Share With Me...

Note: Once again something that Michael has written has struck a cord with me, hence why I am sharing this post. After reading it, it got me to thinking about how people not only view me; but also if this could be seen to be anything like me... He added a note after that made me think even more; I'll start the post with the note & you can all see what you think...

Note: A friend just called me joking that this was about him. I need to clarify that this is NOT about anyone. I just got to thinking about how much we share with other people on the Internet, and I got to wondering how much people really, truly empathize or not?
It seems paradoxical that we can often be emotionally intimate with strangers while struggling for emotional closeness with those we share air with.

Share with me
All the details of your life
How you used to love your wife
Just how fucked up you got
If your co-worker is hot
What you had to eat
The cancer can't be beat
Dog sprained his knee
The kite is in a tree
You feel a little down
Awfully scared of clowns
Just dropped some pills
But you think they were Advil's
Why you can't get laid
How much you don't get paid
That love is out of reach
A charity beseech
Daddy never understood
Momma had a heart of wood
Sister is greedy whore
Junkie brother at the door
Husband is a drunken lout
Sadly for you I just signed out

Nerd A Claus....

Again, I would like to share a post my facebook friend Michael Mclarty shared with me. His writing is sharp, clever and funny; and unlike me has a way with words... Please enjoy his musings, and feel free to comment; I will make sure he gets them!

Note: My friend Christopher Welsh, famed author of the Houdini graphic novel, recently asked me for my address in order to send a Christmas card. What started off as a lark reply became something a little more serious in it's own way, and in my hubris I found it worth sharing. The value of that sentiment, as always, is yours to decide.)

Where do I live?

You can find me where two geeks are arguing about Kirk vs. Picard, The Ewok Christmas Special, or if Dawn of the Dead (2004) is superior to the original.

I reside in the heart of the gamer hunched over a computer screen for 12 hours whose sole goal is to loot a purple sword, as his current blue one is found lacking.

I am sitting around the table where oddly-shaped dice are rolled by pudgy, aging gamers pretending to be hobbits, vampires or Jedi.

I am on forum boards of all stripes and flavors, I am in a bidding war for an authentic Blade Runner movie prop signed by Rutger Hauer.

I can be found at conventions asking Edward James Olmos about his character motivation in Episode 17 of Battlestar Galactica, or being raunchy with my friends and stating which Disney princess we would most like to "do" (Ariel, btw).

I am in the bookstore looking for a post apocalyptic novel I heard about, at the theater eagerly anticipating the start of a horror movie.

I am downloading a ringtone that plays the Thundar the Barbarian theme song, I am creating a fan site for the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon, I am quoting Excalibur orMonty Python for the thousandth time in my life.

Where do I live?

I live in the hearts and souls of people who never quite "grew up" all the way, who still find childish wonder and amazement in at least some fanciful aspect of life, be it real or imaginary. And even if we will never truly be caped crusaders, zombie hunters, or knights of old, we carry with us a spark of magic, kindled in us as children, that we hope to pass on to the next generation.

If some look on us with pity, the true pity is reserved for them. For they have lost that sense of joy found in a simple game of cowboys and Indians, or in storming a cardboard box that has transformed into a castle of stone wherein lay a dangerous dragon and beautiful princess in need of rescue. They have not "grown up", for that implies a strengthening of something. No, they have 'grown down'. They have lost the magic.

Yes Chris, there is a Nerdaclaus, and he wishes you all the magic you can possibly fathom.


Merry Christmas,

Mike

Rumi Odes:~ I Got You Now...

(© Copyright Shahram Shiva. All rights reserved. Do not duplicate without permission.
Simple sharing on social networking sites or personal blogs are OK with proper source credit.)

My face free of sorrow,
my mouth full of wine,
my clothes torn off my body.

Look what you've done to me now.
He says, that's what I do.
I tear away the layers.
I melt the shame.

I reveal the unrevealed.
He moves too fast.
One breath, he is outside the window.
Next breath, he is inside my shirt.

I can't think clear,
my mind is not here,
he is all I see.
NOW!

There is new life in me.
The seven heavens cannot contain him,
but he is here, moving up my shirt.
Pop, one button here.
Pop, one button there.

This lion of God watches over me, I sing as he roars.
He says, I've got you now.
I gave you life, I created you,
I do what I want now.

I am your harp, play me easy,
play me hard, or don't touch my strings at all.

You know! I think,
I've got YOU now.
Before I met you, I had only one heart,
I had only one body, I was only being.
But look at me now,
I've got you now.

Rumi Quatrains....

