Met affers the other day. Odd. He's on the path. Think he wants me to join as well. You must submit to Allah and then question. Dear, dear amiable old affers, one of the brightest and most genuine friends I have, as open-hearted as anyone I know. But don't you know, we're Kashmiri...and I only seek the astounded, astonished heart? God is not a question, or an answer.
In any case, the only person who could make me submit was the dougal-and that, too, when I was young. Twisting my arm behind my back..the Jim Brakes special (if you've only watched WWF, you won't get that).
Too contrarian, my friend, too Jewish by far. Nothing settles, capstones shift. An afternoon like this, with its deep winter shadows in the long, parched grass, slanting away into the silence forever, is all the mystery my heart can take right now. Borrowed light. The sun is distant now, darker, friends and dear ones older, some have slipped by, others frail, less sure of themselves, a bit frightened. But the voice, the voice of the loved ones doesn't change. And Ubo still looks out for me, with those sad button-eyes. The world is not with us enough. This, unless God wills it, means I will not have a change of heart.
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