Dress Rehearsal

Photo by Brian Ferry

Let me die on a shimmering summer's day, my eyes

burning like torches—aflame, and swallowing

that Eden—my body painted with

skylight, throbbing inside an

endless yawn of clover.

Let me die in the changing wind

of a plummeting evening, my

lips wide with gratitude, my

cheeks firm with authenticity.

Let me die boundless and ageless,

my face smudged with dust from

the hidden stars, and with traces

of places much larger than me.

Let me die… Oh! But then, dying by

design is a battle unto itself—and, as if

I could. As if my perfect plan were nobler

than the tender hover of The Universe as it halts

in mid-whirl, glances in my direction, and mutters,

Come, Beloved. Come!

Meditations on 2012 . . . and Happy 2013!

Photo by Rosana Prada

It has never really been my style to sit back and reflect on changes, accomplishments, or other happenings of life that occurred within the context of a year about to end. An ending year was an ending year, and reflection seemed so cliché and backwards-oriented. However, 2012 has been a bit of a different performance, and by virtue of that, it demands a bit of a different closing curtain. As December slowly winds down, I find myself looking back at 2012 and applauding myself while smiling until my cheeks hurt!

This has been a beautiful year for me… a year filled with personal, academic, and professional change, growth, and achievement. As I navigate the terrain of a new profession, I am filled with both surprise and delight. To be sure, being a psychotherapist is everything I thought it would be… but it is also so much more. There is nothing more sacred in the world, in my opinion, than to be asked to share with someone his or her life’s most intimate, jarring, traumatic, life-altering, existential, and joyful moments. I am completely humbled by that experience, and I am filled with both awe and gratitude for every individual who dared to invite me, a complete stranger, to share that sacred space with her or him.

As my clients (I'm not a fan of the word 'patients') and I scaled, together, the cliffs, plateaus, and summits of life, I scaled, alone, the dunes, quicksand, mirages, and oases of being a doctoral student. I say alone, though I am surrounded by the most supportive group of people anyone could ever imagine: my husband, my family, my friends, my professors, my classmates, and even my clients (yes, they cheer me on!). So, though I am alone in my academic venture, I am not lonely. Still, despite all the support, this truly has been, and will continue to be, a Journey of the Self.

I have learned so much about myself, this past year, and I have accomplished every goal I set… and more… with flying colors! One of the most remarkable things I learned while working on these goals is that we can best enjoy life when we can live it mindfully… in the present … right here… right now. I also learned that life’s most exceptional moments are small, discreet, and undesiring of splendor. 

It is with great optimism, enthusiasm, gratitude, joy… and mindful humility… that I look forward to the coming year… and that I wish us all a 2013 filled with crisp blossoms and sunny horizons. Now, who wouldn’t drink to that?

Happy New Year, everyone!

xoxoxo

Nevine

Narrative Symmetry

Unknown Photographer

Night falls

with orchestral precision.

We sit in the shadows, listening

to the rain outside our window

crash for a distant audience.

And you say, like you have,

so many times before,

Waiting is beautiful.

Is that not so?

But that is your story.

I have my own:

Awake at night,

my fingers tangled

inside my hair,

I wait for you.

Time slices

my longing into

a thousand fragments.

I save them all.

Contretemps

Sculpture by Olga Ziemska

It always begins with

a moment of doubt.

A don’t know.

An unsure.

That is the exacting part.

The part where

the mortar cracks and

the armor falls and

we quest for hidden stones

on the muddy bed.

The part where,

There must be something to this.

I will have the last word,

slips in.

The mind greeds for its victories,

so the words congregate,

and the stories spill.

But stories are

the swaddling clothes

of the wounded ego,

the flawed foils

of a thieved reality.

Promises. Promises.

Come. We deliver.

But one intimation at proximity,

and they smugly demand

we keep our distance.

Only the body discerns

without vacillation.

Only blood is

voiceless and

true.

Everything begins

and ends

here:

Inside this body this life,

this labyrinth this journey.

Inside this vastness this space.

Inside this wall-less temple.

Inside this wordless language.

Inside this chariot without wheels.