(© Copyright Shahram Shiva. All rights reserved. Do not duplicate without permission.
Simple sharing on social networking sites or personal blogs are OK with proper source credit.)

To Love is to reach God.

Never will a Lover's chest feel any sorrow.

Never will a Lover's robe be touched by mortals.

Never will a Lover's body be found buried in the earth.

To Love is to reach God.

====================================================

You think you are alive because you breathe air?

Shame on you, that you are alive in such a limited way.

Don't be without love, so you won't feel deal.

Die in love and stay alive forever.

====================================================

My head is busting with the joy of the unknown.

My heart is expanding a thousand fold.

Every cell, taking wings, flies about the world.

All seek separately the many faces of my love.

====================================================

The Lover is ever drunk with Love.

He is mad, she is free.

He sings with delight, she dances with ecstasy.

Caught by our own thoughts, we worry about everything.

But once we get drunk on that Love.

Whatever will be, will be.

====================================================

Love is best when mixed with anguish.

In our town, we won't call you a Lover if you escape the pain.

Look for Love in this way,

welcome it to your soul

and watch your spirit fly away in ecstasy.

====================================================

The Lovers will drink wine night and day.

They will drink until they can tear away the veils of intellect

and melt away the layers of shame and modesty.

When in Love, body, mind, heart and soul don't even exist.

Become this, fall in Love, and you will not be separated again.

====================================================

We are all powerless by Love's game.

How can you expect us to behave and act modest?

How can you expect us to stay at home, like good little boys?

How can you expect us to enjoy being chained like mad men?

Oh, my Beloved, you will find us every night,

on your street, with our eyes glued to your window,

waiting for a glimpse of your radiant face.

====================================================

This world is no match for your Love.

Being away from you is death aiming to take my soul away.

My heart, so precious, I won't trade for a hundred thousand souls.

Your one smile takes it for free.

====================================================

I sipped some of love's sweet wine, and now I am ill.

My body aches, my fever is high.

They called in the doctor and he said, drink this tea!

Ok, time to drink this tea.

He said, Take these pills!

Ok, time to take these pills.

The doctor said, and get rid of the sweet wine of love's lips!

Ok, time to get rid of the doctor.

====================================================

Calm in the Midst of Lightning... Poems by Rumi.

When the love-lion wants to drink our blood,
we let him. Every moment we offer up
a new soul. Someone comes to collect
the turban and the shoes.

Calm in the midst of lightning
stands the cause of lightning.

The way I look is so fragile,
yet here in my hand
is an assurance of eternity.

A snake drags along looking for the ocean.
What would it do with it?

If, for penance, you crush grapes,
you may as well drink the wine.

You imagine that the old sufis
had dark sediment in their cups.
It does not matter what you think.

The flower that does not smile
at the branch withers.

Shams Tabriz rises as the sun.
It is night now.
What's the point of counting stars?

Spilled Speech.... Poems by Rumi.

As everyone drifts off to sleep,
I am still staring at the stars.

Separation from you does have a cure.
There is a way inside the sealed room.

If you will not pour wine,
at least allow me half a mouthful
of leftover dregs.

Secretly I fill my sleeve with pearls.
When the love-police detain me,
let your moon come down
and hold me in its arms.

Officer, I know this man.
I will take him home.

Let my wandering end as the story does
of the Kurd who loses his camel.

Then the full moon comes out,
and he finds what he lost.

These rocks and earth-forms
were originally sun-warmed water,
were they not?

Then the planet cooled
and settled to what we are now.

The blood in our bodies carries
a living luminous flow,
but watch when it spills out
and soaks into the ground.

That is how speech does,
overflowing from silence.

Silk on one side,
cheap, striped canvas on the other.

Well I Never....

While sorting out a load of stuff in my quest to find my Christmas card list, which as most my friends will know is not something I enjoy doing; I came across a card from an old friend.

He was a lovely chap and was really into Riki (or however the hell you spell it) and poetry; in particular works by Rumi... (For more info, check out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rumi) His works appeal to the romantic side of me; and could easily be mistaken for something one lover writes to another, strange then that they are actually written to God... but then I guess for some, this is a loving relationship.

Anyways; I would like to share some of them with you, hopefully to either inspire you or just make you feel all warm and gooey inside! Hope you enjoy and feel free to explore more of his works!

"We know separation so well because we've tasted the union.

The reed flute makes music because it has already experiences changing mud and rain and light into sugarcane.

Longing becomes more poignant if in the distance you can't tell whether your friend is going away or coming back.

The pushing away pulls you in."