I. The Bench

In the late afternoon, I walked away over shaken by unexpected news, that shackled my hands from behind, and corked my eyes…all I could do is walk….run….run away. In circles, like a mystic dervish finding its center of the world, finding its union with the One above. No where could I find the peace of mind except on one empty bench overlooking a water fountain. Its voice of serenity pronounced my inner feelings; it soon opened a path and unraveled the mysteries I layered inside. Over time, what was hardened and forgotten became so soft and eloquently flowed. Formed streams…finally releasing me towards my revival, my spiritual healing. Indeed, the fountain of mystery.

I found myself leading a direction towards the bench every time I wanted to breath, as if these pieces of wood clamped together by random number of nails are the perfect fit to my soul. It was on this bench that stories were made, the past was tolled, and the future waiting to form.
The bench was placed at a perfect position where all the forces of wind come together, and brush its flow on my hijab, into my clothes, and bathing me in its serenity. If I closed my eyes, I would be in midst green hills over looking Ireland, but it was only the fountains of UH. The number of souls found their way to this very bench is unknown, but I have encountered many of them, enough to form my stories, enough to form my past, and enough to expect from the future.