Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Rose Red City - PETRA, JORDAN

Today was like any other winter day in Florence, cloudy and surprisingly warm. I was expecting rain but nothing came from up above, it kind of dissapointed me. Sometimes I like rain, being home under a blanket, watching some good program on TV, a good movie perhaps and inocently falling asleep... a dream takes me to a far away place...anywhere I desire. Amazing, how there is no rules...You can go anywhere you'd like. My imagination took me to Petra, Jordan. The following is what I remember...I was trying to find a way to the lost city that I only read about. I saw a narrow, winding pass between towering walls, as I walked frightened, not knowing what will be in my sight. Then ,swiftly, I noticed something that blew my mind, it was a hallowed sight, something I've never seen before, a dream or reality, enchanting, mesmerising...taking each and every breath away....the enterance to an ancient magnificence....the city of PETRA.





Enterance to the forbbiden city. The end of the Siq, with its striking  view of Al Khazneh ("The Treasury")  





 
The Treasury-hewn into the sandstone cliff.
MARVELOUS! I can't get enough of this site! It's surreal!!!  

My dream ended here, in front of an enterance to the Treasury...reality hit me and this is what I get...The feeling is ASTOUNDING!





The picture to the left is inside of the Tresury and the one on the right is inside of a church.


Part of a poem about Petra:
It seems no work of Man's creative hand,
By labor wrought as wavering fancy planned;
But from the rock as if by magic grown,
Eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
Where erst Athena held her rites divine;
Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
That crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
That first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
Which Man deemed old two thousand years ago.
Match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
A rose-red city half as old as time.

- By John William Burgon (1845) -


FACTS ABOUT PETRA: 
 
- the home of the Nabateans, is a complete city carved in stone. The huge rocks are colorful, mostly pink, and the entrance to the ancient city is through a 1.25 km narrow gorge in the mountain—called the Siq.
 
- In the city are various structures, all are carved into rock, including al Khazneh – known as the Treasury – which has been designated as one of the "New Seven Wonders of the World" by the for-profit New Open World Corporation.
 
-Other major sites of interest in Petra include the Monastery, the Roman theater, the Royal Tombs, the High Place of Sacrifice.
 
- Petra, which means "stone or rock" in Greek, may have had a population of between twenty and thirty thousand people.
 
- For seven centuries, Petra fell into the mists of legend, its existence a guarded secret known only to the local Bedouins and Arab tradesmen. Finally, in 1812, a young Swiss explorer and convert to Islam named Johann Ludwig Burckhardt heard locals speaking of a "lost city" hidden in the mountains of Wadi Mousa. In order to find the site without arousing local suspicions, Burckhardt disguised himself as a pilgrim seeking to make a sacrifice at the tomb of Aaron, a mission which would provide him a glimpse of the legendary city. He managed to bluff his way through successfully, and the secret of Petra was revealed to the modern Western world.
 
( Facts were found online!)

Monday, February 22, 2010

Red Rose

I wrote this story a few years ago and  I would like to share it. It's about a man's intoxication with his beloved. Enjoy!


“Softness is the petals of a rose
Sweetness is the flavor of your lips
The beauty of your eyes, of passion
Turns my heart into those, the petals
Of a rose.”

On this table there is a red rose. I need a cigarette. Intoxicate me, please. I listen to some odd noise coming from far away. I lost myself in some spurious thoughts, shivering in fear just when I think about it. I see her again. In a dress made of smoke, she’s coming towards me. She’s bizarre and I never know what she thinks. Her eyes are mysterious, her lips are a secret. I don’t want to yearn for her. I don’t want to hate myself for wanting her. I just cry. Give me a cigarette, please. It’s hard for me to walk throughout the day. Bitter and dishonest. Love is not on my side. Love is distant and she doesn’t care. On this table there is a rose, withering. Somebody is approaching me through my nightmares. Some person. What is it this time? Who? Rose flickers in the sight of this wonderful woman. She’s crawling through the fresh grass and poisonous bush appearing in front of me. I cry, again. She’s sliding silently, toward my face with her mouth wide open. I’m terrified. I see her tongue coming out. It’s long and soft. She licks my tears away. That brings hope but it will be gone almost immediately, I know. I am a rose and I shake from sorrow. I notice her again in a dress of smoke. She’s smiling, holding me closely and I don’t know what this means. I’m on the edge of madness because of love. She gives me some unusual kiss. Again, I’m not sure what it meant or if it was a genuine kiss. What does the whole thing mean? I’m a rose, contemptuous and shivering and I need ease. Some feeling went through me like lightening strike me. She lets go of me and starts observing, altering her face expressions. Goddess, a dream, beautiful dream that you desire and delightful being you want to touch and smell that makes you curl from sadness, pleasure and excitement.


