It was December but it was warm, and I slept in the car, but when we came around the side of the mountain, the city was spread out in front of me, and it felt like coming home. Overwhelmed, everything felt a little bit surreal. My aunt and uncle were in the same apartment building, a childhood friend turned out to be one of my roommates, and I had the best views from my apartment: the Shrine of the Bab, the city of Haifa, and the Mediterranean.

Everything seems better in hindsight, of course. I remember being incredibly lonely, but also really happy. Very few of us had internet at home, and every day things felt a little more distant everywhere else. One of the advantages of not having internet or tv for the first 10 months was the sheer amount of books that I read. I was 23 years old, in a new life.

Even 3 1/2 years after returning to the United States, I still miss it. I miss the Shrines, the year-round flowers, the history and age of Israel, exploring (wish I had done more of that!), the people, the warmth…(I may have been one of the few people that LOVE hot weather). Everything.

I miss it every day.

I am home, over 2 years and I am taken back to a place that is burned into my soul and heart.

Wishing I could dissolve in tears with my face pressed to the carpet, the silence and the smell of roses like a warm embrace…

“O thou cherished Fruit of the heart! Give ear to the melodies of this mystic Bird warbling in the loftiest heights of heaven. The Lord hath, in truth, inspired Me to proclaim: Verily, verily, I am God, He besides Whom there is none other God. He is the Almighty, the All-Wise.

O My servants! Seek ye earnestly this highest reward, as I have indeed created for the Remembrance of God gardens which remain inscrutable to anyone save Myself, and naught therein hath been made lawful unto anyone except those whose lives have been sacrificed in His Path. Hence beseech ye God, the Most Exalted, that He may grant you this meritorious reward, and He is in truth the Most High, the Most Great.”

- the Báb

Arise, and proclaim unto the entire creation the tidings that He Who is the All-Merciful hath directed His steps towards the Ridvan and entered it. Guide, then, the people unto the garden of delight which God hath made the Throne of His Paradise. We have chosen thee to be our most mighty Trumpet, whose blast is to signalize the resurrection of all mankind.

- Baha’u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u'llah, p. 31

The Festival of Ridvan lasts for 12 days, and is a wonderful time in the Baha’i community.  There are 3 holy days (1st, 9th, and 12th days), there are the elections of the Local and National Spiritual Assemblies, and every 5 years the election of the Universal House of Justice occurs at Ridvan.  It is hard to believe that 2 years ago at this time I was in Haifa, preparing for the 10th International Convention.  This year, I am preparing for the National Convention in Wilmette for the election of the National Spiritual Assembly, which will happen next week.  I wander the gardens of the House of Worship (where the tulips are blooming!), instead of the gardens of the Shrines in Israel.

Have a joyous Ridvan!

I stepped outside and the air smelled like (home), like stone paths, the bay, flowers, and a breeze off the mountains and desert that lifts you up…

Warm and cool, the kind of cool that only requires a light sweater. Full of excitement.  The gardeners watering plants as I walked up the mountain, past the wall of flowers, the silent woosh of doors as I stepped into the cool stone corridors.

The kind of morning where I would bounce into work, 8:30 am, ready to do what I was meant to do.

It is a little different here, this new home, my new place. My car transports me to work past elegant Victorian homes, antique shops, schools, and the train.  The streets are wider, and I can’t see the water from here (but I know it is close).  After the last few years of being able to sense the water nearby, it seems odd to ever consider living away from water again.  Whether the Mediterranean or Lake Michigan, it seems right to base my orientation on the water.

I wanted to hold onto the feeling of a Haifa morning today, just walk with my eyes closed, pretend that I was still there.  Pretend that the stones were digging through the thin soles of my shoes, that my flatmates and I were rushing out of our apartment to get to work (service), that I would walk up a flight of stairs to the lunchroom at 12 pm and the same old crew would be sitting at a big table.  That I would take a walk around the Arc with a friend, would stop by the Food Center for an afternoon snack, and walk/slide down the steep slopes at the end of a long day to pray in the Shrine of the Bab before going home.  Every late night conversation with my friends, staring out over the lights of a city on the mountain.

This is Chicago, though, I am half a world away and this is life, now.  Some things are the same, and I still drink too much caffeine during the day, and I am working in a job that I love.  This is my life, now.  I don’t write or speak using British English anymore, I’ve reverted back to American.  There are no hills or mountains here.

I am holding close the feeling of a Haifa morning, and feel grateful that I remember what it feels like.

Since I left home.

It is two places now, where I am and where I was.  It is pieces of memories that float to the surface with no warning and leave me gasping for breath.

It is silence in the Mother Temple when I close my eyes and pretend that I am in the Shrines, or standing on the sea wall, or walking down broken stone paths.  I am still near the water, but instead of a warm sea I swim in the cold lake, instead of gardens I am stand in concrete city landscapes.

One year.

So much and so little has changed.  There is a little more knowledge behind my eyes, a little more heaviness in my sighs, more smiles and more quiet.  There is less need to be here and there and everywhere at once.

Work happens every day from 8 am-5 pm, Monday through Friday, just like I prayed for.  Last night I signed a short lease for a place to rest my head at night, and a closet for my clothes.  Resigned and happy.

