Category Archives: MOODY MY SON

Nasir’s Thoughts on Reading and Writing through his Letters

MOODY

I am a man of spatial heights, inspirational self, and emotional depth

I am browsing through an abundance of letters, written to me in different moods of Moody. I have attempted to sift through not all but most of his letters and layout for your reading few passages to illustrate his fondness for a choice of words and his own expressionistic style. Somewhere he is deeply perceptive and insightful in his style somewhere you would notice his witticism and funniness. Let me put these down and let you do your own costing and pricing. 

—— In the last few days, I have been on the thoroughfares and frivolities of my daily norms. I was out of words but improvising my ways. I did not have much trouble with reading but the concussions of routine readiness had impeded my writing. Writing can be extremely tedious while your reading desires are on the burner. I would start to read after having written reasonably and by the time I was able to marginalize few paces, thoughts become provocative. In trying to resolve single logic of what was being read fast, multiple comparisons started precipitating from the living world and books. The momentum lost meters making the speed burdensome especially when you are reading an old-fashioned hardbound book in which a line travails to 13 or 14 words. Not to mention the 3 or 2 words in the hideout of shadow on every line. The eyeballs just kept bickering over and across narrow margins and wide spaces yet trying to gobble all bytes together. I guess this is a payment for the price of Taj Mahal and to engage with every apparatus of potential is truly prolific and exhilarating. For a long time in my life, I always felt ambivalent toward my inner self and with people around me. A little shy when my ideology tried to surface and to communicate it across the bench. Perhaps this is Coach Carter’s fear that makes us shine and everything around us. I kept wondering how people would opinionate me and in the process kept plenty incarcerated. Whenever I discussed my demeanors, people caressed stultified faces, sardonic smiles and complete ironic denial of what I tried to deliver. This was always disquietude in Pakistan but views abroad were never sought posthumously. Resultantly, I did not dwell on what was in mind to bear and deliver. Sometimes I eared the erring and occasionally my receptiveness remained audible of their resonation. However, it started attenuating the day I began turning and toppling every stone engraved on books. I outsourced consolation but the ability to describe books and my own idiosyncrasies began to resolute me in less difficulty. I think true love is an icon of eternal human being but to love books lays in him its’ glorification for eternity. To gain that end requires meaningful contemplation, self-discipline to draw a balance between reading and writing. it is how Aristotle said that by slowing down distance it is divided and by increasing speed, time reduced.

I never run out of letters. Words reside in layers whilst my seamless perspicacity to expound in sentences, however, intricate is return, return to scurry lifestyle. To write is almost captivating that you never feel relinquished from its charm afterward and all you do is squeak a hoarse throat in a swarm of skirmishing noise around. Rest you are right. Life is a beauty when I glare the blondie named Carlie and not to compliment her friend Emilie is unfair. Rachel and I are embittered by a slipshod boyfriend of hers called Luke and making plans to take the bloke out of the equation. Rest is well. My books beckon me. I will embrace them. 

Few closing lines of Nasir’s letter to his younger brother Bilal. 

— How are your studies? It is my foremost interest about you, is inclusive, for myself, and, I deem that it is something we both share in common. Have you been taking tutorial tests and if yes, any shortcomings or ambivalent scenarios you think that they may have been overlooked or requires your heedfulness? How are Musty, Eiman, Rabia and Haider Bhai? I bet kids must be cranky, noisy and all that is probable and prevalent among chirping children. How is Mommy? Do Batmans need sidekicks or their mean or modes sum acceptable as average? What is captivating about SMALLVILLE these days? Is the Director nagging with his usual impasse or episodes have unveiled anything mind-blowing? I speak to Ali often and he seems to be doing well in the communion of Wollongong gals. Yesterday Hasselhoff phoned me from the beach in a very enlivened embodied voice. Rest you can let your machinations do the aftermath of Ali’s running and life savings on sand aside lighthouse and ocean shores. All that laxity of muscles in action in a slow-moving animated symmetry of style, let alone, the music preponderating in background boisterously. Anyhow, much for today’s exponential farce and I must bid you leave. Stay in touch and take loads of care. Your loving bro. Moody.

