Ya Shams!

In Konya my first walk was to visit Shams of Tabriz mosque. Dhur prayer time at 12.57h. I went upstairs after offering salat in the women's room downstairs to avoid walking through the crowd of male worshippers in search of the stairs. Upstairs are two spaces, one above the prayer hall with a curtained fence that prevents view of the mihrab. And another room after that , at the side, with white walls. This room was filled with energy, I could see it . I went inside and there was a woman reading from the Quran to another. I did my Zikr , using my beads, and she touched my arm and started talking to me and told me , she is from Syria. We changed from Turkish to Arabic then , I said " tasharafna " and " Ahlan wa Sahlan" and she was delighted. Then she put her hand on mine and said a prayer and a Quran Surah and read to me from the Quran , and I could feel her energy radiating and flowing through my body. I wondered how lucky I was, whether Shams had made me be here at the same time like this woman to let us share our namaz. 

Prayer

Zayed mosque prayer 

Oh my Lord

Give me water

For thy sun creates thirst

Water be thy mercy

Make me fall like a stone

A smooth shiny stone

 Dropped into thy fountain

 Wash over me with the coolness

Of thy love

Wash off all edges

Grind me , grate me

Until I be one oval rock

Resting in the palm

Of thy great hand

Reflecting the sunlight

Giving coolness 

Amen

Those who do not belong

"So you stand in a long and pretty civilized queue in the post office, thinking, inevitably, about those 50+ human beings killed "by mistake" in their homes in Raqqa, with bombs paid for by Western tax-payers who are trembling in fear of ISIS. Then, about how the West is not so concerned anymore about the dictator still murdering the good people of your country every day, priority is ISIS now, Assad is bad but not a threat to the famous Western Way of Life... your turn is up, the lady asks you if you intend to send the letters Normal or something else... you try to remember what was the term for Registered Mail in German... you fail to remember, she becomes impatient and starts looking around and over your shoulder, you end up surrendering: Normal, bitte... Nur Normal!
She processes your mail, you pay, leave the queue to the next person; what is she, the next person,  thinking about? It cannot possibly be more than 50 people killed... such thoughts do not seem to fit, such thoughts cannot "integrate"."

Written by a Syrian movie director

I spent years reading everything Milan Kundera ever wrote. Then I went through all of John Irving . Then finally decided there is no cure for not belonging .
The first time I felt roots again was when I set foot into Damascus old city. I slept like a log in my hotel with it's half a meter thick walls. Asked what it takes to move in and live there for a while.
Then this happened .
Nothing left other than Rumi's other tavern.
" Einschreiben", Orwa.
This morning I realized , I have forgotten the name of the martyred cousin of my friend . Was it Dr Jamal ( that just came back?) Jaffar ? The pharmacist who died in a shabeeha prison in Homs in about June 2011 after being caught with a video camera and footage of demonstrations ?
I tried to mention him when Rami spoke about Bassel Safadi and how he spoke up. Jamal said :" Once I started speaking my mind and breathing freely, I felt like a bird out of a cage and could not go back ..." Something like that .

I was asked to write for a new Syria website , but not about Raqqa, not about daesh, not about the hostages we never saw again, not about whose bones might be found in that cave of theirs once they are gone ... " because only Westerners worry about that" " Raqqa is not a priority" the editor said .

Another comment by his friend : 

"Orwa never fully arriving is why we're always on our toes, and cannot forget cruelties and injustice. it's what we do. sending you love <3" 

Me: " I think you must be right. Those without a comfort zone don't stop thinking and feeling unsettling things."