Category Archives: LETTERS FROM MOODY

I will try to almost publish all his letters under this category.

– 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 For now, I am totally withdrawn with the finesse of font and book cover.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

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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

 

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

 

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