Review: Louder Than Hearts – Poems by Zeina Hashim Beck


The book begins with a beautiful ghazal. Zeina’s poetry holds a tender power that cuts through to my heart. I have read and written for more than two decades within the Arab culture’s ancient stories of strong women. Between those words and Zeina’s pages I see the falling of light rain through sunlight and feel at home here.  With her steady voice, poetry shines, mourns, celebrates, whispers, weeps and calls out her experience of living in the Arab world.


“Stop writing about war,” he said. “Stop

writing about borders and blood.

…Stop writing about bread

and barefoot children with their dark

skin, their hair blond from too much sun.

Stop telling the story about how your friend

bought hats for them and gave them out

from her car window, saying  put this on

put this on…”

So I drew him a tree without roots,

a street with enormous wings, and said, “Here

is a tree that cannot be uprooted,

a street that will take flight

before it explodes.”….

Naomi Shihab Nye writes about this book: “I don’t know how Zeina Hashem Beck is able to do this. Her poems feel like whole worlds—potent conversations with the self, the soul, the many landscapes of being…a brilliant, absolutely essential voice.”

from  ADHAN

There is something about the adhan at dawn, how it lifts

your head from the pillow; how it pulls

you from sleep like a bucket from a dark

well, heavy with the same wish to fall;

How when the sky is still full of shadows, it calls

that prayer is better than sleep

(and there’s something Shakespearean

about it, and something modern);

how the voices rise now

from the different speakers in different mosques…

Allahu Akbar,  Allahu Akbar, an unsynchronized

Greek chorus that glazes the city, reaches

the gutters, babies in their cots, the thieves….


I appreciate history as glimpsed in poems: Zeina connects the world of Shakespeare, the Greek chorus, of Ithaca and Edith Piaf with the Islamic world. Her telling brings the reader to the shattering of life in Tripoli, Lebanon in the 1980’s when she was a child, Gaza in 2014, and Syria today. Here’s 11th century Córdoba, the love story of Layla and Majnun, and echos of the late-great singer Umm Kulthum.

I’ll close with a list of Zeina’s greatest literary influences from an interview. I share many of these.

Charles Baudelaire, T.S. Eliot, Wislawa Szymborska, Sharon Olds, Dorianne Laux, Carolyn Forché, Carol Ann Duffy, Martín Espada, Naomi Shihab Nye, Marilyn Hacker, Ellen Bass, Elizabeth Bishop, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Christina Rossetti, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Pablo Neruda, Mahmoud Darwish, Langston Hughes, Adonis, Badr Shaker Al-Sayyab, Majnoon Layla, and Philip Levine.


Zeina Hashem Beck is a Lebanese poet. Her first book, To Live in Autumn, won the 2013 Backwaters Prize. Her second book, Louder than Hearts, won the 2016 May Sarton New Hampshire Poetry Prize and is forthcoming in April 2017.  Zeina’s work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and the Forward Prize. Her poems have appeared widely in literary magazines, among which are Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, and The Rialto. Zeina’s readings often have a strong performative quality. She is founder of PUNCH, a Dubai-based poetry and open mic collective. She has been featured at literary festivals in the Middle East, the United Kingdom, and the United States.

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Solomon’s Tribute 7/11/77 – 1/31/12


This is the evening that I find difficult every year. Because it is  now early afternoon in Bangkok the same time that marked the last moments of your life, Solomon — January 31, 2012. Yet, after I write this and put in the pictures, everything starts to shine with your light. When I’m finished, I can sleep well.  This is a celebration and Remembrance.

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Love Sonnet XCIV ~ by Pablo Neruda 
If I die, survive me with such force
That you waken the furies of the pallid and the cold,
From south to south lift your indelible eyes,
From sun to sun dream through your singing mouth.
I don’t want your laughter or your steps to waver,
I don’t want my heritage of joy to die….

And these words came to me soon after you left us, Solomon.

Take me with you, Mom, into your life, and what you do. Let me bring the balance and glide of boarding into the continual challenge of your everyday life. And please keep loving Nicole…..  

My gift to YOU from all of us who knew you is to live the message.

I recently re-read an email you wrote May 20, 2004 after finding the grave of your great-great grandfather Salomon Salomon in Germany.

