نور حب الاله

رؤى طفل, صرخة في العدم
اثار أشجار , فناء في الندم
وسوسة شيطان, في ليالي رمضان
كفر و عرفان, قيود و اسلام
جهل بما خلق, الكون, أعظم انسان
ولادة قصرية للأنوار من الظلمات
علمه نسبي جزع بين السبع الشداد
شمائلنا تسلّم الكتاب و الى اليمين العتاد
كفره بعيد كل البعد عن الالحاد
في سيرنا في طريقه أصنام تهدم
أفمن لا يُخلَقُ كمن يُخلَق؟
كفرنا اقصاء و توحيدنا زلفى
افكارنا مقاربات نتجهد بها
حتى يأتينا اليقين و في ذاته نفنى

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