Map of the self - (1- map of the elements)

MAP OF THE SELF
Hoda Hussein


The first map of the self
Map of elements











To Osiris
The journey






First step
Crossing the water tunnel

Hunting for the sound
In the relation between circles
Grooves and ridges
On the surface of a disk.

Hunting for the circles
Grooves and ridges
On the surface
Of my fingers.

Hunting for the relation
Between the surface of my fingers
And the surface of the disk.

Does the sound get sharper
when the lines are brighter?
Shell it cough
if dust occupies it?

Hunting in the needle
That touches the round lines
In the rotation of the disk
In one direction
In the possibilities of emptiness forms
Between the needle point
And the turning lines.

Hunting
To reach the spherical emptiness
There
In the middle.

Circles turn with the sound
Breath
Go through ideas and trajectories
The time decomposes itself
Into spirals moving up and down
And I find myself there.
Every time I remember my face I see the sun
This disk that moves
And nobody sings
For it.

Sometimes you through your darts
And they catch a map
It might not necessary be your map
And by chance
Or coincidence
You find it in your hand
You say: I found a map
Therefore a map found me
And my mission now
Is to dissect it
Sometimes
You trough your darts
And they get lost
Hunting others' maps.

They are the laziest:
They trough their dreams at you
To realize it for them
They through you their disappointments
To endure it for them
Thy are the laziest
And you are
The naïve prey that
Lost the reason of his one hunt
Getting deeper in to the hunt
For the hunt
And sank.
When they pull you up
Do not be
Please
Thankful.


So who said that the emptiness in the middle
Is black?
And how do you know it is empty itself?
And if someone tells you
Nothing is in the emptiness
Would you believe?
Won't you hunt in this "Nothing"
For a shape or a form?
To touch it?
To intersect with it?
To find yourself
In it?



Second step
Crossing the fire gate


Entering the circle of time.
No time there.
As the desert
Declares its power
Behind a white shield.
The sun
Reflects its alliance with the sand
By flames:
Between each grain of sand and the other
A grain of light exists.

Sight is blind in here:
No dimensions
No horizon
The sun
Pricks my feet with needles of heat.
I realize it now:
The sun is down below.

Every thing is white
Explosion of living molecules
Like my shining soul
Like the point of a raising sword
Like a screaming metal
Or more.
Entering the circle of light
All these fires burn for me
Attracting me deeper inside
As a new offering
For its flames.

The thick liquid in which I am fused
Is an organic red.
My bits and pieces make it thicker.
I surrender to my turning.
The boiling bubbles reject my grains away
To redevoure it
Or may be
To reassure the metal
That it still
Possesses
Teeth.

I protect myself from iron, with copper
From war, with love
And I enter
Perspiring
Into the fire.
Here is no space but for metals
I am gold
But my fear is sharper than the diamond
I am scared
That the war makes my heart cold
So the iron of fused swords
Come and freeze on its surface
And me
If I loose my heart
I loose the battle.

I fall into the circles
As a drop
Falling on a leaf
Loosing some
Of its liquid.
Then it falls again
Till it settles down finely
Inside the clay.
This how,
As a heavy meteor I fall in space
I intersect with the galaxies
Loosing some of my mass
Every time
Compressed
Leaving some dust behind in the rings
Traces of me passing by the experience
Proves of me hunting
My self
My map
My for-seen ring.

The dross looks for its image in me,
Attracting me to follow its folk
Trying for some reason
To convince me
That we are just alike:
Only
Little dross that fell
Of one of the transformed metals.
A black whole absorbs me
Like a cigarette smokes,
I am more compressed
And I live
In the universal lung singed
By fire.

I left every thing behind and I entered
Circles, one after the other
And when I was turning
Something dropped into my heart
Like a pearl
Heavy And dear
It made me loose my light weight
And paid me
Attention.
Now I burn conscientiously:
The fire
Purified
Become just like me
Blue.

As a small stone enters the still water
The ripples surrounding me;
I am the one who made them
My fall made them
And my crushed body.
My flesh and bones now
Face the gravity law.
Softened is my heart
By turning that much
And it can not aught more
Any single vibration.

Of my blue arises transparency
Transparent. like water.
Of my decomposed bones arises the blue
Evaporated.



Third step
Getting a shape.



Life begins
When a palm leans
So a wall supports her

Life begins
When a palm leans
So a wall stands between her
And falling

mud
Shad
And a canal of sweet water

Life begins
When a palm hits
A wall of a mud brick house
Of one floor
So he shakes
And instead of her breaking him
She drops on his roof some of her dates

No picking of the first fruit
Anyway
If the first fruit wasn’t picked
It would fall
By itself.

Must
That the first fruit be a date
To create the reason of throwing the seeds

Must that the first fruit be a date
To mine the knowledge
From the experience and the pain.

And must that the first human be a female
To find a reason for going up to the roof of the house,
Discovering the fruit and biting it.

The female
Goes up,
Cleans
And discovers.

From the pain of biting the first fruit
She will discover the seed inside
And realizes
That the pain comes from biting the seed.

Knowledge begins,
When the female learns
That the pain comes from there,
From inside.

