The Dream Contract

Nasruddin was fast asleep at nine in the morning.

The sun was in the sky, the birds were singing in the trees and his breakfast was getting cold.

So his wife decided to wake him.

He woke up in a rage.

“Why did you wake me up just now?” he yelled.

“The sun has risen in the sky,” said she,

“the birds are singing in the trees and your breakfast is getting cold.”

“Breakfast be damned,” he said,

“I was about to sign a contract worth a million grammes of gold!”

With that he closed his eyes to recapture his shattered dream and those million grammes of gold.

Now Nasruddin was cheating in that contract and his business partner was a tyrant.

If, on recapturing the dream, he stops his cheating, he will become a saint.

If he struggles to free the people from the oppression of the tyrant he will be a freedom fighter.

If, in the middle of it all,

he suddenly realizes he is dreaming,

he will become Awakened. Enlightened.

What kind of saint or freedom fighter are you if you are still asleep?

The Song of the Bird

Anthony de Mello

Theatres are being built…

No, it is not theatres for arts!

But… Roman ones…

Laurels are being planted…

Wreaths to the victory’s day…

No, it is not monkeys’ circus

But square of lions–leopards wars,

It is not bullfighting yard

But a fight of humans conventions

No, no cadavers for being consumed by hawks

No banquet, unfortunately, for eagles

Men stuck there in the courtyard

Yearn… waiting perhaps

it may aid come from skies

Uncountable audiences

Headless Freaks

Desiring the joy of collapse

Waiting… for the Hour of victory!

Black clothing

Sparkling colours beaming

Incense fragrances

Vessel’s crepitations

Spirituals hymns…

Ritual comedies!

Heads… are slipping … at the dogma’s guillotine!

Voices deaf ears

Petrified… ears…

Violated… desertified… minds…

Dry tongues

Arid lips…

Eyes… devouring standing corpses!

The cup circulates…

Pleasure… by the red drink…

That is… the pride of the victory!

Objects… inebriated reeling

Exclamations repeating

To more… of victory!

Here’s an excerpt:

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We live by interpretations:

Is it not strange that our lives and our systems are basically built on interpretations that we feed ourselves and live for?

Dizziness

Let the rock fertilise to protect us from the fever of dizziness

Fix the moment into eternity

Freeze the wave that hurts us

Into the ogre’s belly

If you truly are

the god of all seasons.

A voice then will whisper:

“What use is it to throw a purple veil

over this cursed vision?”

My soul cried with pain

as cold and dead I walked

across the markets of the city

while crowds were consumed by a ring of fire.

How could I protect them from fire, from dizziness?

Dig more deeply, gravedigger

dig the grave, dig!

Khalil Hawi

(1919 – 1982)

One of Lebanon’s best-known twentieth-century poets. Born in Huwaya (Syria), Khalil Hawi grew up in Shwayr (Lebanon). He studied philosophy and Arabic at the American University of Beirut, and he obtained a scholarship to enrol at Cambridge University, in England, where he was awarded his Ph.D. in 1959. He then became a professor of Arabic literature at the American University in Beirut. Within a few years, he established himself as one of the leading avant-garde poets in the Arab world. His poetry relies heavily on symbols and metaphors and images, and it frequently has political and social overtones. An Arab nationalist at heart, he repeatedly expressed his sense of shame and rage at the loss of Palestine in 1948 and at subsequent Arab defeats at the hands of Israel. He lamented what he saw as the Arab world’s political and cultural decay, and he expressed deep pessimism about the possibility of a true Arab cultural and political revival. After 1975, Khalil Hawi experienced the desperation felt by all Lebanese who had to watch their country’s slow descent into chaos, internal disintegration, and manipulation by outside powers. He was outraged by Lebanon’s inability to stand up to the Israeli army when the latter invaded on 3 June 1982, and he deeply resented the other Arab governments’ silence about the Israeli invasion. He committed suicide on 6 June 1982.

I am leaving

Don’t say a word!

Don’t blink eyelid!

I am leaving!

Not looking for independence

But searching… The warmth…

The freedom…

I am leaving!

Slumber happily!

Sleep peacefully!

And dream that I have wings…

I am leaving!

I wouldn’t tell you this time: Goodbye

But, Will say farewell…

Don’t stand in queue to say goodbye!

Don’t worry

Of about “where”… and “when”…

I am leaving!

Weak, I am…

Poor…

Needy…

Fragile…

I am leaving!

Go to your business!

Do your job!

God takes care of me…

I am leaving!

Erase me from your memory!

Keep your conscience clean

Forget that “I am”!

Don’t announce my death Saying:

“God have mercy on him…”!

I am leaving!

And… who cares…

I am leaving!

Where one finds soul-mate and feels oneself in happiness and comfort…

There are his/her roots!

Enkidu thrust himself at Gilgamesh and they fought in the square.

He came up to Gilgamesh and they met.

Enkidu put out his foot to block the door to prevent him from entering.

They grappled each other, holding each other like bulls.

They broke the door posts and the wall.

They sported like bulls locked together.

They shattered the door posts and the walls shook.

Gilgamesh bent his knee with his foot planted on the ground, and with a turn, Enkidu was thrown.

Then immediately his fury died.

When Enkidu was thrown, he said to Gilgamesh:

“Yes, there is not another like you in the world, Ninsun who is as strong as a wild ox in the byre, was the mother who bore you.

And now you are raised above all men and Enlil has given you the kingship, for your strength surpasses the strength of men!”

They embraced each other and their friendship was sealed.

The eyes of Enkidu were full of tears.

He left sad at heart, weary, and he tortured himself.

His sorrow paralysed the muscles of his throat,

his arms hung down still and his strength had turned into weakness!

Epic of Gilgamesh

(2500 B.C.)

Fernando Pessoa said:

“When I tried to take off the mask,

It was stuck to my face.

When I took it off and looked myself in the mirror,

I had already grown old.”

But I would try to take it off just now.

Wishing that the mirror reflects my youthfulness and freshness.

To come in time is my hope!

There was a woman in a therapy group I was conducting once.

She was a religious sister.

She said to me, “I don’t feel supported by my superior.”

So I said, “What do you mean by that?”

And she said, “Well, my superior, the provincial superior, never shows up at the novitiate where I am in charge, never.

She never says a word of appreciation.”

I said to her, “All right let’s do a little role playing.

Pretend I know your provincial superior.

In fact, pretend I know exactly what she thinks about you.

So I say to you (acting the part of the provincial superior),

‘You know, Mary, the reason I don’t come to that place you’re in is because it is the one place in the province that is trouble-free, no problems.

I know you’re in charge, so all is well.’

How do you feel now?”

She said, “I feel great.”

Then I said to her, “All right, would you mind leaving the room for a minute or two?

This is part of the exercise.”

So she did.

While she was away, I said to the others in the therapy group,

“I am still the provincial superior, O.K.?

Mary out there is the worst novice director I have ever had in the whole history of the province.

In fact, the reason I don’t go to the novitiate is because I can’t bear to see what she is up to.

It’s simply awful. But if I tell her the truth, it’s only going to make those novices suffer all the more.

We are getting somebody to take her place in a year or two; we are training someone.

In the meantime I thought I would say those nice things to her to keep her going.

What do you think of that?”

They answered, “Well, it was really the only thing you could do under the circumstances.”

Then I brought Mary back into the group and asked her if she still felt great.

“Oh yes,” she said.

Awareness

Anthony de Mello