Annie Q Syed » choices

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 ...

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 ...

“Fartists”, Light triumphs, Grow!Grow!Grow!

annie — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 19:46:28 +0000

Still Sundays.

November 13, 2011.

Stillness is a guardian angel.

That being said, on days where the frozen wind in New York City feels like the wrathy breathing of some evil gods, I do yell aloud, forgetting all I know about seasons, climate, and weather, “God you can’t be real! Because no one in his or her right mind would actually create a day this cold!”

Yet so far November feels like early spring. Will March then be like early winter? Maybe winter has never been that long after all? Climate change is changing.

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What do I know without a doubt this Sunday morning as this calendar year is almost over?

Light triumphs. Again and again ...

to really understand is divine

annie — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 22:37:50 +0000

Still Sundays.

November 6th.

No matter how many times I write about New York City it is not enough. Not enough for me and not enough for those who just don’t see what I see.

Rage is a bull and I am a champion rider who neither tires easily nor plans on retiring. At best I can tame the beast with humor. But I find cynicism easy and eventually boring; therefore, I take whatever it is that I don’t understand by the horns: the spleen wants to spit.

That being said I never write when I am angry. I can create a fury of words that can dissolve the deads’ bones, but actually write?—never. I don’t even “journal” such thoughts ...

Love, like New York City, is an Idea…

annie — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 17:21:00 +0000

Still Sundays.

October 16th.

I am writing from a new place this Sunday morning.

When you say something like that in New York City, you more often than not mean it quite literally.

I am not in my own neighborhood or even inside my apartment. I am in the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood around 44th and 9th avenue. I don’t live here; I had to return my rental car this morning around the corner. When I woke up this morning I almost forgot I had even rented a car to go out of the City to attend a wedding this weekend. The only reason I remembered is because I realized I am out of tea and coffee and maybe I ...

self-existing magic of things

annie — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 16:49:44 +0000

Still Sundays

October 9th.

Filmmaker Nathaniel Dorsky on “self-existing magic of things” and more. Your talent is a body. Marc Jacobs on innovation.

I find myself intellectually incapable to accept any of the etymologies offered behind “Indian Summer” and google’s curation of history doesn’t satisfy.

October is a solid indigo night, made for returning and leaving at the same time.

Autumn in New York is the muse for so many jazz compositions because only music can capture an indigo night.

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Yesterday I saw a film by Nathaniel Dorsky who has been making and exhibiting films within the avant-garde tradition since 1964. His works have bee shown internationally in museums and theatres and are in the ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 18:18:42 +0000

October 2nd.

Lymph nodes for spiritual bacteria. Dialogue with the body (video link to blindfolded yoga with Marco Rojas). Notes from Protests and Revolutions: the phenomena needed for a revolutionary movement.

The windows in the bedroom had to be closed last night. The room was chilled from the October breeze, a carrier with a post-card from the future: winter is around the corner.

I wish I didn’t write as slowly as I do. I wish I didn’t see putting words on paper as setting lights on a stage (and on worse days delivering thought babies!). I wish I wrote as fast on Sunday mornings and when I attempt fiction as when I am writing an email.

However, I am ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 19:23:28 +0000

September 25th.

made-up memories. a genetic predisposition to engage with life. a real dreamer. real magic. when the Universe bends to become the bow.

It’s so still that I can taste the difference: my black tea with milk is tasteless without the nectar of orange blossom honey this morning. I forgot to buy it yesterday.

Sugar doesn’t taste the same. Not in my tea and not what I can recall of it tasting when I was a kid. When I think of my childhood I recall sugar like a person with personalities, faults, issues, and plans. A relative everyone had to welcome because that’s what you do: pour sugar, large amounts, in desserts, eat items ordered in from bakery ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 16:40:56 +0000

September 18th

Although there is much to be written this Sunday morning, yarns of thoughts are spinning by themselves around the needle of stillness, I just want to observe and gather some more.

It has been a very full week, more eventful than my typical weeks, and although Sunday puts it together, however fragmented, I am going to need much more time for this week.

Next Sunday I will wake up earlier than I did today to feel Stillness exhale on my skin instead of my gasping for it this morning. Today I slept in Stillness and awoke to the sudden announcement that it is cold and Autumn has arrived although the colors of Fall haven’t quite made it yet.

...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 15:11:40 +0000

September 11th

You have to be very alive to dream new dreams; Mama: relationships like buying a house; Whitman.

It can never be just “September 11th” in New York City again like another September 9th or April 9th or whatever other date that comes by every year. This date now means many things to many different people. But history is filled with such dates. Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day is just another day “when something awful and atrocious” happened to most, but to a few it remains as fresh as September 11th is to some of us. Soon another generation will come for whom September 11th will mean differently than it does to us now.

When will death mean the ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 17:00:43 +0000

August 21, 2011.

Normal is another world phenomenon; Helping the exceptions stand out for all of us in ANY form is art; From the memory box: desert sky and Wilma Rudolph. The foremost task of education.

Stillness is a flower that doesn’t always have a fragrance. Or perhaps the perfume is sans alcohol so one has to be really sober to take it all in. Similar to a real yoga practice, what comes forth is not always bliss but gunk. But if you allow some space and don’t hold on, the gunk slides away, and real bliss doesn’t always feel like happiness but it surely feels like freedom.

Today’s Sunday is some shy rapture. It’s raining everywhere it seems, including ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:58:40 +0000

August 14th.

“The present is the whole of the past concentrated.” ~ Iqbal; Bernard Shaw on Tolstoy’s “What is Art”?; opinions about opinions; Anders, the homeless man in London, on books.

I awoke this Sunday morning in some rainforest. The rain, glossy chandeliers, was falling without crashing. It took me a minute to realize I was in New York City.

