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What Jesus Ran Away From ~ Rumi

Yemen Genocide

Yemen Genocide

The son of Mary, Jesus, hurries up a slope
as though a wild animal were chasing him.
Someone following him asks, “Where are you going?
No one is after you.” Jesus keeps on,
saying nothing, across two more fields, “Are you
the one who says words over a dead person,
so that he wakes up?” I am.  “Did you not make
the clay birds fly?” Yes.  “Who then
could possibly make you run like this?”
Jesus slows his pace.

I say the Great Name over the deaf and the blind,
they are healed. Over a stony mountainside,
and it tears its mantle down to the navel.
Over non-existence, it comes into existence.
But when I speak lovingly for hours, for days,
with those who take human warmth
and mock it, when I say the Name to them, nothing
happens. They remain rock, or turn to sand,
where no plants can grow. Other diseases are ways
for mercy to enter, but this non-responding
breeds violence and coldness towards God.
I am fleeing from that.

As little by little air steals water, so praise
dries up and evaporates with foolish people
who refuse to change. Like cold stone you it on
a cynic steals body heat. He doesn’t feel the sun.

(Jesus was not actually running away from people.
He was teaching in new way)

~ Rumi
Coleman Barks translation

On the Death of the Beloved

أُعِيذُكُمَا بِكَلِمَاتِ اللهِ التَّامَّةِ مِنْ كُلِّ شَيْطَانٍ ، وَهَامَّةٍ ، وَمِنْ كُلِّ عَيْنٍ لَامَّةٍ

Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts
Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

by John O’Donahue

Benvenuto :)

just a thank you to all and a note … i have two blogs on this wordpress, this one the nice,  mellow, life one and another that  is all geopolitics.  many people do not care for politics and i get tired of all gloom and doom myself  being activist, so i created this blog site for retreating and re energizing.  i do not know how to fix it so that if someone wants to follow me they get the correct blog they like … any hints would be appreciated 🙂

The Reed Flute’s Song


Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.

“Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it’s not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty.”

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn’t want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it’s best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.

Jalalu’ddin Rumi

THE ONLY SIN I KNOW

Siraat-e-Mustaqeem

If someone sits with me
And we talk about the Beloved

If I cannot give his heart comfort,
If I cannot make him feel better
About himself and this world,

Then Hafiz,
Quickly run to the mosque and pray—

For you have just committed
The only sin I know.

by Hafiz in ” I heard God laughing”

Dedicated to the readers of this blog, your comments tell me where your heart is ………so Keep the dialogue going. Who knows whose heart you may touch while passing through here.

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An imagined pie, lost splendours and a Sicilian timballo (macaroni pie)

Saucy gander

sicilian-macaroni-pie-09Update: recipe added!!

Recently, work has been intense, crazy-good-intense, plus I have been cooking for friends: lingering, laughing, food-laden, wine-tinted dinners where people meet old friends and make new ones. All of which means I’m catching up on the blogosphere this weekend.

The good thing about cooking for a bunch of friendly guinea pigs friends is that I can foist “out there” dishes on them. And unlike a family Christmas lunch, I run less risk of offending the mother-in-law-of-cousin-in-law.

Dishes like a macaroni pie from the novel The Leopard (Il Gattopardo), by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa.

sicilian-macaroni-pie-03

Like the Triumph of Gluttony, the idea of the pie has haunted my imagination since I read the book years ago:

“When three lackeys in green, gold and powder entered, each holding a great silver dish containing a towering macaroni pie, only four of the twenty at table avoided showing pleased surprise.

Good…

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Fateer Bread from mid region of Yemen- Ibb خبز الفطير من وسط اليمن -اب

YemenKitchen

final look

If you happen to travel by car from Sanaa to Taiz, Ibb will be the highlight of your trip. Once you survive the motion sickness from roads of Somarah ســــ’مارة, and Nakeel Thee-Yaslih نقيل ذي يسلح Mountains the scenery starts to open up into wide lush, green valleys. All organized into combed terrains .This is the green belt of Yemen, the place that historically used to feed people of the Arabian Peninsula.
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Ibb has the second most amount of rain per year after Salalah, Oman. Which makes it number one in Yemen. Most people of Ibb work on agriculture. Crops like Corn, vegetables, and fruits grow fantastically here. People say wonders about the rich soil of Ibb, and it’s cool, sunny weather. Each time I visit Ibb, I get out with a different understanding of it as a place. Ibb is famous for its green valleys, and lush mountains, but since the seventies, it became a big…

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Pysanky: Ukrainian Decorated Eggs

SheWalksSoftly

While I don’t formally celebrate Easter (unless you count my obscene love for Cadbury Creme Eggs as a celebration…which I do), I love nothing more than the combination of great art and symbolism.

Pysanky are a Ukrainian tradition; eggs elaborately decorated using batik (dye resistant designs “written” in wax).

Every time I see these eggs I am awestruck by the thought, care and time dedicated to each one.

From Wiki:
Many superstitions were attached to pysanky. Pysanky were thought to protect households from evil spirits, catastrophe, lightning and fires. Pysanky with spiral motifs were the most powerful, as the demons and other unholy creatures would be trapped within the spirals forever. A blessed pysanky could be used to find demons hidden in the dark corners of your house.

Pysanky held powerful magic, and had to be disposed of properly, lest a witch get a hold of one. She could use…

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Gallery

Sugar Konafa كنافة السكر

YemenKitchen

Have you ever shared a recipe with your mom? How did that go? My mom taught me everything I know when it comes to Yemeni cooking .She cooks with her instinct. She knows the ingredients and mixtures by heart, so everything she cooked was with no measuring! This was perfectly fine for her with Yemeni cooking because she knows it so well.

I asked her to give me the Sugar Konafa recipe but it was a complete puzzle for me as I try as much as I can to go with measurements to get the same result every time.I had to repeat it over and over until (I think , I got a good grasp on how to do it).

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Sugar Konafa is different than the Middle Eastern Konafa that is well known in Lebanon and Egypt and most of Arab countries. It is not stuffed with cheese or cream…

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