Fearless

Irvin Yalom is an existential psychotherapist. He teaches that the amount of one’s death anxiety correlates with the amount of unlived life.
Can you live with integrity? in a way, that is aligned with your deepest beliefs and values? 
Can you always make sure that the most important thing is in fact “the most important thing”?
Can you keep your eyes on the prize?
If you can, then you have a chance that when death comes, you might be able to say: Huh. So, this is the it. So be it. There’s not much I’d change about how I lived my life anyway, and not much I’d change about the rest of my days either.
And that, my friends, would be an amazing way to go.

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Home

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where is home?

is home where you were born?

is it where you wish to die?

is it where you wish to live in between?

is it where you find yourself?

is it the one you love?

is home something you carry with you in your soul?

is it all of these things?

what if these things are scattered all over the earth..and buried under it?

Someone once said to me: once you’ve crossed the ocean, you feel you’re always on the wrong side..

I’ve published these poems about leaving Montreal, which is a home

https://hatsorveils.com/2016/11/20/freefall/

https://hatsorveils.com/2016/10/25/last-snow/

 

and here is a poem about going back home..home-home

They’re contradictory, but true

 

 

As I step off the plane

I let out a breath

one I didn’t know I was holding

Though it’s all beige and bland

with some sea and sand

To my sore eyes

it’s a sight to be-holding (close)

I feel safe despite wars

And breakneck speed cars

I feel fair cloaked in my abaya*

Best of all I blend in

And completely fit in

No longer …a pariah

  • Abaya: long black cloak worn by women in Saudi, over their clothes
  • Finding Your Place
    image:https://www.google.ca/search?q=abaya+in+desert&safe=active&espv=2&biw=1534&bih=837&tbm=isch&imgil=UqzXbGT7hIVkvM%253A%253BkL1Blt0RpFKpaM%253Bhttps%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.tussah.ae%25252Fproducts%25252Fdesert-butterfly-abaya&source=iu&pf=m&fir=UqzXbGT7hIVkvM%253A%252CkL1Blt0RpFKpaM%252C_&usg=__PVDDLVkvCJtsr7E1aDsn5-iqVes%3D&ved=0ahUKEwiWl87l6PvQAhVi34MKHWHlA7YQyjcIJQ&ei=tX5VWNboOOK-jwThyo-wCw#q=abaya+in+desert&safe=active&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg:CX_1do3e6ZoPGIjh46KSYdJK1fbShL8MDSyKP_1-Iv_17sr8gah-r1k8MihRdk6uOEPpdo1VaI-Rmd6t0ZZGmB4Sl03PSoSCXjopJh0krV9EX2LeHl6TyHFKhIJtKEvwwNLIo8RuLx8mCmKyxEqEgn_14i_1_1uyvyBhELbNN6vIzSjSoSCaH6vWTwyKFFEbNk1OMbfynwKhIJ2Tq44Q-l2jURb44ul_1-WoIcqEglVoj5GZ3q3RhGt-igEnioMsioSCVkaYHhKXTc9ETFWDkZT6_1a9&imgrc=f92jd7pmg8bkCM%3A

My father and the sea

sea

It’s such a gift to form a new image, or pretend to have a new memory of a loved one after they die.

*****

30 years ago

My father stood alone

Gazing out at the sea

And someone wrote this about his meeting with Princess Diana:

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I would not have understood then, his charm, his diplomacy, his loyalty

what he was saying

I was only 2

******

25 years ago..

I stood with my father (well, he stood, and my feet dangled over the wall I was sitting on)

Gazing out at that same sea

“Baba, I’m bored, what should I do?”

“Do what you’re doing”

“What am I doing?”

“Looking out at the sea”

“That’s doing something?” I asked puzzled

“Sure it is”

I ignored him and decided to do something “productive” (yes, I’ve had this obsessive streak for quite a while)

I pulled out my book: Basil the Great Mouse Detective, see?

basil

Again, I did not understand what he was trying to teach me, about life, about time, about “being” rather than “doing”

I was only 7

******

But I’m starting to get it now

Starting to gather all his pearls

Strung along the seashore of our past

Lessons I am understanding

Only in retrospect

As I walk in his footsteps

which have been washed away by the tides

I’m starting to get it now

Who he was:

Just a man

Trying his best

to be a husband and father

Probably making it up

as he went along

Definitely making mistakes

as he went along

Just like me

Just like all of us

******

My children don’t get it now

But I’m sure they will

25

…or maybe 30

long-short years from now

******

I miss him 💔  and would love to gaze out at the sea with him one more time,

doing nothing….doing everything that matters.

Wid Kattan

Reference:The Diana Chronicles, Tina brown, 2007, page 271

Ghosting Smoke

smoke.jpg

I recently read a blog entry on “ghosting”, a phenomenon I didn’t know about.. I think it’s  when a person deliberately disappears from your life. Painful.  I imagined the writer’s feelings..and came up with this.

ghosting loves..

disappearing acts..

gone in a whiff of smoke..

 

 

I hold back tears

that clog my throat

feel like I’m going to choke

 

 

Again?!

Again?!

a broken heart?

My love life is a joke

 

 

 

But hope..

it springs eternal

next love, a luck of stroke

 

 

 

Please!

Smoke

 

image retrieved from : smoke

Diamond Sun Heart

To all the people who tell me of their broken hearts,

be it broken by your partner, parent, child, friend..

Your heart is stronger than to ever truly be broken.

I give you this poem.

Give it to yourself.

 

 

I thought

I was broken forever

My heart lost and ruined and gone

But that was before knowing

My heart’s strength,

and then it dawned

My heart was not of glass or stone

But something ever more strong

A brilliant blinding diamond that

Shines more when cut or wronged

As sweet as your breath

As dark as your spell

As seductive the threads you’ve spun

Have you ever heard

Of a blow of breath

To put out the light of the sun?
Shine

Last Snow

 

Today, I witnessed

My last first snow

My first now seems

so long ago

I was not prepared then

No hat, no gloves

Head tipped back

Heart warm with love

I’m not prepared now

To say goodbye

So this time

As it snows..

:

:

I cry

Wid Kattan

Image retrieved from:

https://www.google.ca/search?q=last+snow&safe=active&espv=2&biw=1423&bih=839&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwil3sLAg_bPAhVlyoMKHXMHBPEQ_AUIBigB#safe=active&tbm=isch&q=snow&imgrc=vsxlZmr0GgCqXM%3A