The Beauty of Pain

It hurts, yes it does.

The pain is sometimes overwhelming, other times I am ignoring it. The pain never goes away; it is just how I look towards it that makes the difference. I could never forget that dream, when there I stood under thy right wing and that drop fell on my forehead. It was so painful and so beautiful in the same time. I knew then that I would be vexed. I knew I had to take up my cross bravely even though it will hurt me to the bones.
May be it was the way You wanted me to see how beautiful is pain. In the middle of the most painful moments, when I felt that I am at the end of my rope it felt so beautiful, because You were there. The more the Cross was getting heavier, the more your hand lifted me up and the more I saw how beautiful my pain is. It is so weird, that now I feel so attached to my pain, that I am scared if I lose that reason of pain in my life, I will no longer see the beauty, I will no longer feel that close to you.
Even though, I pray everyday that you take my pain away, yet may be if you do I will feel more vexed. Since it started a few years ago, it was as if it was digging right through my heart a bit by bit, just like a tiny drop of water that pushes against the rock to make a river. I pushed it hard, hard away. I wanted no more crosses to bear; I thought I had enough pain in my life. I can’t believe how I allowed that tiny drop to keep on falling on my rock, until yes it turned into tiny stream of water then now to a strong river filled with massive currents that is so powerful, painful and extremely beautiful. Through that immense pain that I am through, I saw the infinite beauty.
It is now that I am really scared that you would take my pain away, it is through this pain that I knew what true beauty is.
“Do not stare at me because I am dark, because I am darkened by the sun.” Song of Solomon 1:6.

Run Run Run....

Something happened yesterday that I wanted to share with you. There was a young chemistry professor in the AUC department who was very interested in archaeological chemistry so we had a lot to chat about sometimes. He just joined the university after finishing his PhD and he is in his early thirties, and so he wasn't as ancient as the rest of the chemistry staff. I used to know him well and we had several cups of coffee and discussed, so many things that have to do with chemistry, archaeology, and how terrible are Dr. Askalani's classes. That was almost 18 months ago. Now that I am returning more often to the campus, I saw him several times, but he did not recognise me at all. We walked opposite to each other about 10 times, and he could not recognise me. Every time he passed me by, I just laughed so hard and said...Hmm, it must be the ancient department effect. Coincidently, I went jogging last night after a long hectic day, and to my surprise, he was jogging there as well. He passed me the first time, without identifying me either. The second time, I passed by him and a few meters afterwards, he called me by my name.

"Monica? Is that you?"

"Yes professor, that's me..." I laughed so hard, when he told me how I changed drastically, and that when he saw me around campus he always wondered if I was Monica's sister. Then we decided to go for a very late cup of coffee after a couple of hot showers. We went, and we chatted more about archaeology, chemistry and how terrible were Dr. Askalani's classes.
I asked him, "What made you stop and call me by my name this time?" He answered, "It is by how you made me feel, I always felt that you were so determined, and nothing on earth could steal your enthusiasm, and that's the same that I felt about that same person jogging, your enthusiasm and cheerfulness are contagious."

These words went quite through me more than that of a complement, I remembered my old school teacher who used to terrify me. She taught me for three years, and no matter how hard I tried, I was her worst student. I remembered the harsh punishments, the screaming and mostly that strong fearful chill inside my childish heart. I saw that teacher a few weeks ago, I was giving a lecture about education and cultural heritage and she was attending. The minute I saw her, I just had that chill inside me as if I was still a primary student wearing my school uniform, knee high socks, black hair ribbons, and trapped to recite a Worlds worth poem in our old school classes. Oh dear, I even remembered the smell of the old wooden desks. She recognised me right away from my name, wish she didn't...

After the lecture, she came and told me..."Not one in a million I would have thought that you would make it to that position, you always wanted to play and were good for nothing." I replied, well I am still playing...but now people around me appreciate my playfulness rather than my detention homework that you used to give me. She smiled her mean smile and left...

I have always wondered, what is the impression that I leave on people, do I give them a bitter chill? A sore heart? An angry attitude? Or a friendly feeling? A cheerful breath? Support? I am sure none of us are ever consistent, there were times when I was weak and simply poured my anger on others...and left them with my angry attitude. Other times, I was in my snobbish, arrogant, full of myself attitude, and just left them with a bitter chill.

It is very true the quote that says, "Choose being kind over being right and in the end you will be right" and "the most kind word said is the unkind word left unsaid". From now on, I will be conscious to what I leave on people, regardless of their attitude towards me, remembering that it is never between me and them anyways.

For next time, I jog by a stranger...I should not lose the opportunity to turn into a friend...

Dreams Talking...