The trick begins
When the female learns
Who to move around her teeth
Round the meat of the fruit
Avoiding the seed in the center.

The shadow of the palm
Extends as a sharp dart towards the house
The shadow of the house
Extends towards the canal of sweet water
Where the female extends
As a blue shadow
Of the river.

Beauty begins
When she makes of the seed
A clip,
And hangs it
To the side of her hair.

The self begins
When the female looks
To her reflection in the river
And admires her image.

And the female begins
When she leans by her trunk on the river
So the reflection of her self stands
Between her
And sinking.


Fourth step
Comes the wind

Now I can touch my molecules
Follow its persisting movements
In the emptiness that attracts them
To each other.

Now I have molecules
They follow theirs violent movement
In the emptiness that spread them
Away of each other.

Now I have cities emptied of air
That works between the molecules

Now I have an edge to measure with my ends
Now I have an edge to measure with my penetration
Into the domain

And I have got ends
Happy to be suckers.
And measurements
Satisfied not to be able
To rust.

Now I celebrate:
I have got a shape
So I have all the possibilities
To ruin it.

I can be sharp
As a knife that rises for furious blood
And plays with it a little before destroying it
Just for bore.

I am the thrust
The thruster and the wounded
I am the abstract primer idea
Of snatching the galaxy heart of its breast
Aggressively
Like that.


Reaching the circle
Mid soul music




Silence
Distance
Axe point
One step backwards is sometime useful
To restart he attacking
A variant point:
However the head tries to rise
While lighting a cigarette
The eyelids look down

The sight follows fire wherever it goes
Even if the hand stops thinking
Of the second touch.

The censer is a furious hunt
For enslaving the fire.
The censer is a revenge.

The heart that did not know yet how to overpass
Experiences of pain
Flies with the smoke
And with it fly all possibilities
Of touch.

A sense after the other is suffocated
The hate does not recover
And the pain stays.
They will cut the hand that "stole"
A fire flame from the center of the galaxy
And if they could
They would punish the whole world
And wrote in the black list
The name of every atom and every molecule
That still burns in it
The flare of live.

Distance
Observe
Wait
During this things happen
The egg of a Nile crocodile hatches
Despite the astonishment of mouth and the eyes
The tale starts to discover the rhythm.
In a minute
The feet will follow.
The baby will dance for the first time
And comes some kind of beginning
After it
Things happen.

Watch me well
I am smooth like paste
Flexible like water
In your presence
I fit your empty spaces.
You see me fitting you
And I see
Your emptiness.
Distance
Separation.
The new born is innocent and slippery
To the edge of disgust.

The night piano is settled and ready
For the most specific details of percussion.
The ivory finger compresses the air
And the image breaths finally
An oxygen
That is welcomed by the breast of imagination.

The human finger untrained to the collective work
Presses with force
A slow and inner monologue
On the ivory finger of the instrument.
The thick finger at the extreme left
Replies deeply and loose.
Distance
Agony
Death.

On my hand
The lines of my life are drawn carefully.
Here I will be famous
Here all my life will be attached to the line of passion.
After the two third of my life
Exactly here
Where the surgeon infiltrates his needle now
I will have diseases in all my body
Painful diseases that lead to a slow death.
The slow death is here
Here it is
Where the surgeon is stitching his last point
With the plastic transparent thread.

When the wound recovers
I will reread my hand lines
May be the operation leaves a line
That accelerates death
Cutting the way of the pain
To the final third of my life
Where the sanguine veins gather
And the blue veins that draw their map
Towards the wrist.
Full point
Distance
Martyrdom.

I am the spirit of life
The intense repetition of the world's music
Where all the fighting rhythms decompose
To return to their primordial form:
The heart
Beats.

I breathe
I know that air surrounds me
I breathe
And this is more than the air surrounding me:
The dead are surrounded by air.

I breathe
Air is in me
The dead also
Are penetrated by air.

I smoke
And this is a big difference
Between the dead and the alive:
Me
still have the opportunity to agony.

The only other opportunity possible
For the lonely finger
Is to be talked
From time to time
By the similar finger
Of the hand in the opposite direction
Here Alice hits the face in her mirror.
Space
Paine
Perfection.

The piano fingers know by heart
The memory of the notes that they will have to play
They devoured it repetitively
With some of the human fingers char
That its left bits attack blackly
The white emptiness.
The traces of devouring are clear
On the piano teeth
As well as the traces of the prey's revenge.
Silence
A step back
Offence:
To devour is to sacrifice.

The smile that caries kindness to the world
Caries the cruelty too
As well as the echo of devouring
And the exhausted shacks of the choirs mussels
That mashed carefully the details of an Other
Who had less desire for digesting Knowledge.
Now grizzles the stomach of that animal who
- By the naivety of hunger-
Devoured a rotten pry
Which is attacking his intestines
By worms.

The pry goes out of the death cell
With a new metamorphoses options.
Silence
Intensity.
The bad smell mouth opens
Escapes a laugh
Revels to the wind the wholes in the bad teeth
And pushes all the face
To scream.


Both sleep exhausted
The rotten bones and the worms.
The both sleep
Side by side
- strange enough-
As the closest friends.