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“…I decided to be adventurous and jump on a train to the town of Langenfeld without any prior inquiry… When I got off the train I started walking. It turned out to be down a long footpath. And just when I thought I was lost, I happened upon it, a very small cemetery, not more than 30 gravestones. I went to the door and it was locked, so I waited until the coast was clear and jumped the fence. I had come this far, so I couldn’t be stopped now… Once inside it was sort of secluded. I walked in and immediately found the gravestone. (It looks very different than the others). I sat for 15-20 minutes and meditated on the spot. Afterwards I felt more in touch with my German heritage and family history. I return to Dusseldorf tomorrow to play a few more gigs this weekend then its back to SF on Wednesday… Hope you are well, Much Love…”

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I found this photo of you, Solomon and your niece, Oona. She is going on 8 now and is skiing at Tahoe with  Ammon, Laura and her sister, Maeve, as I write this. I’m sure at some point she’ll be taking up snowboarding with the intoxicating “balance and glide.” Maeve is going on 5. You never knew her. Here they are eating ice cream.


Also the delightful Samantha. We love her and see her and Nicole quite often. Ryan and Nicole are living full and exciting lives. Here she is with “Baba.” She just learned to say his name! This was the bell at the end of the meditation celebrating your life the other night.


I wish you were here to see Golden State Warriors Basketball. Four of them made the all-stars! Steph Curry, Kevin Durant, Draymond Green, and Klay Thompson. Your dad and I have been watching this glorious team win almost all the games. I picture you DJ’ing as you did and even getting us into a game or two, now that the tickets cost much more than they did when you were there like this picture from your booth.IMG_0887.JPG

Tomorrow Girija and I will visit the bench ~Bench5.jpg This is the bench the Brilliants and Kahns dedicated to you and Jon Brilliant, out where the water-birds and cattails are. Dad is in Germany, landing in Frankfurt, then Berlin in a few hours. He sends his love. We miss you and celebrate your extraordinary life, now and always. With love from Mom

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An Evening of Poems and Stories


On Friday December 9 at 7:30 I will launch my new book, Fatima’s Touch: Poems and Stories of the Prophet’s Daughter, Ruhaniat Press, 2016 at the beautiful Edgehill Mansion on the Dominican Campus in San Rafael. Because her story is almost completely unknown, and FATIMA is a famous, beloved woman in many countries in the world, I want to tell her stories, and share them with those of another famous forgotten woman, Charmain London, a Sonoma County legend, wife of writer Jack London. Iris Jamahl Dunkle, the current Poet Laureate of Sonoma County has just finished a biography on Charmain London and will share the evening with me. Please join us!

flyer- Famous Forgotten Women

Antiphon Poetry Magazine just wrote me: “We are delighted to accept [my new double sonnet]’Nurse’s Day,’ for Issue Nineteen, which will be published in the autumn.”

Wise daughter of the daughter of the Prophet…
…Oh Zaynab, legendary nurse— please hand
me lidocaine, a hypodermic and
some tweezers, sterile bandages. Dust is thick.
Assad’s war is beyond sane narrative… 

                        From Nurse’s Day

They wrote: “We’re thrilled that the British Library wishes to include Antiphon in a new open access archive of poetry websites/mags in the UK.”

From an introduction to a poem in my new book, honoring Sayyida Zaynab, “Over Damascus:”

“Over a decade ago, I visited The Shrine of Sayyida Zaynab (granddaughter of Prophet Muhammad) in the suburbs of Damascus. It seemed like the well-in-the-desert for women, a place we could all feel empowered.

Recently, it was under attack twice, caught in the crosshairs of the Syrian conflict. The regime that the terrorists are trying to overthrow is “Alawi.” The name comes from “Ali,” although they are an independent Muslim group. This is a very important shrine in Damascus. Opponents of the Syrian Regime would like to demolish it.


Zaynab is the patron saint of the nurses of Syria, because she was at Karbala when her brother, Husayn and many others were killed. She stood up to the tyrant Yazid, as mentioned in this poem, written before the recent attacks.”


Ruhaniat Press presents: Fatima’s Touch

After six years of writing, editing, re-writing, more editing—the book is here. I can hold it in my hand.

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FATIMA’S TOUCH: Poems and Stories of the Prophet’s Daughter, Ruhaniat Press, SF, 2016 by Tamam Kahn
Deluxe hardcover limited edition of FATIMA’S TOUCH  is just reduced to $30
PAPERBACK  $20.   Both $6. shipping. (Europe and other countries allow $12 for shipping.)
Please pay by paypal  (and write your address)  <>       Also on Amazon  $19.95

The hardcover will not be available on Amazon, even though it is posted.

