A few days earlier, I had gone speed walking at our new compound. We sold our previous house, and moved to Jamesport on Long Island, NY. I love this area. When you drive around the neighborhood, you come across numerous wineries, as well as myriad fields of corn, sunflower, apple orchards, tomatoes , and different other vegetables. In a way it reminds me of the Haute Savoi region in France, where we lived years back.

As I walked, I admired my surroundings tremendously. I told myself that this looks like ‘Heaven.’ Yes, like my kind of ‘Heaven,’ where life is beautiful. Where it resembles the earth. I have described this type of special Heaven, in one of my books called, “Looking For George Bizet on Planet Heaven.” A Heaven which is the replica of earth, with the same continents and all… I know I am crazy, but when I die, I want for this lovely and exciting life, the beautiful views, and happiness to continue. That’s right…! And that’s how I have depicted life in “Looking for Georges Bizet on Planet Heaven.” I believe God is kind and loving. I am certain that contrary to our different religious beliefs, He is not there to punish us, nor to burn us in everlasting fires of hell. On the contrary He is there to forgive, and bring the good out in us. What’s wrong in dreaming about my type of a Heaven. What’s wrong in believing in life after life… Especially my type of optimistic Heaven and life. No hell… no punishment. Simply forgiveness and goodness, filled with happiness.

STORIES OF LIFE

Destiny

Are you listening to me?
Life is a miracle
My computer is a miracle
Which allows my fingertips
To connect me with you, you, and you
And then to the world
Now, look at the red horizon burning
A yellow and red line betwixt the sea and the sky
Where the seagull flaps its wings
Then skates gracefully above the ocean
Where dreams rise up into space
Where I see myself drifting aimlessly
Amidst life and my destiny
Where I will linger
Seeking to mark the heavens
With a tint of my past red and yellow hue
Where I can suck up all the goodness
That life embodies

I love ancient Persian poets. They were all so wise. A while back I translated one of his poems about knowledge. I found this small poem on the internet, which I would

really love to share with you all.

“Listen!
Clam up your mouth and be silent like an oyster shell,
for that tongue of yours is the enemy of the soul, my friend.
When the lips are silent, the heart has a hundred tongues.”

Rumi

Suddenly, the saying “An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” flashed in my mind. “So,” I told myself, “In that case, doctors must hate the cursed apple.”
Indeed, don’t they detest all the natural cures and remedies that certain people use, instead of submitting to their beloved prescription drugs? I, personally, have the same problem with my different doctors. I tell my primary care doctor that the two BP medications he has subscribed, don’t help me much. “Instead,” I continue, “a glass of vodka martini, or a glass of raw beet juice, bring my blood pressure down nicely.”
He protests, “Nonsense! This is nothing but, your imagination. I am a hundred percent sure that it must be the blood pressure medication that does the trick.”
Well, what can I tell you! I swear that for me, natural remedies such as, for example, eating sweet apples to help with my acid reflux, or drinking tea with apple cider vinegar and honey – for the same ailment – are really effective. Honestly, I am not lying. Of course, I know that for many other problems, I do need prescription drugs.

All my life, I have been horrified of mice. Honestly, a snake or a crocodile, and even a tiger, do not scare me as much as one of those spine-chilling, ugly rodents. When I see a mouse, I suddenly gasp for breath. My body feels freezing cold from head to toe, as my heart skips a bit before it begins thumping in my ears like a deafening drum.
Actually, I have a chapter about my extreme fear of this small, creepy and speedy creature in my new novel, called, “Looking For Georges Bizet on Planet Heaven.”

I remember as a teenager, one morning, pushing back the cover of the breadbox in the kitchen and finding a gray mouse munching happily on a piece of bread. That scary beast stared at me with its beady eyes, as I yelled at the top of my voice and ran out of the kitchen with the swiftness of a racing car. Despite the fact that my mother had put traps in the basement, there were still a multitude of those hated creatures zooming around.

At night, in my bed, I would pull the covers over my head to protect myself against the mice in case they jumped on my bed. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would wake up to a start with the squeaking noises of the racing mice in the dark.

Then, suddenly a real miracle took place! One morning, as I walked into the sunny garden to head towards school, a black and white tuxedo cat that must have jumped over the wall, approached me and began rubbing its head against my legs.

“Mother… Mother,” I called out joyously. “Look what God has sent to our rescue.”

My mother rushed out, and covered her mouth with surprise. “I will take her right in and feed her,” she blurted out.

Well, that was it. Our god-sent us a gift… our new beloved pet. Yes, within no time she cleaned up the house from all the mice, making me the happiest girl on earth.

Maulana Rumi, a thirteenth century Persian poet, in the prose below, categorizes us, humans, into groups of wise, knowledgeable, or ignorant personalities. Regrettably, it is impossible to interject its specific Farsi rhythm in its English translation. However, I have tried my best to project the real gist of its verses into English.

