Laylatul Qadr: a flashmob fractal

It is most wonderful to see many happy people having – whatever and however.

I mentioned the Sydney flashmob to Mum after Kathi shared her Boston experience with public performance art, and then Mum said ‘Oh! I must send you the link to this Russian wedding ceremony/performance thing that your second cousin Robyn just sent me today’. And then just like that we were rambling with each other about how I still find it hard to keep my emotions under control but that I don’t want to be like that old guy on the edge of the crowd who’s been caught out on camera looking thoroughly unimpressed by what he is seeing unfold.

Mum smiled and didn’t offer me any advice about how to control my emotions. I think that’s probably because the emotions that I can’t control aren’t really hurting anyone…at least from where Mum is sitting (Mum doesn’t read my blog); which I think relates back to how Marina Abramović made a long durational performance out of sitting at a table across from one person at a time – and being present. I was touched when I read about it that so many people just broke down and cried. I was also a bit (temporarily) shocked by how a few people chose to break her ‘just sit there and look into my eyes‘ rules; but when I realised they were aspiring, I found two ways to get over it at the same time.

Thank you, Gabrielle :)

I have experienced Laylatul Qadr. I was standing alone on our balcony in Auburn after a storm when it happened. The storm had been so big that my adopted son was hugging me – for a long time – while we were curled up on the floor together behind the sliding glass door window, and being amazed by the lightning and thunder together.

So like I said, I was standing alone on our balcony – after the event – waiting for the trees to bow down before me; then something unexpected happened.

The brick wall that was standing between me and the trunks of the trees started dissolving. I still don’t know the words for what those bricks dissolved into. All I know is that I saw them dissolve into something.

Yusuf Islam’s chosen name means something uniquely indescribable to me. I was told that I should choose a new name, but I chose not to.

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About Brad

Braden Karl Frederiksen still has the small wooden treasure chest that his evil Grandmother gave him for his 8th Christmas. He can't recall how old he was when he locked the key inside nor how he locked it in there. He occasionally gives it a rattle and wonders what's making that other sound. View all posts by Brad

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