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A box arrived a few days ago containing the advance copy paperbacks to promote Fatima’s Touch. Shabda was leaving for Istanbul the next day, so he took a dozen to give out at the Universal Sufi Conference. He just sent me these three pictures of  friends from Turkey, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia, each holding Fatima’s Touch.


Esin Chelebi, Konya

Esin Chelebi is the 22nd generation granddaughter of Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi. She works to promote his teachings.


Fakhira Najib, Pakistan

Fakira Najib started “Broad Class” an organization bringing education, clothing, books and food to thousands of poor marginalized students and parents in Pakistan.

Fakira (Pakistan)

Ni’mah Nawwab, Saudi Arabia

A few years ago, I bought Ni’mah’s elegant poetry book: Canvas of the Soul: Mystic Poems from the Heartland of Arabia. She is “a voice for Arab women and youth,” and a beautiful bridge between East and West.

What a wonderful moment. Today, on the other side of the globe, these three women, are holding the book! May Fatima’s story be shared in America the way it is known in the Middle East, North Africa, and South East Asia. May she be appreciated and valued for her wisdom.

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I will be reading in Cambridge, Mass. at Cambridge Friends Meeting House, at 7:30 pm September 7th,  as part of an evening with the Dances of Universal Peace. Info: 617-876-5272. I will be reading from Fatima’s Touch in Seattle the first week in December.

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Repetition, Mountains and Shibori

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My granddaughter, Oona keeps drawing mountains. In the spirit of repetition, I say yes. yes! YES! and want to write poems and introduce her to Shibori.

Shibori: is the Japanese word for  ways of embellishing textiles by shaping cloth and securing it before dyeing, using a variety of techniques in different shapes to make different patterns. I was watching a small video and thinking how I would show it to Oona,  to inspire an art project we could do. Patterns.

video: at source click bottom (free entry) then go to line 11 “3 simple Shibori Styles”

“The more art is controlled, limited, worked over, the more it is free… The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees oneself of the chains that shackle the spirit!”  Igor Stravinsky.

Meter, in the most basic physical way, releases illogical energy and brings it in coaction with the rational part of the mind, creating a synergy that might seem badly needed today—a balance between the unconscious power that perhaps composes what we sense as sanity.”  and “Repetition pulls the reader down… into the preliterate, the childlike… appeals to the right-brained qualities of space, being, and unindividuated consciousness…”   Annie Finch

Let It Be Forgotten   ~   poem by Sara Teasdale


Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,

Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,

Let it be forgotten for ever and ever…

As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall

In a long forgotten snow.

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Oona has been drawing mountains for awhile. As I write this she is up in the Sierras. The repetition brings her  closer to what she is drawn to. Mountains, mountains, mountains……………………………………..


The Patterns in art and words made visible.

A repetition poem from Marilyn Hacker works both ends of the line with a repeated word at the beginning (anaphora) and rhymes for the final word. It gives a kind of hypnotic progression which goes on for six more stanzas than are shown here:

Casting Out Rhymes
Yes, dictionaries opening again
Yes, scorched across her forehead like a stain
Yes, less to say than cognate words contain
Yes, caffeine and butalbital for pain
Yes, ruptured synapses hobble the brain.

No, watched grey water circle down the drain
No, looking out the window of the train
No, not the melody, just the refrain
No, not temerity, no, not distain
No, stroked across the scar against the grain….

from William Blake ~The Tyger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright…
…What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp…

Closing with a humorous moment, having found the mountain with the Starbucks on the top. Oona’s dad, Ammon, VP of Product Design at the new company Takt, on brief vacation in the Sierras, is due for a coffee stop near the top. Yes!

The next post will announce the arrival of my new book: Fatima’s Touch, Poems and Stories of the Prophet’s Daughter, Ruhaniat Press, September, 2016.

Remembering Solomon 2016



So many of us love and think about you every day.  Happy 39th birthday Solomon! You brought so much fun and wisdom and joy into the world and our lives. It is astounding how much you lived in 34 years. You are missed, but live on in each of us.

Solomon and his dad, Shabda

Solomon and his dad, Shabda








Yesterday we celebrated your life with a windy visit to the new bench that sits next to a tiny bird lake in Marin. It has a view of Mount Tam and the East Bay in the far distance. Sun sets in the hills and is reflected here in front of the bench. The water is mostly used by cormorants and pelicans now, with a tribe of Canadian Geese claiming the North-East side. The swans are in the next lake.

