Strip My Skin And Free My Soul. Help Me Turn My Back On My Former Self, Help Me Shine From The Inside

I tend to spend my time in silent contemplation. Contemplating the Divine.

Saints are sinners that learned to live with themselves.

Ha!

I dreamed I spoke in another’s language, I dreamed I lived in another’s skin, I dreamed I was my own beloved, I dreamed I was a tiger’s kin. I dreamed that Eden lived inside me, And when I breathed a garden came, I dreamed I knew all of Creation, I dreamed I knew the Creator’s name. I dreamed–and this dream was the finest– That all I dreamed was real and true, And we would live in joy forever, You in me, and me in you.

Clive Barker, Days of Magic, Nights of War   (via mysharona1987)

Beautiful!

You really should read this. It's powerful stuff.

Read This Short Story About A Famous Persian Poet Returning From The Dead

In the short story “The Accused,” by master storyteller Zakaria Tamer, translated from Arabic and illustrated by Molly Crabapple, the poet Omar Khayyám is brought back from the grave to defend himself

The fat policeman entered the tomb, walked a few bewildered moments, then shouted with a stretched voice: “Omar Khayyám!”

No one answered, so he took a dirty white handkerchief from his pocket, searched in its folds, balled it up, and returned it to his pocket. He shouted grouchily: “Omar Khayyám…Omar Khayyám…You are wanted to stand trial!”

No one answered. The policeman left the tomb and returned to the police station. There, he wrote a report on the events, stressing Omar Khayyám’s refusal to appear in court. He presented his report to his bosses, who scowled in denial and shock. They began to issue orders. They immediately dispatched a number of policemen to the tomb, each carrying a shovel and pickax, and the policemen dug up Omar Khayyám’s grave. They brought Khayyám out from beneath the soil — drooping, dusty, and worn of flesh — and carried him to the courtroom, where he appeared before the judge.

The judge said in a sedate and friendly tone: “You, oh, Omar Khayyám, are accused of writing poetry that praises — and calls for the drinking of — wine. Our countries aspire toward economic independence, thus our laws forbid the importation of foreign goods. Since our countries lack the ability to manufacture wine, your poetry constitutes an incitement of demand for foreign goods — something the law punishes without hesitation. Do you admit and recognize your guilt?”

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“And echoing on the wind are the countless names of those who succumbed in that space beyond our world, the Desert beyond the stars, where ancient words are uttered through cracked lips, never to be heard by any living.”

-A story I have left unfinished, should I continue it?

Amazing, I could watch it all day.

islamophobes are shook

“Great city, pillared and towering Driven deep by God’s wrath and wars In that vast desert still floundering Beyond the ever-burning stars

-Excerpt from “Song of Iram”