—- I have not read what I have written so far but it seems that writing is flourishing and without it, there is no escape if I have to survive the hailstorm of ANU’s master’s program. Additionally, my every impulse tells me that since I am reading slowly and more importantly that the new habit I have formed and is similar to the habit Bertrand Russell had, which is, stuttering his tongue with entrenching lips while reading and mostly forming images. I am also thoroughly enjoying this newly borrowed book from the library called “Aristotle on Memory”. It is a fantabulous piece of Greek synthetic piece and I have every intention to avail its theory in my everyday life pragmatically. My fundamentals of imagination have already started to imprint every work in the form of Phantasma as is described by Aristotle interpreted by Sorabji. I find it funny because all the reading tippers on book outlets would stress reading fast whereas all the prolific writers I have read so far they mostly procrastinated reading, and, the ones I don’t know whether they did, never mentioned fastidiously.—

In the year 2006 when I was crossed over for next rank, Nasir sent me an email. The subject was HELLO! He mentions Reinhold Messner- who is he? you may be wondering. I was his Liaison Officer twice when he came to Pakistan to Climb Nanga Parbat Solo first by a mountaineer to do so on an 8000 m peak. A feat never achieved before 1978. In 1979 he came again and climbed K2. I was his LO then as well. This mail is a testimonial to the fact of his ability to collect the right verses to tell me that I finished one like a successful Major General. As it is impossible to cover the beauty of his expression in these short blog posts, I shall end this one with his mail as I received it on 11 April 2006 while I was the Deputy Force Commander in UN Mission in Liberia, where I remained for 3 Years. Be entertained 🙂

I asked someone if you have heard of Reinhold Messner?  Sie mir gesagt, Ja, He has great fame. I said my father knowns him ever since he climbed K2 in 1979. I watch all great things come to an end. But will remember you always from the greatness of a General. I tried to look if there was greatness in honesty. Example stood steadily in General dealing with the generality of every major life doing. I said what if there was only a little more time? There has always been time but now is only meant not in this way. But there is no news like today. I said, so is news of tomorrow and what of possibilities? There was no need to become beyond the responsibility of such great General. I said life is difficult when dealt not in words; But still, always the word saying to have felt them. I have to look everywhere for the best of me because it is hard to find further excellence as my father’s. If it is not for the achievement readily climbed then finishing one like a successful Major General. Wisdom is light of all truth but it takes no flame from it because in itself is the enkindled truth!  Your loving son NASIR. 

“You are my sterling Warriors and Pride of Pakistan”

 

 

 

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FROM SON TO HIS FATHER ON SUPERSESSION

 

I asked someone if you have heard of Reinhold Messner?

Sie mir gesagt, ja he has great fame

I said my father knows him ever since he climbed K2 in 1979

I always watch all great things come to an end

But will remember you always from greatness of a General

I tried to look if there is goodness in honesty

Example stood steadily in General dealing with generality of every major life doings

I said what if there was only a little more time?

There has always been time but now is only meant not in this way

But there is no news like today

I said, so is news of tomorrow

And what of possibilities?There was no need to become beyond responsibility of such a great General

I said life is difficult when dealt not in words

But still, always the word saying to have felt them

I have to look everywhere for the best of me

Because it is hard to find excellence as my Father’s

If it is not for the achievement readily climbed

Then finishing one like a successful Major General

Wisdom is the light of all truth but it takes no flame from it because wise in itself is the enkindled truth!

– An Expressive Letter to Me

I am a man of spatial heights, inspirational self, and emotional depth ~~ Moody

My dearest Agha,                                                                     August 18, 2005

