The Wonder Box

When you are in the means of transport and you discover the faces of the people around you, and your eyes hike over the hard hills of their complexion, all pulled down and deep inside or up and far outside, all silent, all gloomy, mostly wishing to find a way to escape reality, to have a break from life, and death, to lose count of time, so you find them listening to songs, or to Quran, or to the radio, reading a book or newspaper, playing games on the mobile phone, or checking the Internet or Facebook, looking through the window but for not really seeing anything particular, at least with their eyes, for their mind is most probably occupied, and their mind's eyes are contemplating some past event or some present issue or some future concern, and their facial expressions could change in some moment of spontaneous madness, no matter how hard they try to hide it, one moment it is a smiley face, the other it is totally grumpy, then back to the poker face, and of course there also remains the option of checking the people around back and forth, trying to figure out who they are and what they think about, an attempt not to breach their privacy, for you already value yours very much, but to get closer to them, to their essence, and consequently to yours, lots of scenarios, rarely correct, scarcely of any good sense, but a means to pass time, to get transported from one stop to another, and from one wonder box to another.

Who Am I?

Am I my father's likeness, or maybe my mother's resemblance?
Am I a human being, flesh and mind and soul?
Or maybe a mere container of maps of genes and cells?
My veins and arteries are roads and blood is its passengers.
My bones are the residence and the flesh and muscles are its inhabitants.
And my skin is the stretched coating, covering this whole city!
Am I the only conscious being in this world?
Can I feel what people feel, think about what people think about?
After all, do they feel or think at all?!
What does it take to feel alive? What is meant by 'life'?
Metabolism maybe? Growth? Adaptation? Response to stimuli? Or even reproduction?
So what about sharing, learning, loving, caring, thinking, dreaming, or even blaring?
Am I someone whose ancestors were long ago thrown in this world, a consequence for their sin?
Am I a sinner? Am I a repenter?
The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing.
To err is human, but to err humble is divine!
Are my thoughts the outcome of my body functions or just a means for setting my life course?
My thoughts are my beliefs, my beliefs are my behavior, and my behavior is my attitude!
I am the son of my father and mother, a creation of my Almighty.
I am a conscious being, but not so conscious.
I am rational and emotional, yet relative and not absolute.
My life is a fruit, so fresh and beautiful: not so ripened, but not at all ripped.
Science means everything to me, but so is religion.
My ancestors are me; their sin is the gate to the sanctuary of my repentance.
I am who I am, what I am, and where I am.
Another breath on the wall. A body, mind, and soul.
I am a human being...

All Sorts of Beauty

Beauty .. That permanently sought sense of pleasure and deep satisfaction that overwhelms one's perception. That encouraging quest for excellence in a world suffering from mediocrity. That hopeful search for perfection to cover one's inescapable imperfection. That charming reaction that happens between a human being and something .. or someone .. real or imaginary .. abstract or concrete.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, a well-known saying. Some times relative, other times absolute. But at all times, it depends on you: the beholder.

Beauty of the body or beauty of the mind or beauty of the soul?? A difficult choice, isn't it?!

Beauty of the body is the first your eyes could fall upon. It's natural, for the human being always gives the lead to his sensual dependence. Always trusts his senses (though are deceiving most of the time!). However, despite the fact that such physical beauty could be the favorite to the majority, it is the most distracting and the least lasting sort of beauty. It takes its temporal time and then disappears behind hills of wrinkles and fragility. 

Beauty of the mind is the next on the list. After the human being removes that sensual dust away from his eyes, he sees a higher sort of beauty: mental beauty. Unlike physical beauty, this one lasts with you for a lifetime. Yet, it's changeable. As one goes on living, he keeps on being struck with the violent waves of the angry sea of life. So to keep such beauty alive, you need to be strong enough, clinging hard to properly based foundations, or it will face the ugly fate of corrosion.

Finally comes the beauty of the soul. The highest sort of all beauty. This one is just eternal. It follows you through all your life and then stays even after your life time halts. Unfortunately, not everyone can see it. Not everyone can reach it. And if you have such spiritual beauty, if you can see it in the people around you, and if the people around you can see it in you, then there is nothing else to seek.

So just look around and you'll see all sorts of beauty. Fortunately, you will not have to choose from them, for they are all present in everything in your way. They are all present in everything ..  including you.

The House of Mirrors

A young man, with a wearied heart and a troubled mind, walking across the emptiness. Living in a virtual world. He is trying to break through those imaginary chains. Trying to make his way out to the real world. "I seem to be lost in a house of mirrors!" Imprisoned in a matrix of his own thoughts. An endless maze of inner feelings.

Lots of self-reflections. Lots of doors. Lots of keys. Though all are one!

"I know the path out like the back of my hand." Or that is what he thinks. So he tries to step forward. But he crashes into a wall. Painful it is, depressing as well. "Like I came in, there must be a way out .. This can't be a dead end!" So he tries again. He keeps on trying and trying. It became his only dream, his only vision. It became his only goal, or maybe his only choice.

However, he starts to feel weak and tired. Unintentionally, he looks at a mirror in front of him. Strangely enough, he realizes that he never really focused on his facial features before. He has this dazzled look of someone who seems to be seeing himself for the first time. The brilliant fabric of his countenance. The minute details of his face that are so accurately and masterfully crafted. "Is it myself? Or maybe someone else!"

They say that one's eyes are the gates to his inner soul. They reflect  not only what's in front of you, but what's inside you as well. Gates to the castle of one's face. "How didn't I notice that before?!" He just needed one attentive closer look to realize that there are no mirrors. The mirrors are inside him. There is only one door, only one key, only one way, and only one self. He found he has been living in a world of his dreams! Running away from the miserable and fallen cage of reality to imprison himself in another cage woven from the fine threads of the cheerful and idealistic illusions of the unreal!

So he raises his hand ahead of him like someone who senses his way through darkness. And what darkness! The sunbeams are starting to appear in the horizon ... The clouds are moving aside, the fogs are torn apart. And finally, the gates are open.