My limbs are piled on top of
one another.
But it is not messy or unclean, it’s
the mysterious, alluring tangle of the
roots
of an old, robust tree.
This is the only place I know now,
where there is no
shame.
And the stretching of my redbud arms as
the sun caresses me, to prosperity,
is not pride; desire; greed, but
prayer and
grace fervour.
Anam Iqbal
“…Superheroes are almost always represented as lone wolves: out in the darkest hours of the night, protecting the city they call home, concealing their identity behind a thick mask and, most importantly, accomplishing everything alone. They can break all three wooden sticks alone.”
I came across a thought-provoking Czechoslovakian folk tale recently. It was about a father, on his deathbed, who wanted to give his sons an important lesson before his passing. He gave each son two wooden sticks and told them to take one of the two and break it. They all did. Then, he told them to give the remaining sticks they had to each brother in turn so they could attempt to break three at the same time. One by one, they all gave it a go. And one by one, they all failed.
His message was clear: when divided, you are weak and vulnerable, but in unity, you are strong, impenetrable even. As long as the brothers stuck together, they would always find peace and security. This was the final lesson he left with them – and rightly so – because it was probably the most important one; let’s just say the end for the three sons in the folk tale wasn’t particularly good…
“We are the curves of the mountaintops: smooth from a distance, but jagged in proximity; serene from afar, yet possessing dusty scars when observed closely.”
Upon starting this blog – on April 5th 2016 – there were some thoughts racing through my mind, holding me back: what if this blog reveals too much about me? What if all the judgmental people from my past find it begin to do what they’re best at – judge? What if people don’t resonate with my creativity? What if I overstep the boundaries of my experimental comfort zone and, instead of remaining private, as I have always been, become an open book?
I have found there is only one way to make peace with my worries: I want to be honest – an exposing, confessing, vulnerable honesty. Not because it’s something that this blog or my life demands of me, but because I know it will liberate me. Once you’ve told your truth, openly accepted it, confronted it, you feel its hold over you ceasing, its strength diminishing. Gradually, it becomes so weak and faint, until one day, it’s no longer much more than a reminiscent smile curling at your content lips.
Anam Iqbal 