Valentine's Day... in Damascus
I woke up amidst the petals of the Damascene Rose. I always do:
It’s Valentine’s Day, today. The perfect occasion to celebrate love, in all its forms.
Passionate, firey, friendly, maternal, daughterly…
I sleep more on Sundays.
Every night, I dream intensely, and the last one hour before I wake up, I am in the realm in-between the celestial and the real. That almost one hour is very important.
I let go of the realm of the celestial as soon as I have lost connectivity. Sometimes it lasts more. Other times, it lasts less. It is not up to me. It’s up to the information I am receiving. The time of download.
It’s only when the download is complete that I can disconnect. And yes. I keep a diary to write down my dreams. A movie script could emerge from it. With much ease.
My dear uncle has already sent through a photo of roses and a beautiful deep prayer, on what’s up.
It’s more than telepathy. It is a soulful cognizance. My uncle has direct access to my thoughts and prayers. He knows why I choose to keep silent. And he knows it when I am living in-betweens.
(I believe my grandma, tete in Damascene Arabic, has had dominant spiritual genes. She was gifted. And so was mamaie. My grannies rule on both sides. Thank God.)
Hence, my soul deploys me in this traditional Damascene house.
Coffee is on the table already. Waiting for me to sip it. I take my time, and as I drink the coffee, I sip Damascus in.
The air, the fragrance, the green of the plants, the interior fountain. The rippling of the water springing from it… I adore listening to it.
You see, my dearest, my soul takes me to Damascus, just like that! With the whisper of a message. The velvet of a thought. Or the silk of a memory. And with every beat of my heart.
Limitless. Boundaryless. I hug this feminine, warm and tender homecity of mine.
Damascus is by definition the Mother.
The cradle of multicultural and diverse civilisations. We all have grown in Her womb as One.
Damascus is La Femme, in her pure essence.
She is beautiful. She is eternal. And so is Love.
My thoughts are interrupted by the message I receive from one of my best friends, in India.
We speak almost every day.
I have no idea that tomorrow, on one alley of the park, petals of roses shall meet me and embrace my eyes.
Followed by a soulful, delightful, infinite snowdrop.
The first one this year, and the most Beautiful snowdrop I have ever been offered…