A well-informed soul, desiring to learn even more
Rises to the heights of glory and joy

A knowledgeable person, well aware of such a gift
Resembles a man galloping his noble horse beyond the rolling globe

A being endowed with knowledge, unaware of this blessing
Is like someone who remains thirsty, despite abiding by a pitcher brimming with water

A person without knowledge, well aware of it
Will surely arrive home even riding on a lame and limping mule

A being with no knowledge, wishing to really learn
Liberates the soul and the body from everlasting oblivion

An uninformed person, unaware of such a misfortune
Will naturally remain in perpetual darkness

Ignorant people who do not care whether they are or are not
Are non but beasts, unworthy of occupying our world

My daughter – let’s call her, ‘Emilia’ – had an important business meeting. She went out to get herself a new suit to wear for that special occasion. When Emilia got home smiling contentedly feeling proud of her shopping success, we all realized that the little electronic alarm tag had not been removed. What a shame, she could not wear the new suit to that special event. I wondered how she had managed to leave the store without being stopped by someone in order to have the bag checked for shoplifting. Emilia said that the tag had indeed triggered the alarm in the exit door, as she had tried to leave. However, the sales girl had simply waved her through. The same thing happened to me a few years back. You can’t for a minute imagine how annoying that disgusting little device was. You felt like blocking your ears tightly with your hands and yelling. Luckily, my husband managed to take the buzzer off the garment for me. So, I did not have to return to the store to have it removed. However, when I threw the nasty beeping tag into the garbage can, it did not stop busting our ears. The only thing I thought I could do was to dump it into the flower bed right by our tennis court. Do you think it would stop for a second to give our poor ears some rest? No such luck…!it kept ringing on and on… Fortunately, we were mostly
indoors. Meanwhile, when my friends and I played tennis, it really drove us crazy. I was hoping that the inbuilt electronic buzzing device would soon die off. No..no such luck. one day, having driven us crazy, my friends and I decided to kill the damn thing for good. Yes, we buried it deeply into the soil. And yes. We murdered the devil for good, as we hid it inside its grave.

Has it ever happened to you to question your faith? Do you sometimes ask yourself if most of the religious dogma is nothing but man made?

I was born into a Christian family in Iran. My father and mother were fervent believers; and my siblings and I were brought up according to the Christian principals and faith. I believed in everything I was taught until the age of sixteen. At sixteen, suddenly, I lost my faith. Everything the pastor preached at church appeared to me as stories from a fairy tale. And, when I sat next to  my mother in church, I looked around me at the congregation with pity and murmured within, “You innocent bunch! How can you believe in all this nonsense?”

One day, I decided to talk with my eldest brother about my loss of faith in God and religion. He told me, “You know what? The more you question such matters, the less you believe.”

He added that there are no straight answers to our questions and doubts in religion. The best thing, he said, is to leave things alone. Then, he said, one will slowly begin to develop a kind of a faith which will appear logical to us.

It took me a good four-five years to begin to understand religion in my special fashion. By the age of twenty I had already developed a kind of a faith that was ingrown. I began believing in Jesus and his spiritual power based on my own acquired belief that originates from within myself. I also believe in a powerful creative force that people call ‘God.’ Today, I am convinced  that everything is possible through His great might. I also believe in miracles brought about by the power of one’s mind. This is what I try to show in “Apple Tree Blossoms in the Fall,” or in my new novel, “Looking for Georges Bizet on Plant Heaven.”

I sometimes wonder what made me an author. Yes, I do know that I am blessed with the gift of writing. However, let me stress that talent alone is not sufficient. A writer, in the meantime needs to be disciplined and determined, in order to be able to complete and publish a book. In life, I’ve come across many people who have set out to write a book, but never succeeded to complete it. I, other than being driven, was lucky to know a wonderful person called Miss Doolittle, who pushed me into becoming an author. Thus, the only person who deserves to be praised for my success… the real motivator and engine, was none other, but Miss Doolittle. I wish she were alive to read my books. Unfortunately, Miss Doolittle passed away right at the start of the Iranian revolution.

Miss Doolittle, was our head mistress at “Iran Bethel American Girls School,” in Tehran. Judging from my creative style of essay writing, she knew that I had the potential to become a writer. When I was sixteen – which I like to call, a century ago – one day, she asked me, “Why don’t you turn the classical book called, “Scrooge,” into a play.

“I can’t, Miss Doolittle,” I protested. “That’s the job of a professional writer.”

She arched her eyebrows, looked at me with sparkling and smiley eyes, and answered, “Yes, you can, master.”

I cast my eyes down and responded timidly, “Excuse me, I don’t deserve to be called a master.

“Yes, you do,” she answered, bobbing her head. “I truly find you to be a master among your classmates when it comes to writing.”

Surprisingly, it took me only a week to convert Scrooge into a play script, although I had never had any experience in script writing. Soon, our literature teacher formed a group of my classmates to perform my play on our school stage. I must admit that it did not take long for me to become known as a talented writer at school and our church. At seventeen, I was already a published author… thanks to no other person, than my dear Miss Doolittle. How can I ever forget it!

Some say cats are stupid. At least that’s what my husband claims. Who knows, maybe he is teasing me, knowing how much I love and admire my lovely Fantast. We have three other cats, but my favorite one – my friend – is none other, than Fantast. What I like the most about him is that he communicates with me. I often find myself speaking with him, just the way one would with a human. And please believe me when I say he responds to me with his eyes and jesters. For example, this morning, when I woke up, I found him sitting by our bedroom door staring at me with big wide opened eyes. Normally, every morning, my daughter feeds all four cats, before I wake up.

I asked Fantast, “What is it? What do you want?”

He kept staring at me without budging. Again I demanded, “What do you want? Don’t tell me you haven’t had your food yet.”

The moment I mentioned the word ‘food,’ he turned around and zoomed toward the kitchen. I followed him and found that all the other cats were patiently waiting for me in the kitchen. Then, they all rushed toward the fridge. Yes, sure enough, the cats were all hungry. They had sent their envoi to fetch me. What do you call these cute creatures if not “The Talking Animals” – like the tales in my children’s story books?