Born Confused

so confused, frustrated, used. just when i think i have got it down. a thought makes me frown and turn around, retracing my steps no less no more; i wonder whats the score. my head thumps my heart a huge mass of feeling, i step back the confusion reeling–stealing my soul my confidence my strength. a constant fight. as i take in perspective and of other judgments and beliefs i seek, it puts my life in their perceptive; and this insight is not because i am weak. i am so confused, but i know i wont lose. perhaps this feeling is like a sad intoxication, an absorbed sensation. first a weakness then turned into a beauty; hoping it won’t fall to usury in the ego which thus leds to abusery. i sign as i reevaluated myself; a fob uncle–too strict? or too laxed–and i need a mental whip? i wouldn’t mind a trip, now i totally understand it, but a vague grasp holds me too strong–is it the archaic right and wrong? but for now the gray wilderness, i confess, envelopes me. with it’s starry glitter night or is it light? or perhaps it’s a shuttering fuse, dizzying with complex beauty. happily giggling to confuse.
born confused.

it’s not about love but strength to help another when your afraid to. so i suppose love in a compassionate sense–but i just wanted to clarify.

head spinning. head sinning? this question in my head and in my heart as i dial numbers too farly spaced apart. now i started, advice was given to me. my leg twitches, my heart stitches and i hold my breath too soon. scared to have a mans heart on my plate, a wound? trust, bust, i clutch the blanket at my breast, hoping my voice will bring on rest–is this a test? And his voice comes out surprised, then low and hoarse sounding vulnerable trying to cover it up, inside, with comfortable slang, with a low flavor–a certain tang. he hangs on to his word certain yet unsure, afraid he doesn’t sound pure. he talks and then is at a lose for words. afraid the air, his trust, the peace might curd i say wisdom that not originally my own. but reconfigured, that in a way i recognized and figured out on my own. there will be no stone, only honesty and no stoning. honing on my past as a form of nostalgia, making use of those years of moan and morn. laced with advice i say there’s no scorn in being torn. there advice he has had a taste, and surprisingly he wants more. so slowly my fingers i tap, afraid that this fragile spell might snap. i look at my clock and think to myself vaguely there’s go the nap, i had wished upon, as the red numbers burn into my eyes like the sun. but then i go back to him the one. my feet slide on the carpet back and forth, reinforcing a fort, as a praise and a injured heartfelt thank you is said. i can only pray you mend, and perhaps i have taken it upon me to tend, a responsibility Allah has lent on a short, pricey rent. any goodness, any advice is heaven sent.
and then i look back to my screen, at it would seem that my peer adviser went up and fled to his stead, without a parting as if there was no starting. and i empty my head and heart of care with a resigned ’so what?’ which replies with: ’so there’. retreating back into my lair of homework, sleepless nights, aches until my streaght can be put to balm, applied with a sweet gentle song.
it lags my tongue. there i am done.

Ibby (11:06:16 PM):what are u feeling now ilana?
me (11:06:37 PM):a lot
Ibby (11:06:43 PM):can u stretch and freely move ur arm?
me (11:06:56 PM):yes alhudmullah
Ibby (11:07:01 PM):good
me (11:07:08 PM):hahah
me (11:07:27 PM):for a sec i didn’t think you were talking aboutthe physical’
Ibby (11:07:50 PM):hahahaha that was cute
Ibby (11:08:01 PM):do u wanna go into the non-physical?
me (11:08:50 PM):it’s a challenge i like to undertake
Ibby (11:09:09 PM):why do u call it a challenge?
Ibby (11:09:25 PM):(i can see why but want to hear it from u)
me (11:09:27 PM):becasue it’s easy to ignore it all
me (11:09:36 PM):to not think
me (11:09:51 PM):accept things the way they are
me (11:09:52 PM):LOOOLLZ
Ibby (11:21:45 PM):lemme share some things with u from this old book i have
Ibby (11:22:21 PM):”Humility is the silencing of one’s innermost being while reverentially witnessing Allah (Most High)”
Ibby (11:22:43 PM):”Humility is a humbled low state that comes upon the heart when the Lord is disclosed”
Ibby (11:23:08 PM):”Humility is the melting and hiding of the heart in the presence of the Sovereign King of Truth”
Ibby (11:23:30 PM):”Humility is the prelude to being overwhelmed and overpowered by awe”