“I am a rose”, she repeated after me.

“I am a rose”, she repeated quietly, sobbing.

We are roses. We shiver, and we probably will never be one rose. All that’s left is fascination, some twisted enchantment. That’s probably the lack of nicotine. Everything is someplace where we are not, far away. A place we left, destroying all our possibilities, we will never come back to. At least not like this, in this form. Her picture slowly becomes visible, somewhere. Mine as well. Smoke. I need smoke. I need her, now, more than ever. Maybe everything is a lie but that doesn’t mean anything, I need that. That’s what’s essential. I am a rose. We are roses. Frightened. Shuddered. We are smoke and poison. We are gloomy and desperate. Lie down and don’t ever leave.

By Me

Love Letters

Love can be expressed in a myriad of different methods, but the most timeless and most treasured will always remain the classic love letter. I often think about the greatest love letters ever written by Napoleon, Beethoven, Cathrine of Aragon and many others . All the love felt, was written on a piece of paper and delievered by hand to the loved ones. Sometimes I wish I lived in those times where this pure form of love continues to linger in a pen. I just think it's more romantic to have something written on a paper to the person we love, adore (family, a friend, or a beloved). Those word stay there to live forever, even after we are gone. Our deepest emotions that nobody can take away from us.

I am listening to Mystic Diversions - Josephine and it reminded me of Napoleon's letter to his beloved Josephine Beauharnais :

" I awake all filled with you. Your image and the intoxicating pleasures of last night, allow my senses no rest. Sweet and matchless Josephine, how strangely you work upon my heart. Are you angry with me? Are you unhappy? Are you upset? My soul is broken with grief and my love for you forbids repose. But how can I rest any more, when I yield to the feeling that masters my inmost self, when I quaff from your lips and from your heart a scorching flame? Yes! One night has taught me how far your portrait falls short of yourself! You start at midday: in three hours I shall see you again. Till then, a thousand kisses, mio dolce amor! but give me none back for they set my blood on fire. "

Dec. 29, 1795












To Bibeya, from Gimil-Marduk:
 May Shamash and Marduk grant you, for my sake, to live for ever. I write this in order to enquire after your health. Let me know how it goes with you. I am now settled in Babylon but I am in great anxiety because I have not seen you. Tell me when you will come, that I may rejoice. Come in the month of Arakhsamna (November). May you, for my sake, live for ever.


This is a Babylonian Love Letter 4,000 Years Old. I read the article on it in the New York Times. Truly amazing, it was written on a clay brick in Babylonia.  Link 4,000 Years Old Love Letter .

An Eternal Love Story

I’ve been thinking about a place where I’d like to go and explore its enchanting beauty and one popped in my head, Agra, India. I’ve read many books on its history and the Mughal Empire, which began in the 16th century and ended in the mid-19th century. One thing that stands out from this part of era is the most unique monument in the history of the world, Taj Mahal. The monument is a saga of love, dedicated to one woman, Arjumand Banu Begum or best known as Mumtaz Mahal. Her husband Shah Jahan built it for her and it stands for love, companionship and memories. Do men like this walk the Earth nowadays, I wonder?