Celebrating at the bench July 10, 2016

Celebrating at the bench
July 10, 2016

The idea of the bench with a plaque came during my luncheon visits with my close friend Girija Brilliant. Girija’s son, Jon died a year before Solomon ~ and magical connections have occurred bringing the two (who never knew each other) together.

Jon Brilliant and Solomon Kahn.

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Our favorite was this photo of two inscriptions on a beam at the large temple in Burningman several years ago. A friend of Jon’s took the picture and by chance there was an inscription to Solomon by an unrelated person inches above Jon’s name. Understand— there are over 1,000 messages written in this place every year, then offered to the fire. So we decided to create a bench in honor of our two sons. Las Gallinas Water District land provided the place, and last week the plaque was finished. Here’s to Jon and Solomon!

The Brilliant Family: Larry, Jon, Iris, Girija, and Joe

The Brilliant Family: Larry, Jon, Iris, Girija, and Joe

On this day of CELEBRATION of SOLOMON’S LIFE I am grateful for the friendships of those who joined us, and those like Nicole, Ryan and Samantha Rose, Ean Golden, The Lewis, Cherners, Lama Palden and many of Solomon’s close friends who we not there, but may visit the bench another time. Turn left after the railroad tracks at the end of Smith Ranch Road. Park in the small lot at the end, cross the bridge and walk until you see the BENCH at the second fork in the road!



Bench A2

In honor of Solomon’s birthday, please read this stunningly beautiful tribute from his dear friend Leila:

There are no words to describe how much I miss Solomon in my life. For days Leilahnow, leading up to his birthday I have been thinking of him, remembering his smile and steady spirit, his ability to make us all feel at home with ourselves because he appeared to feel at home with himself. I remember the time we shared and I am forever honored, humbled and grateful to have had his friendship. And though his spirit still informs my life, and so in some ways he is still present for me, it doesn’t solve the problem of me missing his voice at the other end of the phone, or yearning to see his smile one more time, or feeling a sense of comfort to have a friend nearby who when in his company things just always felt okay.

 Thinking of you all today, on this special day. How blessed we are to be alive. To know each other. And to dance this dance of life, where past informs present and present is all that is true. My work is to get out of my head and into a more heart centered and trusting way of living, where all things do not need reason or explanation… its all play in the field of love.

I love you. Am grateful for each of you.

 In memory of Solomon. May his soul be free and may his light shine bright! And may we dance this dance saying YES to all things that return us to love.  L.



Lesley Hazleton’s New Book



Agnostic: A Spirited Manifesto, Riverhead Books, N.Y., 2016, by Lesley Hazleton

When Lesley started working on this book I wasn’t sure what I thought or felt about the word AGNOSTIC. Now it is published and selling briskly. I read this book with great pleasure—the questions it raises and the wild ride in ideas and words. I’ve marked and turned down the corner on countless pages. I’m happy to share my interest and enjoyment.

Lesley and I had met years ago over our various writings on Muhammad and what needed to be said about him and the women around him. She read the Qur’an cover to cover in several English translations! Who can say they’ve done that? She gave TED talks. I am in awe of her accomplishments. Pilot. Journalist. Funny friend. My all time favorite book she wrote is Mary, A Flesh and Blood Biography of the Virgin Mother. Lesley Hazleton is my SHE-ro, that’s hero with a she, the most skillful driver of the vehicle of the written phrase. Her sentences move you right along.

I wondered how agnostic thoughts might fit into my world of Sufis, my research on Muhammad and Fatima. There is a very wide scope to this book.

Begin with the title. …A Spirited not Spiritual Manifesto. Yes! I like that. I live in a world where sentimentality lurks very close by, since Sufism is about LOVE. Like GOD it is almost impossible to discuss. Lesley writes:

God is such a little word for such a huge concept. A mere three letters in English, it’s so short, so concise, so …familiar. Far more user friendly than the amorphous idea of the divine or the transcendent or the infinite, its really kind of a nickname, a shorthand claim to intimacy…. 1

See what I mean? As with LOVE, everyone assumes the meaning is shared. Like LOVE, GOD gets held hostage by personal beliefs and experiences. Then the AHA! we share is lost. Agnostic: A Spirited Manifesto brings up and stirs around what we assume we know, yet don’t question.