I have devoured my day in the usual mantle of shorts and t-shirt. The myth of rising sun for many is a globe to advent on fresh vernacular of ideas and for some of us the stillness of night thriving thoughts on the zenith of a belated bed time. I struggle to sum my sentences, arrange and rearrange my thoughts in appropriate drawers. I was winking and working till four in the proverbial limelight of bulb and books. Our refrigerator is loaded with bakery boxes and every now and then I plaudit my appetite with charcoal of percolating coffee and munch on crumbling biscuits underneath my carnivore edges of teeth. Often? Indeed. Free? Yes. I can hear the sweeper in a less distant place swiveling the thorns and thistles of his Indian buds. The music slowly skips one single from track to another. The CPU humming rotaries hesitatingly gusto cesspool of currents vibrating nuts and gadgetry. The plausible phone calls squeaking and trembling linchpin of emanated ideas. I took a momentary lofty stroll in my room and acutely observed mounted painting in front with the aloofness in the look of birds staring art to each other and in that all avoid my any atrociousness to your picture beside. Just joking. I aimlessly noticed the lingerie behind the curtain before the window and recalled Mum’s every cost of advice and appropriateness to not strip our endeared windows completely. I felt like a complete Greek word “idiot” who does not hold any private office or the public. We really console ourselves now and then moping on every talent and the psychic phenomenon of friend and foe. Bilal is all rash but not shy on the white board probing his pontification and poetry on the word Math. I bet by now he really regrets me being here with all crash load of study avocations bobbing over his head. He will be indebted to my company and its very oddity one day and so will I. I am finally through and full proof from the green book and controvertible republican. But any book is always an unfinished business. I read few pages of Marrouchi and Eddy in the frailty of early morning minutes. They seem to be very lucid and calculated writers. For now, I am totally withdrawn with the finesse of font and book cover.

 

Your loving Son

Moody

Avicenna – Moody’s Commentary

Avicenna

For Avicenna, human minds were not in themselves formed for abstract thought. Humans are intellectual only potentially, and only “illumination by the Angel confers” upon them the ability to make from this potential a real ability to think. This is the Tenth Intellect.

The degree to which minds are illuminated by the Angel varies. Prophets are illuminated to the point that they possess not only rational intellect but also an imagination and ability which allows them to pass on their superior wisdom to others. Some receive less, but enough to write, teach, pass laws, and contribute to the distribution of knowledge. Others receive enough for their own personal realisation, and others still receive less.

On this view, all humanity shares a single agent intellect – a collective consciousness. “The final stage of human life”, according to Avicenna, is “reunion with the emanation of the Angel”. Thus, the Angel confers upon those imbued with its intellect the certainty of life after death.

MOODY

 

Swing! – Poem on Golf

SWING Foto

Swing!

It is myth that unfolds width figuratively
composition of angles poised as geometry
And if comprehension is the quest in struggle
mechanics take many years of feel to overcome

It is to attune yourself by addressing four basics
gain control by repetitive strength and technique
And if apparels and clubs suit your style
flags will not have balls on green sides

It is assimilating every finger for grip soft and fix
stand tall yet feet square from shoulder to hips
And when stance has set you aim straight
ball is bound to knock that flagstick

It is take away by strength of left arm and wrist straight
maintaining circle steady on swing plane
And when sight finds the shoulder behind ball and eye
weight must start slide towards left side

It is journey back but on swing plane same
pull triceps for lag in given time frame
And when moment of truth meets your swing state
whip that club past impact place

It is strength of arms subtle yet empowers big in hips
rotates rapidly but with lower body quietly
And when club head speed is every divots prerogative
distance and accuracy are every swing’s package

It is temperament of Els yet challenge like Tiger
swinging irons like Golden Bear
And when concentration results on scorecard
plan birdies but save every par

It is containing force inside triangles and torso
obliging to self-integrity and game rules
And when discipline is your very own mentor
nerves will roll putts by feel straighter

It is searching peace for fairways and overcoming rough
seek focus in presence of target and turf
And when emotional intelligence arrives at impact zone
establish contact as if you were a born PGA Pro

16 Nov 2005

 

 

DANKE by Moody

 

Very few people know that Moody did his Diploma in The Russian Language from St. Petersberg University. Later completed his Masters in Business Administration. While in Lahore in 2003 developed a voracious appetite for reading books. His favourite author was Bertrand Russell he read most of his books. Never read fiction. in 2005 got admission in Australian National University to do Masters in Accounting. A study he could not complete because of his illness. It was down hill from then on. In another Post, I will give name of books which were  his teasured collections. For him, I became a member for Barnes and Noble. Earlier while in Lahore he started learning The German Language and achieved Level 3 proficiency with complete self-study.

