Another Postcard from Egypt
I am a sojourner in a far away
land, searching, seeking, making, and being. I come home to myself occasionally,
in pristine moments amid the cacophony of life. From the moment Ra’s
golden being appears to grace the morning, life here is teeming, expressing
itself through a myriad of sounds and movements, color and light. Voices
blend with horns, and the clacking sound of horse’s hooves galloping
up the road in search of a tourist hungry for a higher view. Smells of
dung and sheesha, dust and cooking oil mingle with the hustle and bustle
of incessant traffic. Men dressed in galabias and women wearing either
black or impossible color combinations glide amongst camels and donkeys,
cars and trucks, and the now only occasional tour bus filled with clicking
cameras attempting to capture a pale reflection of the wonder and magic
of this place. Vibrant moments are these, filled with the sights and sounds
and smells of life in Egypt. On one side the ruckus of life, on the other
the vast, hot, dead expanse of desert. Between them the river meanders,
constant and flowing, brimming with possibilities, pollution, and the
graceful sails of feluccas.
My sandals brush sands that cover ancient fields,
tombs and temples, as I wend my way into an uncertain future. Though my
body walks atop mounds of old dust that hide the past with a cloak of
hot, dry emptiness, my heart is free to explore time and desire propels
my attention beneath the wind-rippled surface to the hidden reflections
of god.
Last night I watched a special on TV— physicists
discussing the possibility of time travel. Perhaps they should come to
Egypt, where mathematical equations morph into hieroglyphs and a glance
at/from a sacred, living image opens the gates of time. Perhaps the temples
are the time portals, waiting to be remembered.
I look inward and imagine Hathor’s mirror. The
symbol comes alive and I gaze upon its burnished surface, seeking a reflection,
but perceive instead a doorway to the stars. Magnificent mother goddess,
arching endlessly over all that is known and much, much more that is not—
Star studded body of night, is there a glimmer of hope for me, for us,
for peace?
I gaze upward at the immense expanse of wonder.
I long for wisdom to enter my pen and write bold truths as bright as starlight,
as deep as the space in between. I long for inspiration, for the heart
of truth to burst forth, beating, pulsing hard words, flowing, filling,
inundating the mind like the ancient River Nile when Sothis rose in the
Eastern sky, before the Aswan dam was built to block the natural cycles.
It’s easy to remember here, and the moments
in between are filled with joyful distractions.