The agnostic stance defies artificial straight lines such as that drawn between belief and unbelief, and shakes off the insistence that it come down on one side or the other. It is free-spirited, thoughtful, and independent-minded—not at all the wishy-washy I-don’t–know-ness that atheists accuse it of being. 2

I want to explore unanswerable questions with an open mind instead of approaching them with dismissive derision or with solemn piety… to get beyond old, worn-out categories and establish an agnostic stance of intellectual and emotional integrity, fully engaged with this strange yet absorbing business of existence in the world. 3

The following lines make me want to be Banksy, Graffiti Master of UK, painting phrases and paradoxes on buildings at night— everywhere.

Banksy 4

The meaning of life is that it stops. 4

…to be lost is to be fully present. 5

(The agnostic )…takes a spirited delight in not knowing. 6

Names pin things down…create the illusion of understanding. Which is why naming God might be the trickiest business of all. 7

As with your keys or your wallet, you “find” God or “lose” your faith. 8

This is the agnostic’s faith: not in answers, but in possibilities. 9


She speaks a truth that is rarely spoken:

By refusing to accept death—by seeing it as failure—both physicians and their patients (assume)…death is the enemy… “you can do this, you can beat it,” as though we declare war on death, As though, absurdly, we could kill it… 10

Perfectibility seems so hollow to me. The definiteness, the absolutism, the dead-endness of it— all these leave no room for life. The perfect tomato in the store turns out to be tasteless, genetically engineered for shelf appeal, not for the palette…. Complete agreement with whatever I might say leaves me gasping for intellectual air, longing for something more than a mirror of my own thoughts. 11

I can’t follow her into the mathematics of the universe, big numbers and infinity, so these pages with words like ouroboros and googolplex have me scanning and page-turning.

The book ends with a discussion of “soul.” She does that thing like the child’s game of repeating a word until it’s like Dr. Seuss, or like cracking an egg—

…soulful, a good soul, soul music, soul food, soul mates Soul… we seem to end up in a haze of well-meaning sentiment…

 Then she brings in a deeper layer:

…soul not as a thing, but as a dimension of being that defies the narrow lens of dogma…12

Hazrat Inayat Khan, the great Sufi who came to the West in 1910 calls the soul “…consciousness, which is all-pervading. That same consciousness is caught in a limitation … All the holy beings of the world have become so by freeing the soul, its freedom being the only object there is in life.”13

I like this, since I am in the lineage that reaches back through Inayat Khan for over 1000 years of direct guidance and experiential understanding. It is not a religion. I like to call Sufism, “the fragrance over the flower of religion,” I am open to what these Sufis have shared, but also look for and cherish a healthy “spirited” view including humor and paradox that insists on real experience, not just accepting what I’ve been told. Out of the deep sincerity of that attitude, devotion to the path I walk can be born in my heart.

This book …to quote Lesley’s final page about the soul, “makes my heart swell… makes me glad to be alive.” 14

Reference Notes

1     Lesley Hazleton, Agnostic: A Spirited Manifesto p. 25.
2     p. 4, 5.
3     p. 6
4     p. 135
5     p. 117
6     p. 6.
7     p. 51.
8     p. 47
9     p. 79
10   p. 145,146
11   p. 190
12   p. 193.
13   Hazrat Inayat Khan, The Sufi Message of HIK “Spiritual Liberty.” vol. 5, Chapter 1.
14   Lesley Hazleton, Agnostic: A Spirited Manifesto p. 204

Fatima’s Touch—my new book!

See the article below: This plan for White Cloud Press to publish my Fatima book did not happen. Fatima’s Touch is published by Ruhaniat Press. For more information see

I just finished a phone conversation with Steve Scholl of White Cloud Press in Ashland, and my book will be published there in 2017. Yes. I can celebrate, and will be— over the next year. FATIMA’S TOUCH, POEMS AND STORIES OF THE PROPHET’S DAUGHTER.


I have felt the urgency to make this happen, as world events usher in terrible stories linked to Islam, driving away any association with kindness and compassion, with no thought to the family visited by Angel Gabriel at the beginning of the seventh century, or the man Muhammad, who believed he was in the line of Abraham of the Old Testament. FATIMA’S TOUCH looks at her life based on historical writings in fifty-three poems. I should stop here, because much can change in a year, but for the moment, this is it.