He wrote Danke.

 

Ich schriebe und denke mit eines Wort
Das Wort kommt von buchstabe fünf
Bedeutung und verstehen noch etwas ein
Gibt es vielen für alles
Das Gedicht mit den größen dank
Immer schön das Leben eins

I write and think with word one
The word comes from letters five
meaning and understanding still somewhat one
giving a whole lot more for everyone
A poem with the biggest Thank
always beautifully in life once
______________________________________

bis bald / till later
Moody

 

 

IN A MILIEU by Moody

MILIEU

In a milieu of noughts perched on a leap of loan

Buried under a seizure of murmuring tenure

Bicker domains caught in a vale of counterfeits

Stuck in savvy alleys of a stale Park

Lost by a tongue and a tumultuous past

Smothered in the rectitude of pitch silence

Gauged in wastes of paper and monetary matters

All that echoes is not silence brother!

Many have suffered in devoured vows till the 12th of time

Many have hatred with voluminous enmity in them

There are lighter heights on the verge of space…

There are steeper paths in depths of affection…

There are frontiers beyond the latitude of knowledge…

There is more friction in the weights and molecules of a fractured soul…

A moment that torments itself and those we seek in the underworlds?

Fights with your insights and kindle the flame of fortitude with your prodigious perceptions

Levi ate and lure in lucid leaves of autumn to an Island off course

We are far apart in our hearts like a broken glass

It cuts deep but shines wide like diam

It keeps us alive to settle the agony of our sentiments

Give thy soul purpose and search in this xenophobic circus

We are Amirs and Karim euer Ancestors

Sense! So subtle when twined with intellect in a sentence

Imagination! A gem and jewel of such magic clots of fascinations

Resonate your flute of reason with fractions and fruits of Words

Words! Are they not a fireball of fury and fortune?

Is it not joyful oh that juvenile Gibran?

Just few lines of faith with Will

Just few dots of demise in shades of Pink

Euer – Deutsch word means ‘your’

Note: Amir was name of his great great great grandfather

And Karim was grandfather

Online at last! (From Canberra)

ON LINE

My dearest Agha,

I have set up my internet connection and all my turbines are online steaming up for full throttle. Everyday ensues a novel experience enmeshed with adventure in life among Aussies. To take one, for instance, I trotted a horse today. It has only been less than a month but the speed of events makes it intricate for me to unfold the gist of every story that I would like to expound. I had taken a few pictures but gradually I will send all microscopic caricatures of objects and places. I can see your emails being transmitted regularly. I had glanced them earlier in a precursory way because of being pressed against time but I will read their thoroughness soon.

Take care

Love Moody

 

An Eve of Poultry and Profusion!

A EVE of Poultry

Relishing the ritual appetites of kith and kin

The vistas of tiding talk on table

A muse to muddle in gales of laughter

cuddling and curving the furrows of confusion

To hum in haven of multitudes

To virtue the views of time and transcendent

In the extravagant and Atayliana

Reeling remnants on road of Alam

To ounce and pound the chick of Tuscans

In the glistening lights of hub and hotel

An ode to jaw and jibe

For just the jubilant and joyful. A Father!

God be wi’ you Sir!

Your Loving Son

Moodz

13 Jan 2015

The Over Exaggerated Facts and Art of Writing a Daily Journal.

A JOURNAL 1

27 August 2005

I keep a pen in my pocket and a paper plonked in every book. The variations in voices transmute, sometimes there is a similitude in what I can hear and which negates disparity, resonate subtle meanings. Words wipe and evaporate yet reflections and images reappear. I have started encomiums of Whitman and legendary Pythagoras. Both in their own capacity consummate the extent of skill, science, dross of art. I feel inevitably drawn towards writing. To angulate its any geometer. Arrange mechanics on the outset and to weave the web of art by the niche of understanding. It is an addiction, foreplay of passion, slowly apt to settle on the verge of ligaments and within tendons of mind, the silhouette of personality and before becoming a realization the repression starts to float rhythmically.

Love  Moody