Aesthestical Saneness

“Sanity is an unknown room [place]: a known room [place] is always smaller than an unknown.” 1

                              Djuna Barnes   (1892 - 1982) 2

                               U.S. writer and illustrator.3

                               Night wood 4

E arly in the morning, the haze looms over the hills like an ancient ocean that covers the costal prairies to the south and has grips against the barriers of the earth. The morning haze hangs from the clumps of oak trees, delicately arrives with the morning sun, changes color from a lighter shaded gray to a pigment of blue gray then blue. The morning haze slowly fades like a prehistoric ocean or great gulf that once blanketed this land.5

G oing up the hill the sun has risen in the east. The moon appends the western sky. The sunrise seems so alive and emotional, and the whole universe progresses through my mind. Seeing all this through the window of the car—the self-disciplined snakes and the curves of the valley’s impatient hills, rising, and by deep chasms -takes me to the center of the universe of the eastern and western skies. The panorama creates an aura as if I am hanged by threads of light, and the reflected radiance runs through me and holds me honorably. Worship the imperceptible tableau; bathe in its light, and reflecting its antiquity and rebirth. I am a part of this fabric, entwined in the energy of the timeless universe that progresses through my soul and turns me into the watcher of this late moon and early sun through my car’s window.6

A s we loom towards the dwelling near the sea, we park the car in the parking lot, coming out of it to tour on foot. There I pause to hear the sound of the waves, and the tides give the impression of a symphony. The crisp breath of breeze swirls over the wintered wings. Elegantly touched by the ice maidens, all silent thoughts magically sing. The mother’s sparkling wine flows over luxuriant isles; twinkling like a primeval monument creates a mirror expanding endlessly. A melody glides upon the tides and lingers in its cool mist; upon the velvety foam the symphony rides and the silver tune tenderly rises, intensifying with a marine tint. The dawn reveals the mysteries of wisdom as they are scrutinized. A symphony raises within the light the melodious voice of sea nymph floats high. Within the sound I hear its power echoing where ocean meets the sky. The crystal opera starts to dwindle, now becomes a chant of the sea. Remembrance falls in an ultimate cascade taking me back to a song that always be.7

W e began walking towards the glen. Suddenly a lock of hair glides off my shoulder. Other curls follow the push of the autumn breeze. It is a hand that gently caresses my cheek; and as quickly as it appears, it is gone. A lock of hair rests back on my shoulders. As we enter the glen, the rain gently starts to fall, appeasing the thirst of the landscape that has parched by the rays of the intense seasonal sun. The song of the birds is now silenced. The petals of a once dazzling flower have faded. An optimistic azure sky with gentle angelic white clouds is gone, replaced by the gloomy moisture of the season. The caressing breeze turns into the blustering winds of fall. Brightly colored leaves, once proudly perched on the limbs of trees, now dance gaily through air in the warm hues of autumn. Children chuckle gleefully on their path while they hear the crackling sound of leaves beneath their feet.  As we approach the cabin, a jack-o’-lantern sits in the window showing a wide, toothless grin or scowling frown. As we enter the cabin, the snapping pitching from a burning log and the faint scent of pine fills the room. I watch the flames leaping about as if it were a ballet. The soft, soothing glow of candlelight brings with it serenity and tranquil thoughts.  I sit in astonishment watching all that is around me. “Yes, there is God!” I said to myself. “Only he could have made wonders I see before me. I will accept seclusion and apathy of twilight. So that I may, anticipate and be thankful for the re-birth of spring.8

A fter some rest, we went to the lake down the hill on the other side where the gently diminished wings of the swift lake swallows cut through the air like soft, whispering sighs, while they whiz in and out of a clustered hovering mass of mayflies that drift just inches above the shimmering lake. I sit in a weathered Adirondack chair only to relax to the rhythmic rocking caused by small, rolling waves. Looking down through the jade-tinted waters I noticed the octagonal, amber marking on a small box turtle that seems to be ambling, rather than swimming, through the still water as it passes by, seemingly without a care for anything but its mysterious, unknown terminus. These moments evanescently pass by but remain entrenched in my mind for those times when I feel the side pressing in. My escape is into these simple moments where all that the universe requires of you is to sit back and take in what is offered without asking for anything in return.9

A s the sun sets my family goes back; but my brother (Hasan), my cousins (Hamza, Minahil, Shero, Haider and Harris) and I stay behind to watch the stars. As the night falls, we look at the sky and admire their beauty. We lay and admire their brilliance; “they are as shining and constant as they have been since the beginning of time” they said. “They light the heavens and fill our hearts with curiosity.  When one burns out, other takes its place,” I added. “But why?” one of them asks. “I don’t know, because they are eternal and it is a law of nature,” I replied. We again stared at the dazzling stars in the sky. But it was past their bedtime, so they had to leave. “Goodnight, I’ll see you guys in the morning,” I said. “Aren’t you coming with us, Apa [big sister]” one of them asked. “No I am not. I want to stay here for some time. I like it out here.” I replied. So, here I am alone again watching the sky filled with stars thinking; wherever you are, these stars guide you from their home high above the earth. At times, they seem close enough to touch, as they transport your dreams far away. Their magic obliges us to offer up wishes for their consideration. They make us realize that even when the sky is the darkest, a tiny inspiration of light still shines through. They are God’s reminder to us that some things really do go on forever.10

S oon I say goodnight to the dazzling stars and come back to the cabin and fall asleep. However, when I awake the next morning I am in my own room. I wondered how I got back home but then I figured out that it was all a dream. It seemed so real. I laughed and thought: Sanity is strange. It can change a normal dream to a hope. It is an unknown place. I wonder if it actually exists.11