One night Yousef Ali (my Sufi name) and Jangchup Nagtsel (my Tibetan Buddhist name, "Jungle of Enlightenment") in the presence of Black Dzambhala (my yidam, particular deity, genius, genie) sat down and smoked the hookah together, out of the silence and considerable clouds of smoke emerged the voice of AZAM ALI... a feast of silence

My first clear memories are of nursery school, sitting on the floor with a girl named Peggy, who had lovely braids, singing

"Row, row, row your boat

gently down the stream,

merrily, merrily,

merrily, merrily,

life is but a dream."

while we clasped hands and rocked back and forth. I suspect that this set the tone for the lifetime to follow.

Usually my thoughts are more suitable for twittering, they flash thru my mind like shooting stars and disappear back into the darkness. The darkness, ah the comforting darkness. That is where I truly love to dwell. Or by day in the cooling shade. Consciousness, and its correlate, "Enlightenment" merely irritates me. No, I prefer the soul, the dark cave of the imagination, a damp moist place. Let other men have their angels, I prefer the company of djinn. Others may prefer to sit in the sun, but I merely get sunburned there. I prefer caves, darkened tents, and living in darkened rooms, with only a single candle lit on my shrine, thick clouds of incense, and somber mysterious music sung by the Persian woman. Living in a trance...