Dream Talking…
Since my childhood, I have been always tormented by dreams. I have always dreamt about things that happen to people around me. People that I am strongly attached to or others that are very distant. I have always kept a diary of my dreams, and observed the way they fold. It is very crazy, how our subjective mind treat things around us. I have dreamt of things, which happened the following morning, other happened years afterwards. I tend to think that our subjective mind is not bound to time as our objective mind.
I have also observed people around me and came up with several observations. Those who live active lives exclude spiritual thought and fill their minds with the fascinations of worldly affairs, pleasure and business, dream with less frequency than those who regard objective matters with lighter concern. The former depend alone upon the voluptuous warmth of the world for contentment; they look to money, the presence of some one, or to other external sources for happiness, and are often disappointed; while the latter, with a just appreciation of temporal wants, depend alone upon the inner consciousness for that peace which passes all carnal understanding.
They are strengthened, as were Christ or Buddha. They number a few, and are never disappointed, while the former number millions. Nature is three-fold, so is man, male and female, son, or soul. The union of one and two produce the triad or the trinity, which underlies the philosophy of the ancients. Each one has a physical or visible body, an atom of the physical or visible earth. He has a soul the exact counterpart of his body, but invisible and subjective; incomplete and imperfect as the external man, or vice versa. The soul is not only the son or creation of the human being, but it is the real human. It is the inner imperishable double or imprint of what has outwardly and inwardly transpired. All thoughts, desires and actions enter the soul through the objective mind.
The automaton of the body responds as quickly to the bat of the eye as it does to the movement of the whole body. By it, the footsteps of the person and the very hairs of his head are numbered. Thus, it becomes his invisible counterpart. It is therefore the book of life or death, and by it, s/he judges her/himself or is already judged. When it is complete, nothing can be added or taken from its personnel. It is sometimes partly opened to her/him in his dreams, but in death is clearly revealed.
We all have also a spiritual body, subjective to, and more ethereal than the soul. It is an infinitesimal atom, and is related in substance to the spiritual or infinite mind of the universe. Just as the great physical sun, the center of visible light, life and heat, is striving to purify the foul miasma of the marsh and send its luminous messages of love into the dark crevices of the earth, so the Great Spiritual Sun, of which the former is a visible prototype or reflection, is striving to illuminate with Divine Wisdom the personal soul and mind of a person, thus enabling her/him to become cognizant of the spiritual or Christ presence within.
The objective mind is most active when the body is awake. The subjective influences are most active, and often fill the mind with impressions, while the physical body is asleep. The spiritual intelligence can only intrude itself when the human will is suspended, or passive to external states. A person who lives only on the sensual plane will receive his knowledge through the senses, and will not, while in that state, receive spiritual impressions or warning dreams.

People rarely ever degrade themselves so low that the small voice of the desert does not bring them a message. Sodom and Gomorrah, vile with the debauchery of a nameless crime, were not deserted by the angel of love until the fire which they had lighted in their souls had consumed them. The walls of Jericho did not fall until Rahab, the harlot, had been saved and the inmates had heard for several days the ram’s-horn and the tramp of Joshua’s infantry.The evangelist Jonah, the Sam Jones of Hebrew theology, exhorted the adulterous Nineveh many times to repentance before it fell. David, while intoxicated with the wine of love, from languishing in the seductive embrace of the beautiful bathing nymph, Bathsheba, heard the voice of Nathan. Surely God is no respecter of persons, and will speak to all classes if the people will not stiffen their necks or harden their hearts.
I have also noticed that women dream more often and more vividly than men do, because their dream composition is less influenced and allied to external environments. All dreams possess an element of warning or prescience; some more than others. This is unknown to the many, but is known to the observing few. There are many people who have no natural taste for music, and who do not know one note from another. There are also those who cannot distinguish one color from another. To the former there is no harmony of sound, and to the latter there is no blending of colors. They are heard and seen, but there is no artistic recognition of the same. Still it would be absurd to say to either the musician or the artist: your art is false and is only an illusion of the senses.
One person apparently never dreams; another dreams occasionally, and still another more frequently; none attempt to interpret their dream, or to observe what follows; therefore, the verdict is, ‘‘There is nothing in dreams.’’ (Schopenhauer aptly says: ‘‘No man can see over his own height.... Intellect is invisible to the man who has none.’’) The first is like the blind man who denies the existence of light, because he does not perceive it. The second and third resemble the color-blind man, who sees but who persists in calling green blue, and vice versa.
Once upon a time, I dreamt of seeing a friend walking in my room; the vision was so vivid that I instantly got up and lit the light. After making sure that there was no intruder in the room, I looked to the watch and went back to sleep again. The next day I received the unwelcome tidings that this friend died at the exact moment of the vision.It took me a very longtime to overcome the pain from the fact that I could have done something. I later came to the realization, that no matter what power I can have on earth…I will never conquer or escape the inevitable.

She flies without wings...

In the Memory of Mary...


After stressful times at work, I went out to the desert, to wash my stress away...and there, I went riding and came out with something...

When I ride Meryt (my little mare: Meryt means my beloved in ancient egyptian), this is the world she takes me to. My focus turns inward and my emotions turn on. When I am with my horse, I feel more than analyze, move more than ponder, accept instead of judge.
Her unity with the outside world is so absolute that I have no choice but to follow her into it. I must stop thinking about deadlines and the to do list and the presentation I'm scheduled to give next month because they have no place in the world my equine guide is showing me. I cannot help but open my eyes to what she sees and my ears to what she hears. I note the flicker of a cottontail disappearing into the brush ahead and hear the call of the meadowlark before spotting it. I swim in her quiet.

