Sentimental 

The things one finds in the top dusty shelves of closets. The most forgotten unforgettable things💔
I’m such

A sentimental thing

A girl who 

Cannot help but bring

Across the world

A little toy

Meant for a little 

Girl or boy

A puppet

That her father bought 

Now tangled up 

And full of knots

See, every single 

Business trip

He’d sneak into her room

And slip

A gift

From Hamley’s🤠

At her feet

And tuck her in 

her Carebear sheets🌈

That’s how this puppet

Came to be

A symbol 

Of his love for me

And now I pack

Her tangled limbs

To go back home
:

:

But not to him

 

 

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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.

Type A vs B

img_7319

I’ve always been an A

Though I love the letter B

Fewer edges, softer curves

And closer to the C 🏖

 
Sure, As are full of drive

Aggression to succeed

But Bs are so relaxed

At their not-so-break-neck speed

 
As climb up and up and up

To reach the lonely top. ⛰

Where Bs will smell the roses 🌹

Laze around, just breathe and stop

 
It’s true that in the end

As make a lot of money 💰

But Bs build hives and lives

Bs make our homes 🏡 and honey  🍯

Home

superthumb

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

Paralysis

aleppo

This will be clumsy, stilted, contradictory

It’s a reflection of how I feel

It’s my best

I have not been able to write for a few days..or enjoy eating, or sleep well

How dare I, when people are being massacred in Aleppo?

I know that my sleepless nights, my fasting, my paralysis does nothing to help them

but how dare I live as if nothing is happening?

how dare I write about anything else?

but how dare I write about it?

what do I know about it? about their suffering?

I feel Iike I’d deserve it if they spat in my face.

I’m not writing about Aleppo

It’s too huge, anything I say is inadequate, disrespectful

I’m writing about my paralysis

But how dare I?

How selfish to think about myself and write about my own misery?

Maybe it will mobilize me to do something useful..but what? Maybe it will touch other paralyzed souls.

I’m sorry for this disjointed incoherent message

It’s my internal dialogue, spilling over onto the screen

It’s the vicious cycle that has been my home this week..no its been my home for a long time, but like a chronic disease,  like a volcano.. it flares up and goes dormant. It is the same disease, though it has many faces: Syria, Palestine, Egypt, Iraq, Afghanistan, Bosnia.. It has other faces, of other countries I’m guilty of not knowing enough about.…it may be my own country one day. It feels like all these countries are my own..but how dare I say that..from the comfort of my heated home, from beneath the warm covers of my cosy bed. This waxing and waning disease that paralyzes me has been my home since the Gulf war at least. I was in second grade then. I know that I know nothing of real war. I only got a whiff of its smoke, inhaled -moreover -through the privilidged filter of  a gas-mask, something the less fortunate did not have. We heard of war, but we only heard the sirens -not the bombs.. well, not that I can remember.

My paralysis..It flares up when reality seeps through the barriers I build

I know, how dare I build barriers to protect myself when others suffer? -Guilty

My paralyzed state goes into remission when- in exhaustion, I retreat, and bury my head in the sand-Guilty again

My inaction is not born out of no action

It is the result of actions so strong-so strongly pulling me in opposite directions

It tears me apart

fight -flight

give to charity- but whats the point?

anger -shame

they should- we should

speak- but what is there to say?!

spread the word, the images, the videos- but doesn’t that feed into the collective sense of despair and  hopelessness..and more paralysis

How can I be hopeless?

but how dare I say: everything is going to be ok

what do I know?

even if I believe the most terrible things happen for a reason

Can I say that to those over there? who may have lost all faith

Would I lose faith if I lost everything?

I don’t know..

All I know is that an image of child in the rubble..is an image of my child dead

And a video of a girl hugging her doll, or asking where her father is..is a video of my child too

But it’s not

so how dare I say that?

Guilty

Guilty

Guilty

Paralysis

My secret world

pegasus

I tiptoe into the house

sneak past my children playing in the living room

dash to my room and lock the door

I’m so so tired, you see. Today, I just can’t make the instant switch from doctor to mother. Babies died today at work. I soaked up a lot of tears. I’m so tired.

In my room, I kneel on the floor, then I lift my prayer rug, peeling it away from the ground..to reveal the trap door underneath (don’t tell. It’s a secret..what? you want to come and see? OK, just this once, then..come along)

I go down the steps that wind down down down in the twisted spiral of time. By the time it turns into a slide, I’m 19 again, and poof! I always love this part..I land onto a bed of feathers.. and bubbles rise to the sky when I arrive..for no reason other than that I wish it.

I throw myself back and spread my limbs, eyes closed. Can you smell the pine needles and forest? Can you hear the silence that’s not silent? that’s filled with birdsong, and rustling leaves and running water..and a distant music..it’s the flute. that would be my instrument if I had one.

Hello, Pegasus! you always greet me. The horse nuzzles me so I open one eye to peer up at him. What? enough laziness, you say? Do you have any idea what my day has been like? But Ok, lets go for a ride, let’s outrun my past..and push away my future for just a few moments longer..I already hear the banging on my bedroom door..the children are calling me … but I’m not ready to go back just yet.

I close my eyes against the wind, and let Pegasus lead. We fly above this Mystical world of mine.. The fairies race with us, the mermaids wave to us from the ocean below..I won’t have time to switch into a fairy or a mermaid today..but I promise myself I’ll be back soon for an extended visit with my friends. Oh, there’s Peter Pan! I wave back at him (ha! my sister will be jealous I got to see him).

Pegasus, always responsible, circles back-he loves my children you see,  though he only knows their laughter, and my stories of them. He lowers his head down to my bed of feathers. Reluctantly I slide off his back.. I open the trap door above me and imagine trudging back up up up my twisted stairwell of time.. it seems a long way back up to 32… but then I hear my children’s squealing laughter..hmm someone is being tickled.. I race up the steps full of new energy again..just in time to catch the game 🙂

image:
https://www.google.ca/search?q=fantasy+world&safe=active&espv=2&biw=1534&bih=795&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwifh8rn1u3QAhXIgVQKHWrdATAQ_AUIBigB#safe=active&tbm=isch&q=pegasus&imgrc=vAPHMA1vAlR1CM%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:

fullsizerender1

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

Reckless

image-1

What was that?!

The park bench is moving

No, a man

A big grizzly man

With glazy eyes

Walking towards me

Shoot! Shoot! shoot!

I should have listened to my friends

Telling me not to go out at 5 am

But it’s so early

.. or so late

No one around

Still dark

Stupid stupid stupid!

Ok

Walk calmly

Throw back hood to increase peripheral vision

Head phones out

Can I use them as a cord?

Ok,

Flight, fight, or freeze?

Stand still and scream?

Hold breath and run?

I’m not a screamer

Might be a runner

Definitely a freezer

And fight? You must be kidding

My black belt is an expired joke

Can’t look over my shoulder

Or break into a run

Cuz then

The chase is on, right?

But I don’t now if he’s miles away

Or breathing down my neck

Pray pray pray

Don’t want to be in the news today

I look over my shoulder

He’s back there

Far away now

By the park bench

Phew

Ok

I’ll stop going for these reckless walks at 5 am

…Someday

Soon

Promise

It’s getting too cold anyway

:

:

Sigh,  the thing is,  I Relish my walks at dawn. Though I don’t want to stupidly invite my death, these walks…they just fill me up with life.