[There are three poems from the book and an interview  with me in the April issue of AJI Magazine: ]

I remember living on a small sailboat, a thirty foot trimaran,  in 1970. We were sailing down the coast of Baha, with no radio or cellphone, just point-to-point navigation, calculating latitude and longitude. We’d had our dingy stolen near San Diego so we needed a dock to land. There was no road down Western Baha in those days. All that was left in the cupboard was rice. We had fresh water. It was my watch, the 9-12 slot, day and night. That morning, and I was at the helm with a line out the back, trolling for fish. Suddenly a strike! Reeling it in carefully, there on the deck lay a good size tuna. I remember my stunned surprise and delight, not unlike being told I have a publisher, not just a line out. A fresh meal-of-words lifted out into the sun.

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May this book’s story continue to unfold and bring understanding and increased clarity. May it be read far and wide.  <><  <><   <><

ON PROCESS: Poetry with WendyTC


Wendy’s here from Eureka Springs Arkansas. She came to give a poetry reading at Willow Glen Library in San Jose. Wendy Taylor Carlisle. My heavenly poetry muse. She has been editing my 52 poems. My back has been out for weeks. Working at the computer, I’m sometimes kneeling or standing with boxes under the screen, the mouse.

6 lines to this poem, # 40 in my Fatima book. She looks with concern at line 2. Metaphorical beings….

Can’t say that.

After dancing with the Thesaurus for awhile I change it to Inconceivable hands

I wave it in the air at her as she stands at the stair landing.

Then I recite it as I walk down the stairs.

That’s arrogant, honey. You put yourself above those beliefs mentioned

You need something else.

W +T

And I’ve got the metrics. Needs to be a /u/uu/

Look up “Mystical.” In the Thesaurus.




That’s good, but “outside nature” is that what you want to say?

Clear, ambrosial?

Ambrosial refers to food.

But I like it!

Can’t do that. How about encompassing.

YES. I like that but it needs another syllable!

            Strong encompassing hands.





That’s it!! Firm encompassing hands.

Great. Listen…


Letters of Love

Houris call to her spirit, signal nightfall.

Firm, encompassing hands untie her life; she

exhales Arabic.  Dazzling repetition

lifts: Muhammadan-Rasul’illah re-echos

“God’s perfection through human limitation*.”

On these letters of love she can fly to heaven.

[*quote: Hazrat Inayat Khan defining Rasul – Messenger of  God. Also, a text says that Fatima died saying the words Muhammadan-Rasul’illah: Muhammad is God’s Messenger. The form is hendecasyllabic, 11 syllables /u/uu/u/u/u.]

We did it.

I’m going to take a bath.

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Here’s my blog. I just wrote it while you were in the bath. I’ll call it


Call it: On Process.



Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan


artwork at Zaatari Refugee Camp

82 new Syrian Refugees entered Jordan in the last 24 hours, according to Albawaba News posting (2/17/16). The estimated number of Syrian Refugees in Jordan is close to 1.5 million, almost 650,000 are actually registered as refugees, but all are being offered food, water, and a place to stay. Having spent nearly a month in Syria in 2003, this beautiful place and people are still very alive for me.


I look back at my first blog posting, August, 2013, Zaatari Syrian Refuge Camp in Jordan. At the time there were over 115,000 refugees. In 2013 the camp swelled way beyond capacity and services to 156,000 people.

In April 2014, another refugee camp was opened in Azraq and both new arrivals and people from Zaatari began to settle there. The latest numbers put Zaatari under 100,000 people in two square miles. It is a city with a wall around it, no trees in the northern plain of Jordan.

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Above is a satellite picture of Zaatari almost two years ago.


Young Syrians playing computer games at a market in Zaatari.

There is so much attention to the flood of refugees across the water to Greece, or North and West into Europe, but Jordan and Lebanon are in a waterfall of displaced persons. Blessings on the King of Jordan, who continues to offer food, water and shelter to so many.


New housing modules, distributed by the UN High Commission for Refugees


We in America need to think of these refugees as  people of all levels of education and training, with languages and skills, those who stayed in the beautiful city of Aleppo, now steadily bombed, places that a year or so ago were normal cities, and are now places of death. They had no choice but to flee. Here are some more recent photos of Zaatari:



There are no water pipes to deliver water to the dwellings. It is supplied by water trucks like this one.


The main market. There is even pizza delivery. People here have accepted they are likely to be here a long time…

Here is a staggering fact: only just over 1% of the residents here are over 60 years old. 26% are children, and now infants are growing up in the camp. This is the only home they know.

It is important to keep these people in our thoughts and prayers, that they be safe, well, and even find happiness in their everyday lives, in friends and loved ones.