I miss you and you and you and you and you and most especially you.

In between places and time are the photographs, the Saturday morning brunches, the days upon days at Bahji, the Friday afternoon soccer matches, Thursday nights that were never-ending, Monday’s game night and dinner, Tuesday farewells to the pilgrims, and praying my way down the mountain.

Home is a jumbled mess of prairie grass, the call to prayer, the flat roads, the mountain stairs, a million flowers, snow, sand, sky and no starlight.  Haifa and Chicago.

My eyes have seen and

my heart has known and

my faith is this: I will never be alone.

We walked in the darkness, the glow of lights far away.  The mosquitoes attacked if we sat too long, and so we walked.  The night was damp, the seats surrounding Bahji covered in dew, the rocks less dusty than usual.

We walked up the stairs and down again, we bowed our heads at the threshhold and let tears fall down our faces.

I stood in the room where the Blessed Beauty was freed from this mortal life, and felt the universe revolve around that spot.

We stood at the top of marble columns and looked out over the world, and we stared into the warm summer night, in surprise and awe at this wonderful luck. How were we here at this moment, in this place?

We told stories, whispers that carried through to hearts, and we looked up at a full sky of stars, down at our feet that carried us down the silent paths, and at the light that reflected off our eyes and souls.

Let not your hearts be perturbed, O people, when the glory of My Presence is withdrawn, and the ocean of My utterance is stilled. In My presence amongst you there is a wisdom, and in My absence there is yet another, inscrutable to all but God, the Incomparable, the All-Knowing. Verily, We behold you from Our realm of glory, and shall aid whosoever will arise for the triumph of Our Cause with the hosts of the Concourse on high and a company of Our favored angels.

(Baha’u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u'llah, p. 139)

Planted things in the garden.  Crossing my fingers that they won’t die or get eaten by rabbits.

Made chocolate covered strawberries and apricots.

Another article that I wrote went up on Soulpancake.

Enjoyed the tulips in the gardens at the Baha’i House of Worship.

Saw Star Trek and LOVED IT.  The nerd in me was so, so happy.

Performed my poetry onstage in Chicago for the first time in years.

Had strange/wonderful dreams: riots, friends, Haifa, happy, sad, beautiful.

Went to a meeting with the youth and some special visitors from Haifa.

Said goodbye to some friends moving across the world (as usual).

Filled out applications.  Tried to make plans.

time slipped through, down and never existed
time waited, stopped, and counted
the breaths we took, the tears and smiles
the silent prayers, the laughter over coffee

the ocean, the paths, the stones
watched our meandering ways
with angels over our shoulders

every lost moment before
every lost moment since
tallied up in letters and thought
in the dreams of could have been

The Most Great Festival is, indeed, the King of Festivals. Call ye to mind, O people, the bounty which God hath conferred upon you. Ye were sunk in slumber, and lo! He aroused you by the reviving breezes of His Revelation, and made known unto you His manifest and undeviating Path.

(Baha’u'llah, The Kitab-i-Aqdas, p. 59)

This time last year…I was at Bahji for the celebration of the Holy Day.  We were 5 days away from the Tenth International Baha’i Convention, and I was surprisingly put together and relaxed.  It was spring, but felt a bit more like summer.  Everything is a blur…you know that you need to remember the details, but you don’t have time to write everything down.  The anticipation of waiting for the delegates to arrive, making sure last minute tasks were taken care of, phone calls and emails…

But on the Holy Day, everything stops for a moment.  There is silence, then the sound of chanting filling the gardens at Bahji, and the sunlight strong on my face and hair, the crunching of stones underfoot as over 500 people circumambulate the Shrine of Baha’u'llah, the joy of talking with friends and laughing as the sun begins to set.

…and then back to work.

“…’Abdu’l-Bahá had the marble sarcophagus transported with great labor to the vault prepared for it, and in the evening, by the light of a single lamp, He laid within it, with His own hands — in the presence of believers from the East and from the West and in circumstances at once solemn and moving — the wooden casket containing the sacred remains of the Bab…”

‘The most joyful tidings is this,’ He wrote later in a Tablet announcing to His followers the news of this glorious victory, ‘that the holy, the luminous body of the Bab … after having for sixty years been transferred from place to place, by reason of the ascendancy of the enemy, and from fear of the malevolent, and having known neither rest nor tranquillity has, through the mercy of the Abha Beauty, been ceremoniously deposited, on the day of Naw-Ruz, within the sacred casket, in the exalted Shrine on Mt. Carmel… By a strange coincidence, on that same day of Naw-Ruz, a cablegram was received from Chicago, announcing that the believers in each of the American centers had elected a delegate and sent to that city … and definitely decided on the site and construction of the Mashriqu’l-Adhkar.’”

(Shoghi Effendi, God Passes By, p. 276)

I remember how often he [Shoghi Effendi] would tell the visiting pilgrims that because a simple candle was denied the beloved Bab during His imprisonment in Mah-Ku, His resting-place was to be eternally a temple of light. This was also true inside His tomb, where there is a magnificent chandelier, with almost a hundred electric bulbs that, when lighted, turn the sombre dim light of the inner chamber into the full glory of brilliant sunshine.

(Ugo Giachery, Shoghi Effendi – Recollections)