As minutes tick by to the rhythm of Meryt's hooves, my most timid inner voice begins to speak. It is timid because it is accustomed to being drowned by the clatter of the world I live in. With a horse in my company and a horse in my consciousness, I am guided. Alone with this guide mare, the voice raises itself to remark on the beauty and variability of the creation around me, on the difference even a slight breeze feels brushing my bare arms, on the fact that spring smells like a greeting while fall holds the scent of things past. I find myself reassured that, no matter how much my material world changes, the world Meryt takes me to, offers constants I can return to again and again without ever wearing them out. Making my way through a moment with my horse, I am reminded of what is enduring and what is only passing, and this reminder helps me put my daily challenges into healthier perspective.

While we are journeying, Meryt's animal spirit envelops me. Her breathing rises to match my breathing. Her animal warmth becomes my warmth. If Meryt were not carrying me into her moment, I could find a moment of my own, but it would not be the same. It is in part the softness of fur against my skin, the sparkle of her coat in the sun, and the warmth of her existence warming my existence that lifts me out of the corporeal world and gently sets me in a spiritual one. I become the goddess who is alive to the fullest only when astride her mare.

Meryt have not made me fearless. I am not sure I know anybody who is totally without fear. But my horse have led me toward fearlessness. The physicality required to work successfully with a horse has given me confidence in my body. The uncanny way Meryt reveals my feelings and nature, good and bad, has conditioned me to candour with others and myself.

Horses put distance between me and the trepidations that might otherwise lay hold of me. In their company, I feel my apprehensions falling away and my spirit rising on the updraft of growing confidence. I look around and find I am no longer tethered to the earth. The cares that weigh me down are temporarily lifted. I touch the clouds and hear the whispers of the divine.


The horse is my talisman and my guide. It is the spirit I claim for myself and the leader I trust to carry me beyond my material world into a holier place. The horse is just a symbol of each person's talisman. The guide could never be seen, but can always be dreamt of. We know we have found our own talisman when we touch an image or presence that lifts us out of our material world and carries us so high above it that we begin to see the threads that connect us to the rest of the universe and more importantly to the true nature of ourselves.

On my way back, I listened to the sound track of the Spirit of the Stallion of Cimarron…Mary’s favourite, and remembered her favourite song from the track by Bryan Adams…
These are the Lyrics,
I had a dream - of the wide open prairie
I had a dream - of the pale morning sky
I had a dream - that we flew on golden wings
And we were the same - just the same - you and I
Follow your heart - little child of the west wind
Follow the voice - that's calling you home
Follow your dreams - but always, remember me
I am your brother - under the sun

We are like birds of a feather
We are two hearts joined together
We will be forever as one
My brother under the sun

Wherever you hear - the wind in the canyon
Wherever you see - the buffalo run
Wherever you go - I'll be there beside you
Cos you are my brother - my brother under the sun

I had quite a discussion with a dear friend this afternoon, and so decided to write about it and share it with my closest friends.
I am a pisces, and they are represented by the two fish. The one which everyone sees and the other hidden one.
My hidden fish, I call the Ka...or my other twin, which nobody sees, nobody knows of, and nobody feels.
Perhaps, I want it to be hidden there, in the deeps of the sea, where no noise is heard, where it is far far away beyond reach. It is the fish tendency to stay away from people, and from fishermen.
However, this fish, sometimes comes up to the surface to breathe, but then people around me, are shocked by that fish.
People usually think, that I am an open book, that they can see everything through my hazel eyes....When they get a glimpse of that hidden fish, they are puzzled, and I can see in their eyes endless questions.
I never mean to be a secretive person, but that's my nature as a pisces...
One of my closest friends told me today, "Mon, I've thought that I've known you like the back of my hands for years, but today I feel I am seeing you for the first time".
Isn't this the basic reality about catching fish?
You think you've caught the fish, but you open your hands to only find water and sand.
Just for his good or bad luck, my Ka went out to breathe today, something stimulated it to get out of the deeps of the ocean to fill someone else with endless questions.
Actually, when that fish came out, I felt exposed...but in the same time, felt that fresh air was coming into my spirit.
Since my Ka is meant to return back to the deeps of the ocean, it ran quickly back down down down, until it can't be heard of anymore.
In Ancient Egypt, Amoun was called the hidden one. To make something sacred in Ancient Egypt, you covered it, and made it hidden.
Tones of mummy wrappings, were used to make the body more sacred.
Votive offerings were wrapped as well....
Perhaps, that's the reason, I wrapped my other fish, I hid it in someplace where it can't be reached...
As the ocean is a quite and a mysterious place, my other fish rests there...in the realm of unknowingness...until it appears in some other dimension of my life...while crossing another spirit...it could come out to breathe again...