It was nice to take a break from putting thoughts on the braille made of words last Sunday. Does Stillness too take a break? No, I don’t think so. We do. It’s hard to swim in peace: no sharks of conflict that actually bite, no shore of tomorrow, no ship of yesterday, how long can you stay afloat ...

“The Beauty Myth”

annie — Tue, 09 Aug 2011 20:24:55 +0000

Mama says it is to men’s advantage to recognize the reservoir of strength that is a woman (regardless of a man’s sexual preference). But in order to achieve this, she says, it demands a lot of deconstruction which begins by looking beyond a woman’s physical appearance and a man’s attachments to conscious and unconscious roles she is supposed to play. But that deconstruction can begin only when a woman is able to see herself beyond her physical appearance. She also says that unfortunately the stereotypes that exist about women exist because majority of the women are not strong enough to break them. If you look a certain way, you must be flirtatious. If you have ambition, you must be needy ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 16:38:03 +0000

July 31st.

Misunderstood dreams shape-shift return to sleep in cities like Prague. Happy Birthday to my mother. Stillness is some Doppler effect.

It’s July 31st and it is my mother’s birthday.

I read this year’s July came with an extra offering: one more Sunday. I also learned that this will not happen again for some 800 or so years. I checked the facts on this. Such a combination occurs far more often than every 800 years. The last occurrence was in July 2005. The next one will be in July 2016. It might as well be accurate though. Yesterday feels like years ago.

Who keeps track of Sundays besides those who are harvesters of Stillness? No moment seems to return ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 22:43:53 +0000

Delayed posting. The website was down for 12 hours.

July 24th.

A woman named Yo; the windmill within, World Rivers Project; truth is a deadbody…

Stillness is some fog today and thoughts heavy sandbags.

There is a blanket of clouds made of stubborn gray covering the Prague sky for days now. Except it was shyly sunny yesterday evening. The sun was blocked again this morning.

The sun can burn yet its power is invisible against fluffy, goofy, bulky clouds who too visit at the mercy of winds. Mirror, mirror on the earth’s wall, who is the strongest force of them all? They all win against us as the elements draw even against one another.

Some days Prague feels like ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 18:30:38 +0000

An old Czech proverb: He who looks, finds. Loretta from AT&T. Bridges are made for crossing. “Lies About Love” by D.H. Lawrence.

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I just lost everything I had written.

For the second time.

The first time was very early in the morning—the wake-up sky was still coddling the night—when I decided to not actually write down the thoughts that were downloading through Stillness. I was a sleepyhead in awe of the magnitude of Stillness looking out my window on equally sleepy Prague streets. But streets in Prague are always sleepy, waking up from a different time.

I had enjoyed the iceskateflow of thoughts zigzagging harmoniously, words leading an orchestra of thoughts in some perfect synchronization that was ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 11:00:59 +0000

It’s Sunday morning and I am writing from a small village near the Sovinec Castle. Owl’s Nest. That’s what Sovinec means in Czech. Sovinec is near a city called Olomouc. Yesterday we first traveled two and a half hours southeast of Prague to Brno and then north to Olomouc. We are quite east of Prague now. Olomouc is made of agricultural landscape where the sky is a moody painter and the earth is a palette. Capture that, lens. Feeling is a lens.

Usually when I write on Sunday mornings I feel Stillness offers Christmas presents for unwrapping—let’s see what’s under that tree of thought that grew so tall in one week? Some Sunday mornings I indeed feel as if I ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 10:51:24 +0000

From Prague

Stillness doesn’t need a day. My father says, “Marry someone who…” Katherine Anne Porter: “…one powerful motivating force that simply carries you along…”

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I didn’t think it was Sunday this morning. There is no time in Prague. Prague ate time a long time ago. What is a long time ago when something circumvents time from the beginning? Maybe there really are people, cities, and loves that are born outside the parameters of time. Time may have been their mother but they are still looking for the other half of their genetic make up. Eternal orphans that everyone wants to adopt but no one can. Ghosts that weren’t born so they never died.

Who defined ghost ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 11:26:23 +0000

From London.

I haven’t been in London long enough to specifically share what stillness of London on a Sunday morning tastes like.

However, there was lots of stillness in North London this morning that brought the following:

Something beyond evil. Spirals of Transmutation. Integration is the most demanding creative process.

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The best compliment I have ever received about my writing is: ‘it can raise the dead.’ It is also the most unsettling thing I have heard about my writing. When the living are more dead than those gone, one better know how to dance with goblins, ghouls, and dybuks—a specialized demon who attaches himself to scholars! I can’t two-step or waltz with another. I am a solo-performer ...

Still Sundays

annie — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 16:29:37 +0000

I used to write on Sunday mornings smack dab in the middle of Broadway.

Yes.

In dead center of the biggest and longest running avenue in New York City. The benches in the median dividing the opposite flow of traffic always felt like some rising from the Earth.

On 108th and Broadway. Not 109th. Not 110th. But 108th. As if that is some exact spot where Manhattan could be peeled and split open like an orange.

There is a small, beautiful park near by that I could go too, but no, I would always end up sitting on a bench that faces south, looking at where Broadway splits off to West End. On the bottom of the grand ...

Some Persistent Desire For What Is Still Possible

annie — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 17:09:32 +0000

I wrote the following inside a card I am giving to a new kindred friend (the card is sealed so I am recalling to the best of my ability): You know I know things. Also let’s not forget my untamable imagination. And then the dreams, the galaxy of answers and questions. Yet, despite all that, I could have neither dreamt nor imagined nor even consciously wished to have had our paths cross. So much we don’t know.

Of course that was just an extravagant way to begin describing the gratitude I feel for having this individual as part of my life now. I seldom bring people I consider good friends to my ‘inner circle’ of friends, but when I ...