book

Not sure of a title yet. Maybe QF's Journey or The Heart's Trajectory. Have decided it must be in the first person. Am trying to write it all down and then edit out what caan't be made public, or is possibly too boring. Have gotten up to my children's births. Organization is a challenge. Do you just go chronological or in terms of topic or some other pattern? Any suggestions? I'd love to hear from some of you! Here's part of a chapter:

THE IRANIANS

The ‘78-79 school year began with me at NYU. I was due to graduate in June but would end up needing another half year. I worked part time in a 57th Street gallery and attended classes downtown. I lived with a roomate on 24th St, midway between my two main locations and could walk or take the train. I’d walk if the weather was good and I had enough tiome. It beat the sweat and smells of the subway!

Besides, my walks had a higher purpose lately. They showed me God’s beautiful sky, painted with a different palette each morning. They afforded me time to memorize some of the Arabic prayers I wanted to learn, and their meanings in English. I knew now that God existed and it was only a matter of time before I committed myself to Him.

A few months earlier, a group of students in Iran had taken over the American embassy and held its residents hostage. This was an earth shattering event. No one had ever dared touch an American on any soil. We were the richest, most powerful, most democratic nation on earth.

How dare anyone mess with us? I thought, along with all my countrymen and women. I agreed when presidential candidate Ronald Reagan called the Iranian people barbarians.

The student club fair was held in booths outside the buildings on West 4th Street. I knew there was a Muslim Students’ Association on campus and wanted to find their booth. When I did, I realized all the people there were foreign and asked which countries they came from. There were a few guys from the gulf states, but the majority of them (there were no women present that she knew of) were from Iran. Iran! That traitor state who were holding our people hostage and blindfolded! Anger was rising in her throat but I swallowed it and said, I think your politics stink. But tell me about your religion. A few of the guys chuckled softly to themselves but one of them smiled warmly and said, What would you like to know?

I had many questions, and got the opportunity to ask them over the next few weeks. The Muslim brothers, as they called themselves, invited me to dinner in the school cafeteria and to political rallies uptown at Columbia University. I quickly learned all about the Iranian revolution, Khomeini and his call for an Islamic revival. I met their wives and sisters; strong, fearless girls who believed wholeheartedly in their cause and supported it even from inside enemy territory.

One of the women took a motherly interest in me. Farzaneh came to know that I lived in my own apartment with a roommate and went out on the weekends to parties and other gatherings where there were drugs, alcohol and the whole range of what was available to twenty somethings on the NY social scene. She was concerned and began asking me to come to her apartment in Queens for the weekend. I was curious about how this Muslim woman lived, so I went.

Farzaneh’s Queens apartment was clean, neat and organized. Her furnishings were simple and functional. The overall impression was of a very clean place. Shoes were left at the door and sandals were worn in the bathroom but nowhere else. Meals were eaten on a white tablecloth spread upon the floor. Friends from school often gathered there. After eating, Farzaneh was careful to pick up every crumb that might have strayed to the carpet and then to vacuum as well. She lived alone and seemed happy about that. When I walked into her place, I felt that holiness I’d felt long ago in the temple..ah that elusive feeling was back! I made a mental note to herself about finding and keeping that kind of peace in my life.

Complicated Story

Complicated Story


Today you were a deer in my yard.
A young deer, a faun,
with beautiful, deep brown eyes,
The shining eyes of a horse
With the mischievous glint of a hunter
Promising quite a great ride

I drew him in
And encouraged
With sweet, coaxing words
To let him know how handsome I thought he was
How lovely and how loving!
I praised his absolute beauty and burgeoning power
I told him
You’ll be a horse very soon.


We became friends
I even crossed the neighbor’s yard to reach him
But willed him, foolishly, to turn into You
I wanted so badly for him to come near
that I cried and he ran off.

That’s when I realized
He was you!

Just think of that beautiful riding!
You’d spent all your anger
And earned my repentance.
Then we both got our reward
A wonderful shower of love

To express

The absolute power of love.

7/2/10