Ta’if
A summation of self-quarantine: it’s boring and mentally draining and I’ve found myself more often than not staring blankly at my phone without any idea of what I’m actually doing. But it’s preferable to getting (or spreading) COVID-19, and props to everyone who has to go out and put themselves in harm’s way for the benefit of others. This first full week of self-quarantine has been a lesson in patience for me, as well as a lesson in gratitude.
“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”
One thing quarantine has given me, though, is time to work on a new project - the new book I’m writing. Still not much to give away, but I’ll share a few scenes below.
I climb off you and head to the bathroom and sit.
The porcelain is cool against my skin, and I’m pissing but I don’t realize it. I’m staring at the door, and there are swirls in it, swirls like fingerprints or the bathroom door in my basement in Chicago, and I’m pissing.
I close my eyes, and you’re still inside me. All we are is hip bones.
The Prophet Muhammad went to the city of Ta’if to invite the people there on the path of Islam, to walk beside him in holy light, with Allah against the evils they feared.
The people of Ta’if worried about retaliation from Mecca where Muhammad had been rejected, and the elders sent him away while instructing villagers and children to pelt him with stones as he left.
Crowds gathered and heeded the words of the village elders. As Muhammad left the city of Ta’if, he was stoned, and he bled, and yet he walked. He bled until his shoes clotted, yet he walked.
He walked.
I’m pissing, and there is blood, and I ignore it. I ignore it like I ignore sirens and earthquakes and the desperate way you say my name. The way you hold me when it’s over, when anything is over, and I ignore that you’re afraid.
I wipe, and I flush, and I stare at the bathroom door.
We are at an impasse.
We meaning me and this door, meaning me and always this door, and you are my Gabriel. You would lay waste to this door if I asked, if I made any mention of it at all, and you would salt the earth our apartment was built on if you knew, and you do know, you know some things but never all.
I open the door, and I walk back to you.
I walk.
Super excited to be writing about religion again, as it’s something that has constantly fascinated me. The stories we tell ourselves, and the ways in which we view the beginnings and ends.
Gratitude
I added a new section this week!
Things I like about myself:
I try to be kind to others
My empathy
My passion for writing and language
Things I’m grateful for:
Work-day distractions
Late night parking lot walks
Cherry blossoms
Things I’m working on:
Liking myself
Asserting myself
Understanding that my job shouldn’t control my perception of myself
Memes (!!)
