Lifted

I was lifted from my death bed and returned to the living. Now I find some portions of my self didn't come with me. I had been waiting for some kind of epiphany or profound transformation but it hasn't materialized. Instead I am somewhat aware of gaps where some part of me once lived. It isn't an easy process to identify. Much like a thought that is lost to memory. In some ways I am vaguely aware of something  missing. In other ways, I am changed. Gaps being present or memories altered or simply absent. My impulse of late is not to look for these missing nodes, but to merely leave them behind on the grave that I was lifted from.

“silence is the language of god, all else is poor translation.” Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi

Born:

in Balkh, Khwarazmian Empire, Afghanistan

August 12, 1207