The birth of Hamza…

WhatsApp Image 2019-09-19 at 11.59.14 copyLike a warrior who never understood the opposite sides of his godly powers and repeatedly misuses the darker shades of them within the outer life, time after time, till guilt can no longer sustain his own actions, you once wanted to die.

And so, even though once the act of dying is truly wished for and certainly takes a shorter time for a man to exit from this plane that the way he first came into it upon his birth, instead, you went to a place where very few men ever return from. That nameless dwelling in between life and death where the clock no longer matters, and only inner demons are fought hard with. And so, you struggled again and again, and you died within so many splits of seconds only to be reborn in the next!

Till a new day came and whilst it felt like you had reached  the end of the mad spin and whatever men choose at the end of this road, you finally gave in and accepted to live this one way ticket you had once been given and  the universe had equally made it clear it would not make you surrender so easily. And so, you climbed back your way out and as you came back to the white and bright side of what some call, the polarity line, you discovered a whole new spiritual side to this same life you hated so long ago. And you started wanted to fly, fly high into that unfamiliar world that felt like a pair of new wings that came with the discovery. And you cleaned your soul and like a child who is blooming into life and all of its fantastic discoveries, you’ve started wanting things, many things and perhaps even a little too much of it. Though, in truth, the universe will never cease giving to those who ask and ask, you can, for that same universe has so much to give.

And so, be it, be then, like the phoenix who was reborn from ashes, you were once again into life and on the way to discover all of its hidden godly mysteries.  And yet, one day, whilst sitting on that favorite new bench of yours that faced your favorite new sea that belonged to your brand-new life, visions of something even more grandeur and majesty came to you. A vision of bond and love. Was the universe playing tricks on you again ? For after all, had you not  made a promise to forbidden yourself from the pleasure of the flesh for as long as you could bare it and only the same universe all knew too well that indeed, you can bare plenty !

And so the vision turned into reality and the reality became yours to live. And the same man you  once forbid yourself to ever become again with all its intricated sides you fell to control,  eventually came back into life.

And this was the beginning …

Sophie Parou

Credit pic: Moosiatko

When Hamza spoke…

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He was a simple man as humble and kind as simplicity would have indeed dictated.
And in the most enchanting voice for the ears, he once said:
‘I am Hamza. I am no warrior nor preacher and fewer miles than many have i walked on the gardens of this earth. Yet, enough have i seen and equally have i learnt to know that the heart is what matters the most in our voyage throughout this plane and the six more to come should your soul have just been born. For truly, the heart is indeed the sole place where miracles and voiceless things of beauty, which long to live, shall reveal themselves at once and forever.
As to the affairs belonging to the sphere of the mind, beware. For once the intellect no longer acts as a mere servant to the heart but has become its own master, the heart shall indeed cease to be and will be ever so hard to regain.’

Sophie Parou

Credit: pic by Chedoy

The mirror in the self

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Complex and above all complications indeed will the self seems at times.
For in truth, the soul and everything contained in it, is as big as the world at large that shows itself to us.
And thus seeing one’s self in its true face is as seeing an entire world in constant thinking.
A world where energy replaces matter that no longer exists.
A world where time ceases to be and past, present and future coagulate and are lived by the self all at once.
A world up scaled by a plentiful of emotions that thirsts to be shared.
And a world that shall make all of your senses quake as you tap in the mass consciousness to which your self belongs to, as you remember.
Thence to comprehend such world is to know one self. And to know such self is to grasp the ultimate reality and existence of the macro above and within which, you shall finally find Him.

Sophie Parou

Credit: pic by Taenaron 

Ab Initio the birth, rise and death of true queens

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In this dimension of ours, it is said that true queens are born but every 100 years at a very specific time, in various corners of the globe and regardless of their forefathers. A well notable fact to a remaining but most secretive group located in Iceland and which can faintly be identified by the initial ‘M’.
And whether this certainty is befalling the unforthcoming geometry of chance dictated by the above or perhaps other forms of magical rulings that may have occurred in the ancient days when the great sages of this world used to govern everything from underneath, till date, this process has been uninterrupted.

The following shall depict the birth, rise and death of a true queen and as we are told.

Once the heavenly bells sound the announcement of the first breath of the newborn queen, down below, on this majestic bright day, people living in the neighborhood and to further distances will strangely feel light and merry at heart.
Nurses fetching for the child will sense a prompt attachment towards her and without any second thought to it, they will find themselves naturally calling her by her true attribute, “the little queen”.
And by dusk, whilst the Shepard star slowly paves its way onto the sky, it will curiously shine a thousand fold stronger than on any other day. Hence, the night will thus appear bright and clear as if lighted by thousands of flamboyant lanterns.

A new queen is now born and with her essence comes the radiance of hope that the mass always seeks and thirsts for. A new nation has now become but has yet to know it.