Ibby (11:26:07 PM):here think of this
Ibby (11:26:22 PM):”arrogance toward one who is arrogant to you on account of his wealth, is humility”
me (11:28:37 PM):*thinking*
Ibby (11:28:47 PM):hahaha
me (11:30:11 PM):what book is this from?
Ibby (11:30:17 PM):by the way those are all from “The Principles of Sufism” by Abu’l Qasim Qushayri
Ibby (11:30:35 PM):trans in english by a number of ppl
Ibby (11:30:51 PM):the trans here is some german guy named B. Von Schlegell
me (11:32:06 PM):mashAllah
me (11:32:13 PM):that’s supper cool
Ibby (11:34:24 PM):so what are u thinking
me (11:35:17 PM):I went to wash my face
Ibby (11:36:13 PM):were u crying? or something else?
Ibby (11:36:39 PM):”Shame is the heart’s contracting in order to exalt the expansive majesty of the Lord”
Ibby (11:36:48 PM):i like that one

My brain is on overload. Less then 8 hours of sleep per a week is critically detrimental. No sleep yesterday, barely any sleep today. Well, I’ll spare you a complaining rant. There is just so much work. Alhumdullah. It’s very cold too. It snowed two days ago. And there’s still bloody snow on the ground. Alhumduillah.
Went to the second day of Hanukkah celebration with Hillel and a discussion between Middle East Peace and Hillel about the two female activists–one from Israel, the other from Palestine—that came a couple of days ago.
It seemed it was the catalyst for discussion on Israel and Palestine and the informative and anecdotal discussion that followed was absolutely amazing. Middle East Peace, Hillel and MSA inshAllah is definitely doing a collation for events… the possibilities… my head, the experience, has still yet to put itself around.
Michael Young’s eloquent speech yesterday on Lebanon… that too, I have to think about. Unique. Profound. The specificity and art in which he talked with the philosophic art of vagueness definitely left an impression on me. Nevertheless, I have still yet to grasp (with a plaguing skepticism) all in which he entailed.
Perchance it is a resultant of a disadvantageous deficiency of slumber.
Afterward, I was dragged into another meeting with Middle East Peace. Hookah—appropriately named Lolita due to certain characters and charm of a balmy apartment, humming with warmth away from the Mistress of Icy’s domain outside, as a soliloquy of melody tinged the air; mixed, and captured a romantic air of philosophy, luxury and laze, even a slight sexuality with a spark of zealousness as we smoothly spoke… it was passed to me, but as tempting as it was to let the smoke relieve my burning eyes, I reached a resolution that until I knew how I felt about it first, without the biasness of context, pressure and ease… I wasn’t going to smoke. Maybe that’s an oxymoron in itself, dismissing something for myself before I’ve even tried it, but I know myself, apt to addiction yet I am so accepting of those who do it. It means nothing to me. But when the action involves myself, I am so indecisive and therefore refrain… I wonder if that makes me a hypocrite.
As I walked back to my dorm I looked at the chilling wide expanse of the sky; stars, dreams far away—but bright enough to capture the imagination of the future in a seemly defiance of time: the constant on which the consistency of concepts is measured.
Then I looked at the ground, wondering if I put pressure on a different part of the palm of my feet, if I lifted my foot and set it down in a slightly different way if it affected the way I felt and perceived the world.
Then a superficial spasm of vigor took over for a moment (I suspect it was the shivering flinch of goosebumps) and I jumped into the air, as if I expected I would fly off and instead came back to earth with a solidness bring back my aching sick head and with it a convoluted weakness that overtook me as I entered my dorm, away from the expanse of the sky.
Oye, never ending soliloquies with subconscious theoretical alienable truths tied in with incomprehensible metaphors seems to be a symptom of two hours of sleep. Perhaps I should get the third, since a busy day awaits me; as my computer takes it sweet time uploading blights.
Yes, defiantly I think I have bordered madness. I shall blame inclusive, defective Slumber that holds no defensive against the ever-powerful Obligations.