What a perfect positioning for you, my rose, my dearest rose!
From my magical childhood to the jelly jam of roses,
from the velvety fragrance of you to your morning dew,
a Festival of good taste, alchemy, and mostly, of life you are:
my dearest Rose,
my Damascene Rose: Abusamra!
The rose connected to the heavenly soil of Damascus bears the spirit of Universal Love
Abusamra, my darling Abusamra — father of mine, hugged me the other day … and that, my dearest, that very hug stems from the seeds of the Damascene roses he had planted, back home, in Al Jazeera 5.
This is, verily, the flame to be kept alive.
This is the seed of the story.
More than part of UNESCO’s intangible heritage, Damascene Rose is the breath of life…
Edible, so touchable a feeling, Damascene Rose is the catalyst to hold on to when the going gets tough.
Its high vibration reaches unattainable Heights of Magic:
Within Her petals — Ascension is possible.
Morning Mystery, Roses Balm, always Serene calm.
Angel No.5 follows the name Al Jazeera — the Island, No.5.
No. 5 is the herald of major upcoming changes.
Al Jazeera 5 has borne the number of guidance and transformation, all along.
And, little did we know at the time of it, of this Angel Number: 5.
We had a Community of Humanity, Love, and Friendship.
The world was ours.
A reality we have grown rooted in.
And to this day, we, Humans of Al Jazeera 5, are united as One.
Both here, and there. Everywhere, we are One.
We keep searching for our roots, the roots of our being.
And this, my dearest, this is, verily, the New State of Consciousness...
My darling Abusamra’s hugged me the other day.
As frail as he might be, nowadays, his hug is vibrant and strong.
My father’s heart vibrates and reverberates.
My father’s heart is the Seed of My life.
Hence, I make sure that I make the most of him and of his sweet warm embrace, in the here and now.
And while I am in my father’s arms, hugging him vibrantly, in Al-Marah Town, Damascus Countryside, beautiful people are harvesting the Damascene Rose.
Isn’t it a feast for the heart, my dearest, to see people celebrating the Damascene Rose Festival after so many years of an ongoing war around Damascus?
Cheers to and on all the roses of the world.
Father is resting in bed.
My thoughts of love and faith in God are with him.
At present, he is not feeling quite well.
And the Tarab is on, irrespective of circumstances.
He is listening to Arab Classical Music.
But wait, the skies have split into raining with stones.
So heavy a rain it is, that father can longer listen to music via his TV set.
We have an antenna set on the roof of the building which is no longer broadcasting.
I pause my writing and walk towards my father's chambers:
“Father, what do you fancy watching or listening to?
Talk show or music?
Father nods yes.
“Here you go, my dearest. It’s the Best of Fairuz on youtube. What of the sound? Is it ok this way or shall I turn her voice louder?”
Father coveys it's alright.
Fairuz, the Prima Dona, and the Queen Rose of Lebanon, inherently, of the Levant and of the Arab World.
Her very name suffices.
Her voice reverberates.
Earbuds in, I couldn’t hear him.
He called me. Father said my name.
Oh, what a feeling!
As a consequence of a stroke he had had, ages ago, baba can speak no more.
He says “Alhamdulillah” (Thank God!), “Juliet”, his babe, biological mother to me, and my name.
Whirl! Now, twirl!
I know. I know I am so very much Blessed.
I am the daughter of the Seed Bearer.
And to me, my darling Abusamra is by breath the Rose of my Life.
To me, the Damascene Rose…
Cradle of Humanity
Petals of my life
Photos @Facebook Media Source:
Lady Photographer Ghadeer Hamdan
Levant Cafe Damascus, London, Manchester