According to the origin and well-conceived plan, the physical particulars of a queen are non-specifics. Except perhaps for a minor detail that resides in her earlobe uncommonly attached to her skin and which could indeed distinguish her slightly from the majority of the people of earth.
Nature will nonetheless engage itself into the beautifying of a queen from birth but never so as to provoke, hence, flatter the dormant ego. As such, a queen will simply bear the beauty of the commonness.

And whilst the genesis informs us that the given name of a queen can bear various meanings, it also indicates that such epithet will most likely be carrying the synonyms of ‘wisdom’, ‘wise’, ‘angel like’ or ‘mother of believers’.

For further undisclosed reasons, it is also said that a queen will always be born during the fall season when nature slowly goes to sleep. And when numerology will be at play, all figures added shall disclose number nine. The one that precedes the last.

However, a queen will always be deprived of her own root identity and for harsh but nonetheless plausible reasons that seek source in the future map of the world and its delicate balance. Hence the parents who will be appointed to raise her shan’t be enacted from her bloodstream but rather be ‘the selected ones’ who will bring her up into the world.
Thus, as persists the non-existence of a ‘past line’, as she grows older, once the awareness sets foot, a queen shall ultimately be eager to create her own. And from that point onwards, her actions will naturally burst forth into those reflected by the legendary Athena or Freyja. Her determination will furthermore belong to a few elite who thrive hard so as to climb to the highest point, and can not be tamed till they reach the accomplishment of their own vision. Hence, the siblings that she holds dear will strategically never be carrying a weight big enough to keep her from becoming. A queen will simply be flying the kite of life as free as butterfly but with the eyes and mind of a phoenix bird.

As strength ultimately needs to succumb her way, it is also in the image of the number 100, that the amount of happenings and episodes contained in the existence of a queen shall be multiplied.
Thus once the written book is unsealed, her shall very much reflect that of a fiction novel that shall take you on a voyage of intense emotion, changing distances and adventures that are indeed quite uncommon in this life.

But there shall also be many empty moments in the life of a queen when nothing but loneliness fills in all the timeless places. Feelings of not belonging and enquiries into her true identity as well as the end of the journey and its purpose will often be questionable and may result in long pauses. Hiatus that shall remain now on and then, till she simply becomes and achieves the apogee of her life. But such halt shall never last for long periods of time for a queen will ultimately always seek root to her inner feelings and hold firm onto her own faith. And when asked about her religion belongings, she would probably daringly declare: ‘I am Godly”.

As about the affairs of the heart, she will undoubtedly have various spree but one thing which we are certain of as per the writings, is that a queen is always seconded by the shadow of a male who most decisively represents her equal in various ways.

And whether those beings called ‘queens’, shall reveal themselves as light workers or saviors have sometimes yet to remain unfolded and till time dictates otherwise.

And none of the above neither seems fair nor right but the way is nonetheless in perfect ad equation with the plan Mother Nature has withheld for grander beings.
For indeed, a queen led to endure may conquer a world on the verge of falling but a world shall always be doomed to fail and be vanquished by a queen who has gone astray!

Sophie Parou

Credit: pic by The Flickerees

Memoir of the Cream & Gold Illusionist / Sheikha’s A.A’s wedding cake

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Mounted on the highest step of a tall ladder given to him by one of the royal guard, the maestro took out a very thin silk brush from his sleeve and was now putting the final touch of edible gold glitter onto his chef d’oeuvre.
And as he slowly stepped down, armed with the meticulous eyes of the perfectionist that he had become in his thirteen years in Arabia, he would review every single details of what he was yet again, about to offer to the world.
The fifteen members of his kitchen fleet had stepped aside as per protocol and were now observing him, all ready to step in by the sight of his hand or a word. Tough deep inside, none of them were feeling any less proud than the Chef commander himself about what had just been accomplished.
“C’est finit! (its ready)” did the chef finally utter in a broken English accent and at the relief of all.
Electricians, carpenters, designers, decorators and all of those who had their role to play in the birth of the masterpiece, gathered their tools at once. Handshakes shook with emotions and the crew departed, leaving the Head Chef handle the rest of the evening, as tradition goes.

A majestic seven-meter golden and white icing wedding cake was now powerfully standing tall in the large green grass and palm trees estate of a popular Sheikha, as if almost reaching to the desert sky.
Its posture was magnificent and even more, when the connoisseur of renaissance would recognise with enthusiasm the garden of Versailles daringly imprinted on it.
By a small breeze that reigned over the theatrical ambiance, the smell of Madagascar vanilla that emerged from the cake was softly embalming the entire space.
And since in the land of the Thousand and One Nights, nothing ever exists that is too big for extravagancy, a small water fountain had been built in on top of the masterpiece and was now glowing a vibrant blue light at the approach of sunset, whilst the royal personnel afar was patiently awaiting for the three thousand five hundred guests to arrive.

