P is for Poetry, Petra and Pottery #atozchallenge

It comes in so many shapes: 

poems, hymns, couplets, songs
birds, roses and dandelions
sips of tea and
whiffs of coffee
poetry is you
and
poetry is me.

When I step outside and see the world
I wonder
how different we'd be
if we all read
more poetry.

Before I get all carried away and dissolve in the flow of my own words, as I usually do, when I pretend to be a poet and write poetry (Ha! Ha! laughs the ego), I'll stop. And explain today's choices for P. There were too many. Some churned out painful memories. So I made my tea, plugged in the charger cable, pushed the on button on the laptop and sat and stared at the blank page on my screen.

My heart's not in it today, I thought. I'll use an old post and add an apology, I thought. Then I spotted him.

*****

Rumi lives on my kitchen table, bound in red, next to my laptop. I pour my cup of tulsi chai, pull out my chair and he opens up. The decision on what's to be read with sips of tea and nibbles of crackers is arbitrary. Somehow, he knows the words I'd need to keep me company. Somehow, he opens to the right lines. Somehow, this happens almost every morning.

THE GUEST HOUSE 

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning is a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

The above comes from

The Essential Rumi

by

Coleman Barks

And if you're a bit out of sorts today

like me

not in mood for poetry

unlike me

then come along and gaze

at some photography

What will it be-

Petra or Phini?

Just click on the link 

on top of the pic

and it'll take you

where you choose to be

your choice:

meet a woman potter

or

be one with human history

PETRA 

PHINI

Que sera, sera

whatever will be, will be...

Petra portraits -- of humans, animals and stones

It's been too long.

I've missed you. Let's meet soon.

Does the first weekend in December work for you?

How about Petra?

Done.

Just over a week ago, Angela and I found ourselves, bathed and ready, waiting for the door that led to the breakfast buffet to open at 5:55 am. The doors opened at 6 sharp and we entered. This was a first for both of us, waiting for a restaurant door to open for breakfast. Angela had another first to follow -- her first time in Petra. This was my second time in 7 years but this time I 'd brought my blogging eyes with me, i.e. my camera.

Going through 500 plus clicks to pick just enough to give you a feel of the place but not spoil the surprise for those of you who are planning to visit Petra in the not so distant future, turned out to be an enjoyable and tedious task. Reliving those magical moments (and there were lots of them) has put a song in my heart and even though the kitchen sink is full of unwashed dishes and there's no sign of dinner, I'm humming a happy song.

Come, feel the sun on the ancient rocks.

See how each layer, sediment and pigment lights up under the blue sky.

Lose yourself in the kohl rimmed eyes of the charming Bedouin men who flirt with you with such confidence and charm that you can't help but smile back.

Sip sweet sage tea offered by Bedouin women who show you pictures of their children on their phones and whose skin glistens and eyes smile.

And just like the clip-clop, clip-clop of the hooves on stones laid down almost 3000 years ago by the Nabataean tribes fades when the animals cross over to the sandy patches in this ancient land, dissolve in the silence of the stones.

Listen with your eyes.

And let the silence of all those who've walked these parts before us keep you company...

These pictures are in no particular order. I surrender to this wonder and let Petra show me the way...with just a few words, I promise, just the bare minimum...

Monsieur Camel, they whispered. 

 Ahmed, our guide.

 This is Hassan. He sells silver bracelets.

Saw him cleaning the Siq on our way back.

Look up!

The 450 year old tree.

Straightened her red jacket, she did...as she caught sight of us wielding camera and phone:)

A rich man's cave, joked Ahmed, with two car garage:)

 Audi and his donkey, Michael Jackson

And we walked into an Asterix comic strip; as if the obelisks around weren't enough.

Made in India:)

That's a fully grown man in the foreground-- the Monastery.

Fifteen year old Mohammed whose family lives in the Bedouin village, down in the valley. 

He sells snacks in this shop and sleeps in a cave nearby as it's not practical to go back home everyday.

 

Fix roofs, add solar panels and then breathe-- inhale, exhale.

 Camel caravan...his legs wrapped in toga and the camel's belly become one with stone and history.

Art's never far...bought a portrait...will share another day.

Sad eyes, happy laugh.

clip-clop...clip-clop

Silent stones

and 

eyes

that speak volumes

tug at you;

at the bit in you

that was there when light first touched earth

the bit that feels the connection

of air and ether

 of the cosmos within

and human history on show.

Hope to see you soon.

Have a wonderful weekend.