The Feeling of Damascus – Damask Rose


A soft breeze...

Comforting ease - The Capital of Jasmine 

I am feeling you so present, within me. It’s as if your presence has circled me round, and round, and round. You are all over the place. The Spirit of You is what the French call “envahissant”.  So many beautiful photos of you. All, received in one pin.  All of them, photos of you. Looking clearer, fresher and stronger than ever.

What would you expect? Resilience is who you are. Despite the hardships and turmoil, you’re tender, still... The more I think of you, the more I squeeze my mind, the spirit says - F E M I N I T Y.

Dazzling in beauty, as described by writers and poets such as Mark Twain, Mahmoud Darwish, Kamand Kojouro, to name a few, Damascus distinguishes as a very feminine Capital of the World.

Most of her hotels are boutique picturesque hotels.

She’s very fragrant, alright, with her variety of flowers, jasmine, roses and other beauties. 

The pavement renders a high vibration.

Her inhabitants are soft-spoken. Hence, kindness reverberates...

Damascus is kind and welcoming.

Her air breathes an indefinite, breezy, velvety “je ne sais quoi”.

Warmth, tenderness and peacefulness.

Damascus - the oldest living city, has been!

The state of art.

The state of being.

For she is.

Damascus doesn’t need to shout out: I have been an imperial capital, I have “looked upon the dry bones of a thousand empires, and will see the tombs of a thousand more.” She blooms. She regenerates.
“Damascus has seen all that has ever occurred on Earth and still she lives. She has looked upon the dry bones of a thousand empires and will see the tombs of a thousand more before she dies. Though another claims the name, Old Damascus is by right the Eternal City” Mark Twain, in his book Innocents Abroad 1869

As for me, dear reader,

My DNA indulges her petals -

An infusion of love.

Motherly Love...

Listens to her guidance.

Heads the information encoded in my cells.

Revives and renews whenever needed...

Mariam writing in her journal:

Have I told you, Fares, how many times I’ve had to climb back to my being?

The 9 walls of defence came down on me, one by one.

Her substance... Her Divine substance shed light, circling me in it. Hence, I have been protected. She has fed me petals of roses and quenched my desperate thirst for love and humanity with her water of roses. I have had to pay every second of my life for that European passport. I am a woman with rights, now. Imagine that? Who needs rights when there ‘s no one around? Anybody there?

Nobody sees, nobody hears.

All aligned in our robotic routine.

Don’t you worry about it!

Coronavirus has brought in its pandemic.

Each one of us has been isolated.

Locked-in, face to face with one’s truth. Feelings, forgotten memories, unhealed wounds, balmy scars, the best of the best memories popping out of all the drawers of our minds. It’s all in there. Springing and bouncing from all the drawers of our being, alternatively, simultanously, constantly. It says: “I’m here! Look me in the face! It’s high time you dedicated some time to me - the beautiful memory, bathed in the sink of the moments across the Sicilian shores or by the Sacre-Coeur, purged me - that unhealed wound of yours. Now you have got all time in the whole wide World to give me your undivided attention...”

The pace this quarantine dictates is one of balance. A smooth living. Time to ponder and meditate. Time to walk through all the hidden corridors in the labyrinth of our being.

So now, it’s quite impossible not to have that precious time for oneself. Alas!

Oh, I need to get a breath of Damascus.

Let’s go for a walk, shall we?


Hotel Zaitoona - Old Damascus - Bab Touma

فندق زيتونة -دمشق القديمة - باب توما

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