The Sun, the Cold & the Old Soul - Prophecy concerning the Sun rising in the West

The Old Soul

The poor is not in poverty,

Rather the rich who fill

Their lives with distraction,

The beautiful in love

With their own pain,

The learned ones

Collecting their degrees of ignorance,

The miserly who gives charity in pittance

Even as the Lord befuddles tyrants

With castles and princesses...

It is they who are sadly poor.

I find no lesson cruel,

but mankind.

And it is not time

that is ancient,

but me, an old soul

coming out of the cold.

Life is not ugly

But for me,

Hate cannot consume me,

But I too will be lost

Confronting hate.

If there is a flame of humanity

Left of me, leaving a scorched mark

On the tapestry of man,

Remember me to God…

That I was just an old soul,

Coming out of the cold,

Seeking His shelter and His forgiveness

That the Prophet and Saints foretold.

Tell him I had no doubt,

That I gave my best

And daily when I awake,

My eyes looked a sun rising in the west.

MORNING COFFEE. I fell asleep early , and I woke shivering in the early morning air chilled by rainstorm and wind the day and night before. I guess waking up alone and cold can make one melancholy. But once I gathered up my fuzzy thoughts, I am myself again, feeling glad and happy. Especially after my morning cup of coffee.

THE SUN RISING IN THE WEST. This is an ancient lore, passed down from master to student, recalling a prophetic tradition that coming to the end of times the Sun shall rise not in the East but in the West. I do not know what this actually means in the physical or metaphorical sense, although I am aware of some speculation.

MY SUNSHINE. Have a lovely Wednesday, sunshine. We may never find out the truth about the prophecy, but at least I am comforted that many of my readers awake in their beds to the West of me. By far the largest number being from the USA, next Malaysia (okay, don't count this!) and followed by United Kingdom, Canada, India and Pakistan. So I guess for me at least, the Sun is indeed rising in the West now. 

Hehehe.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

Your life is a like a ship in a vast sea. And you have a stowaway... Me!

Dear readers,

You are quite lucky to have the very best of me. You don’t have to deal with me on a daily basis, you know. Not with the real me, just my writings. You don’t have to see me at my worse, for I can be cold, hard and cruel. And I can be impatient too. You don’t have to see my face when it is most smug, nor see me turn away, uncaring.

You don’t have to look into my eyes and see envy, and you don’t have to see me eating alone, a glutton. You do not see me disappointing people, being irresponsible and foolish in my 41st year of my life. What you get here is a sanitized version of my life. It is surely the greatest joke that at the end of it all, at the highest apex of my representation to you, all I want to be, all I believe I can ever achieve, is to be a good sinner.

Heche says I write well. But I have stumbled into a sea of melancholy and it is gripping me. I am so melancholic I almost feel French. I hear they are rather good at it.

What do I do, sunshine? What do I do when my writing is better than my living? I must admit that perhaps this blog is a form of escapism. A mad avenue for me to compensate for my real life’s shortcomings. I write and readers read, it almost feels real. Surely it must be real. But is it?

I do not want to waste this posting entirely on melancholy. I love garlic, and I think Paris is very beautiful… but this is not me. Let me trawl my old prose and see what I can come up with. Wait a minute, will you?

Hi, sunshine. Thanks for waiting. I found a rather sweetot little prose which even has a date in it, it sounds rather like this…

12. I am aglow
I am aglow with happiness,
For a sun has risen on my landscape,
And he is shining into every nook and corner,
Banishing the dark that once shadowed me.

Lest, I forget, let me remember this day,
That on the 9th of February 2008,
I felt myself a sailor on a good ship,
With a good breeze behind the sails,
And a good captain at the wheel.

Me and my mates,
Near and far,
I may not see as they see,
And I may not feel as they feel,
But the salty taste in the air is our common communion,
And we know that we are on a sea journey,
Together, traversing an ocean of mercy,
Together, harvesting pearls of wisdom
From her bosom.

I guess its true what the prose says. We are in this journey together. Even if you can only know me through my writings, we are in the same ship called planet Earth. But for a lot of you, you will probably never get to see me. And is shall never have the delight to meet you. Anyways, I am a little tired today, world-weary and confined to my cabin.

So today I leave you to live your life as you wish. To guide your life by that North Star that men call conscience. Sail your life well, sunshine, for wherever you are taking your ship to, you are taking me there too. I will also try to live my life better, sweetness. For wherever I am going, so long as you read my writings, so long as you are sharing my life, I am bringing you with me.

.

Pax Taufiqa.