Six months was the time it took its creator to visualize, sketch and give birth to this unique and memorable nuptial element of a day.
A cake which challenged all known rules related to layered pieces and which due to its edible as well as its non edible structure required a maker that would not only be arising from an elite group, but one who would also possess the dual and combined knowledge of food and architecture. A world class to whom very few belong indeed.

Dressed in a black chef jacket that had been embossed in gold with his initials O.A along with his favorite number 4, the handsome middle age chef was now contemplating on that achievement of his that stood strong in front of him, as if almost defying him.
In a moment of peace, away from all eyes, he then took a deep breath and the same inner voice that had never left him since he departed from his motherland Morocco whilst he was only seven years old, was now telling him to finally let go. For indeed, all dices had already been thrown.
And thus, all that was left in the royal park was now the conductor, his Magnus opus and the invisible dialogue between the two and which usually occurs at these precise moments.

“This is such a big cake!” did suddenly state a young girl coming out from the side garden of the royal palace.
“What is your name?” did the chef reply with a smile, amused by the remark.
“I am Sophia” said the girl.
By the look of her outfit and posture, the youngster firmly belonged to the ground onto which the same cake was now standing.
The chef took a natural approach and whilst taking her hand, he brought her near the object of her curiosity.
“ My name is Omar and I am like a magician of sugar and gold. My mission in this life is to allow people who dream of having the biggest wedding cake of all, to render their wishes. So perhaps when you are older and you have such a desire, I will, in turn, make such a cake for you?”.
The girl satisfied with her enquiry simply smiled back, whilst a guard was coming to fetch her.
“Good bye for now” she said.
‘Good bye and see you perhaps in a few years” did he reply.

This small encounter had subtle the nervousness of the evening and everything that had yet to occur. Though, for now Omar was all thoughts about the cake, the small girl, the past and perhaps even the future…

Once, when he was not much older than the girl he just met, he too used to gaze at the cakes that deliciously presented themselves within the glass displays of Parisian pastry stores and boutiques. There he thought, they were the most respectfully, elegantly well bestowed sweets he had ever witnessed till date and which perhaps he was now simply trying to replicable and sublime, in all possible grandeur.
Paris, a city where he grew up and stayed for so many years and that remained till date, very dear and near to his heart.
And as fate will have it or ‘maktoob’ as what it was called in this part of the world, wouldn’t it be for a well-established woman whom he met by no existing chances at the age of thirteen, the world’s tallest wedding cake that was now rising in the garden would simply cease to exist. Her name was Suzie. And Suzie simply had been the tool employed by life to give him the finest pastry education and ultimately, the wings to fly higher than that which destiny had set for him at the time. Hence a life without Suzie meant no life at all as he realized years ago…
That is not to say though that all achievements are simply won. On the contrary, Omar was now remembering that one particular time when he tried to quit the game. But this is when Suzie, who was never too far from him, would firmly reply: “How would we to walk if all the brave shoemakers were to become braver travellers of unknown worlds? Where would we to live if all the worldly architects were to abandon pens and drawings to worldlier feasts? What would we to eat if all the hunters and fishmongers of every corners were to worship more than to kill the beasts? Hence, my dear old friend, what will become of a world where passionate ones are to deny their own passion?”
And as he was now recalling this unusual episode, he smiled and promised himself to call her the next day, in order to give her the tale and details of this present memorable evening.

The chef was suddenly brought back to the purpose of his being here, once the horde of violin suddenly decided to play and in the same manner, the large main glass door of the palace on looking the garden opened.
In the front row, carefully dressed for the occasion in the most sumptuous garments made out of rubies and opal stones, were now standing the young bride and groom who were proudly going to present their wedding cake to the assembly, as tradition dictates.
And following them intimately were the guests who had not spared any less on their formalwear. Whilst slowly dispersing themselves throughout the garden that was glittering a thousand lights braced within the majestic palm trees, astonishment and surprise at the immensity of the cake was all one could read on their facial expression.
Meanwhile, the fifty photographers, tired of waiting indefinitely for the main attraction to arrive, were finally given the adequate time to let the roll capture the pictures of the wedding of the year. And in the same manner as the guests, all were now startled at the beauty which the cake presented to them and which in their long career, for some, had never been witnessed before.
A fairy tale brought to life was now happening somewhere in the land of Arabia on this fine evening.

The chef stood aside whilst the Sheikh and Sheikha paved their way ahead and as they reached to the optimum moment of the night, a silver knife engraved in their initials was handed to them.
The chef d’oeuvre was at last cut and Omar would leave shortly afterwards, whilst knowing he was still the greatest cream and gold illusionist of all.

Sophie Parou