Mumtaz Mahal & Shah Jahan



Taj Mahal- In its purest form.
The construction of the Taj commenced in 1631 and was completed in 1653

" As a tribute to a beautiful woman and as a monument for enduring love, the Taj reveals its subtleties when one visits it without being in a hurry. The rectangular base of Taj is in itself symbolic of the different sides from which to view a beautiful woman. The main gate is like a veil to a woman’s face which should be lifted delicately, gently and without haste on the wedding night. In indian tradition the veil is lifted gently to reveal the beauty of the bride. As one stands inside the main gate of Taj, his eyes are directed to an arch which frames the Taj.




Red Fort in Agra. This was their home
 
 

Beautiful architecture, leaves me speechless...







Arjumand was one lucky woman!


On a full-moon night,
Taj bathes bare with immortal grace
in the cool serene waters softly shining,
like a moonlit dreamcarved in white grandeur.

Marbled mausoleum gathers dust of endless love
of Mughal imperial lovers and sweet scent of sleeping jasmines
lingers on the calligraphed graves while pearly dew drops
caress the majestic marvel, in misty opaque twilight.

When night sings lullaby, and moon sleeps on
pillow of cushiony-clouds monument of unparalleled love
guarded by the emerald-green groves,
pruned so meticulously sheds pristine tear drops
on the weathered pages of history.
Copyright 2008 © By Bharat Trivedi


I found and read this beautiful poem written by Bharat Trivedi. Through his words I feel as if I am there eyewitnessing an enternal love and loosing myself in the beauty of Taj.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Greek Goddess Iris

Since Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her sacred flower is considered the symbol of communication and messages. Greek men would often plant an iris on the graves of their beloved women as a tribute to the goddess Iris, whose duty it was to take the souls of women to the Elysian fields.




Beautiful Drug

Tonight, I can't hear the rain drops anymore. The rain must have stopped. I've put the flowers right next to the window to get light in the morning. I figured, it was gonna be cold for them to stay outside all night, and I'd hate for them to die. Gotta keep the life in them go on through this bitter winter. I'm enjoying a glass of wine and listening to Thievery Corporation. I love their music, it's so relaxing, makes my mind wander even more...to the stars and back!

Daydreaming of Spring

I have been living in Florence, Italy for the past 5 months. I adore this city and it's essential beauty. Everything about Florence captivates my mind. Its culture, art...it's all there on display in front of my eyes and I can't help but wonder how many "strangers" in this city feel the same way. If they even do...?
Today is Sunday, it was a sunny morning until the dark clouds sorrounded the city and kicked the sunshine out of the sky. But before the rain started, I got out on my big terrace and together with my charming boyfriend started the process of cleaning, which I enjoy very much. The terrace is empty now, due to the winter that brought heavy rain and winds that circulated throughout Florence. We cleaned the terrace almost completely and rearanged the flowers pots. I always saw my mom plant the flowers in the pots and change the soil, but I never tried to do it before. Today was my first time and yes, I did a good job! I bought three different flowers yesterday, now they are breathing fresh air outside. They made me think of  la primavera (spring) and its charm. I love spring...everything about it, I love. Awakening of the first flowers, warm breeze on my skin, the smell of honey in the air...I daydream alot about this magical season and I am so excited that it will knock on this city's door SOON!

I wish to have a garden like this one day

I love typical Tuscan gardens. Flowers, of many colors, beautiful statues and fountains !!! What more would one want? If I had one like this, it would make me feel like I'm living in Rinascimento (The Renaissance), which actually began here in Florence in the 14th century!

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers
is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely
as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.




I really want to clean out my closet and put away the winter collection! I am "craving" a dress.

I love this picture. The front door of a Tuscan villa covered in colors.


It's time for spring, butterflies, sweet scents, honey and bees, happy colors, music, cold drinks and great love poetry!

" A flower's fragrance declares to the whole world that it is fertile, available and desirable. It smell remind us in vestigial ways of fertility, vigor, life-force, all the optimism, expectancy, and passionate bloom of youth. We inhale its ardent aroma and no matter what our ages, we feel young and nubile in a world aflame with desire." By Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses


When bright flowers bloom
Parchment crumbles, my words fade
The pen has dropped...
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