Annie Q Syed

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 23:58:42 +0000

February 5th, 2012.

The super bowl of social media and creativity.

I woke up thinking about Wednesday this morning. As if Wednesday was a person I knew.

This last Wednesday was a chaotic morning and no amount of breathing was going to lift me out of the mushroom of frenzy.

Usually calm and steady, on Wednesday morning I was agitated and hyper sensitive to noise. I always try to see what is the longest amount of time I can go without plugging into music with my headphones. This time even music didn’t help. People rushing to some grand nowhere. I joined them to head to one of the most dilapidated parts of New York City. Poverty has a smell ...

A Still Sunday Night

annie — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 03:54:21 +0000

January 29, 2011.

Stillness bypassed my Sunday morning like a breeze you don’t notice because you are out of breath. Except I was in deep sleep breathing. I woke up long after stillness had closed its canteen. Although I realize Stillness is everywhere and available anytime and it is up to us to reach into the hive and retrieve any amount of nectar, certain moments feel like a red carpet walk to the doorway of Stillness. Sunday mornings are such a walk. After noon the zone is narrow even if you are a devout Stillness practioner.

I gave myself permission to sleep in and allow the body to recover. Everything about the status quo seems contrary to how we ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 18:38:33 +0000

January 22nd 2012.

Biko. Coltrane. My father. Coleridge. Marquez.

Writing when you are under the weather is like talking in your sleep. Nothing makes sense; it all makes sense.

It is a Steve Biko kind of Sunday: “I write what I like.”

New York City is under the weather too. It snowed yesterday.

I read a post by a talented photographer in Finland, Annika Ruohonen, this morning titled “January in Finland.” So this is Finland in January I said aloud without realizing. Maybe my heavy head thought I was using “inside” voices when I was not. I tried leaving a short comment but due to computer glitches, password itches, the comment was lost as was the moment ...

Practice, Practice, Practice; Emerson on Experience & Surprise

annie — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 19:35:44 +0000

Still Sundays.

January 15, 2012.

Last time I wrote fiction was June 2011. It wasn’t even a story but a sketch of words. Prior to June, regularly putting down drafts of fiction, however incomplete, was March 2011. All in all, last time I wrote fiction every week, be it a paragraph for the novel or some story shared on this web space, was December 2010. It would be fair and accurate to state that I consistently tackled the craft of fiction from March 2010 to March 2011 regardless what was shared here—and it was a lot that was shared in this online space. In fact, every Tuesday, come rain or shine or travel. I wrote in planes. I wrote ...

even angels have shadows

annie — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 22:24:34 +0000

on my way to work this morning…

you see something every day

and you see it again as if for the first time.

usually happens when there is nothing new to see. or so you have yourself convincedthinking.

still don’t know how to post from my new iphone…but doesn’t matter…taking this Vault to my own website very very soon anyway…

~a.q.s.

No related posts.

yoga versus yoga: my obiter dicta

annie — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 01:10:26 +0000

“I came to yoga not on a journey of personal transformation, but because I put my back out and couldn’t sit comfortably in a chair,” begins Claire Dederer in an article, “My Truce With Yoga” in the October issue of Whole Living magazine. I timely came across this article that sheds light on the 6 billion dollar yoga industry. I share some excerpts that highlight my concerns:

I thought yoga was for self-indulgent, middle-aged ladies with time on their hands, or for fanatical vegetarian former gymnasts.

As I researched studios around Seattle, I noticed that yoga came in a dizzying array of flavors and strengths, often at opposite ends of a spiritual spectrum. At some studios, akin to stylish gyms, ...

Still Sundays: Shakti and Ibn Sina

annie — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 19:57:49 +0000

It is a new year after all.

Makes me wonder about all those other “new” years. I never felt they were new per se so it wasn’t that I got duped the last decade with the habitual hype at the end of the year. It is just that I couldn’t participate as authentically as I would have liked because I knew better in my bones. But this year is finally new.

new | n(y)oō |

adjective

1. not existing before; made, introduced, or discovered recently or now for the first time

2. already existing but seen, experienced, or acquired recently or now for the first time

3. just beginning and regarded as better than what went before

The word new ...

A Still Sunday, particularly today.

annie — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 21:21:51 +0000

December 25, 2011.

on criticism, on friendships come & gone, Keats & soul-making.

New York City is asleep although I have been awake for some time.

Silence is that music where we become instruments.

I have never experienced Stillness and silence this grand in New York City as this Sunday.

This is my first Christmas holiday and New Year’s Eve in New York City despite having lived here for over a decade. Usually I have always been “home” this time of the year, whatever that has meant: sometimes Lahore, other times Johannesburg or Durban, most often a farmhouse, my parents’, in California.

Last night I experienced New York City in a whole new manner. I understood why it is ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 22:24:53 +0000

December 18, 2011.

Herman Hesse’s Demian. “Tug on Anything at all…” A fortune-teller who could tell all but one thing.

It’s not easy to leave New York City. A stranger-friend, an Italian Ph.D. student, must return to Italy tomorrow as her yearlong fellowship is finally over. And she is not ready. I don’t think those who come to New York City for anything but an idea can ever leave that idea behind. At worst we carry that idea that is New York City with us wherever we go. At best, we return again. And again.

Love is a hard idea to give up.

What will she miss the most, I asked her? She held back tears and replied, The ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 19:07:18 +0000

December 11, 2011.

What is art without vision, then?; Symmetry Breaking; Darren K. Woods on his passion for opera; Music to My Ears.

I was immersed in life to my fullest capacity the last two Sundays. Every cell felt like a sponge for Stillness, joy, love, warmth, observations, growth…

There comes a point when living and experiencing catch a momentum faster than one can share through any medium. I believe that’s when the real challenge begins for one who has decided to undertake being an artist.

We are all creative (some more talented or innately gifted than others); however, not all are artists.

Art without vision is creative stimulation for pleasure. In order to have a vision you have ...

The Heart Is the Best Part

annie — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 18:19:00 +0000

not all shadows are bad.

No related posts.

They say no one lives in these…

annie — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 05:33:00 +0000

I think otherwise. : )

Around and about farms in a village in California… around and about my parents’ house…okay not really…it is the next town over…10 minutes away…

Almond Hills

Most People Can’t Tell…

annie — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 04:50:00 +0000

…when two tracks separate…

…yet there were always two

This is also alongside Santa Fe Highway near my parents’ village farm house in California. While I was walking around the tracks I came to a point where I really couldn’t tell when the tracks split into two different directions although there were always two separate tracks running alongside each other. Some optical illusion!

“And it comes from saying no to 1,000 things to make sure we don’t get on the wrong track.” ~ Steve Jobs, Wizard

“We just tell ourselves that art runs on one track and life, our lives, on another, and we don’t realize that’s a lie.” ...

Almond Hills

annie — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 04:35:00 +0000

When driving on the Santa Fe Highway near my folks’ village in California there are these huge plants where almonds are processed. They look like small hills from far away. My parents’ farmhouse in the village is surrounded by almond trees.

I drove near this, nearer than I had ever gone, and took some photos…. until I was shoo-ed away!

They say no one lives in these…

Bryant Park’s Reading Room & Litter Stops Here & Trust