One Muslim

Muslims... there's all kinds of postings out there in the 'la la land' of the internet. I don't offer any comments or opinions; the postings speak for themselves.  But I share one personal experience with Muslims.

First, I will admit that I don't know anything about Islam.  Yes, I have read a book or two but I cannot feel or empathize with the emotions associated with deeply held religious views and customs.  Second, with one exception, I personally don't know any Muslims other than casual business acquaintances.  For example, while in the military over the years I met various officers from Muslim countries, and have had a couple of Muslim clients.  However, I never got to know any of them personally.  This is not because of any reserve on my part; it's just more environmental.  In my life, I have not deal with many Muslims where I've lived and worked.

Having said this, the only Muslim that I know 'well' is a Pakistani TV personality with whom I have been friends close to 20 years now; yet we have never met in person.  In any case, we grew close over the years, shared lots of laughs & dreams electronically, and she has been a good confidant and friend.  She introduced me to William Carlos Williams and so much more.  Thank you, Al Gore, for inventing the internet.

Earlier this year, she posted in her Facebook page the following: 

"Got mugged at gun point at 10:30 tonight parked near OPTP, Boat Basin. The jerk took my wedding and anniversary rings and some cash. So easy to carry guns and commit crime in public places despite an abundance of police and rangers patrolling almost everywhere.

Driving back home, holding my husband's hand I felt no remorse for losing the things, only gratitude which such incidents awaken and make us cherish life and relationships.

A part of me even felt sorry for the mugger...He also has only one life to live...what a waste to live it spreading terror and bad feelings...what a bad choice of life experiences he has opted for. May we all find peace within and around us. Amen."

I posted:

"Sorry about your mugging"

"wanted to say that only you could feel sorry for a mugger"

She responded:

"I actually felt sorry for him. I looked into his eyes and there was just anger and fear and greed. Such a waste of life. I prayed for him and all such people before I went to sleep."

I could only smile... 

***

As I said earlier, I don't know any Muslims other than her.  Yes, there are lots of stories in social media, etc.  But this is the one Muslim I know; and the world is a better place because of people like her.

For:  Abida
By:  Homeless with a Laptop, That is My Name

On St. Valentine's Day ... to Someone Special

On St. Valentine’s Day
                I went to seek my love,
                                up one street
and down another.
                My heart was heavy
                                Because I had nothing to
                                give her.
What should I say?
                The streets were empty
                                so I met no one.

 

Yet I knew she could not be far

              for the sun was shining
                                merrily!
 

Old though you find me

                and penniless,
                                I said to the silence of
                                the garden,
I shall take courage
                for a snow-drop is about to blossom
                                smiling at me
from my own yard,
                smiling, smiling up at me
                                from my own yard.

 

I love you, I love you!
                I said to the flower
                                knowing my love shall not be
                                lost
knowing that I am not mistaken.


By: William Carlos Williams
Thought about, copied and pasted for someone special
by:  Homeless with a Laptop, that is my Name

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmpSWlVdKmo

Shadows

Shadows cast by the street light
            under the stars,
                        the head is tilted back,
the long shadow of the legs
            presumes a world
                        taken for granted
on which the cricket trills.

            The hollows of the eyes
                        Are unpeopled.
Right and left
            climb the ladders of night
                        as dawn races
to put our the stars.

That

                        Is the poetic figure
But we know
            better: what is not now
                        will never
be.  Sleep secure,
            the little dog in the snapshot
                        keeps his shrewd eyes
pared.  Memory
            is liver than sight.

                        A man

looking out,
            seeing shadows—
                        it is himself
that can be painlessly amputated
            by a mere shifting
                        of the stars.
A comfort so easily not to be
            and to be at once one
                        with every man.
The night blossoms
            with a thousand shadows
                        so long
as there are stars,
            street lights
                        or a moon and
who shall say
            by their shadows
which is different
            from the other
                        fat or lean.
 

                        II

 
Ripped from the concept of our lives
            and from all concept
                        somehow, and plainly,
the sun will come up
            each morning
                        and sink again.
So that we experience
            Violently
                        every day
two worlds
            one of which we share with the
            rose in bloom
                        and one,
by far the greater,
            with the past,
                        the world of memory,
the silly world of history,
            the world
                        of the imagination.
Which leaves only the beasts and trees,
            crystals
                        with their refractive
                        surfaces
and rotting things
            to stir our wonder.
                        Save for the little
central hole
            of the eye itself
                        into which
we dare not stare too hard
            or we are lost.

                        The instant

trivial as it is
            is all we have
                        unless—unless
things the imagination feeds upon,
            the scent of the rose,
                        startle us anew.

By: William Carlos Williams
Copied, pasted and loved by:
Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name