My Zahir
Though I've eulogized her, made references about her, and written poems to her in this blog, I've never told anyone – not even her – exactly what makes her so overwhelmingly attractive to me that my obsession over her borders on madness or maybe holiness, or so the story goes. . . .
In numerous essays I've written about my Zahir (I capitalize zahir because she is my own personal zahir), but I've never discussed the feminine wiles and attributes that attract me to her so obsessively. This, then, is all about her, and why she consumes every thought I have, every breath I take. In my time-jaded, yet discerning, eyes she is the most exquisitely attractive image on the face of the planet. Whoever agrees or doesn't doesn't matter at all to me, for I love her unconditionally. Every man's obsession is his alone, and my Zahir is mine.
She is a bit taller than average, and thin: five-eight, maybe, and 120 pounds with her boots on. She has small breasts, long legs, a thin waist, and lovely firm, somewhat slender, hips and ass. Of medium complexion, her hair is a mousy chocolate brown, cut in a long page-boy style, and her enchanting eyes match the color of her hair. She has high cheek bones and perfect white teeth that wonderfully enhance her ready smile. My daughter says she looks like a cowgirl, and I guess that is an adept generalized description, for my Zahir does have the tom-boyish looks and the self-assured independent demeanor of a gal who grew up on a working western dude ranch. Also, she likes to wear blue-jeans and cowboy boots, and she looks damn good in them.
Born in South Dakota, of German descent, she possesses a lovely contralto-like voice that carries a delightful hint of Norwegian accent typical of the region where she grew up. She is married to a commercial airline pilot, and they have two grown children – a daughter, who will graduate from law school this spring, and a son.
In contrast to the former love of my life who owns two doctorates, a masters, and a bachelors, my Zahir is not well educated, but I've never known a more street-wise person. Her inherent intelligence often astounds me; I see it in her work and in the expression of her thoughts and views. She is an effortlessly natural leader who deploys her staff in the most imaginative and productive manner I've ever seen, yet she doesn't hesitate to be testy and hard with those who fail to meet her expectations of performance. She demands the very best from those around her, and if she doesn't get it voluntarily, she commands it. Eventually, the would-be slackers all get the idea, and they will either come to her party or leave, willfully or not, for less challenging pastures. Often leading by example, she is a tireless worker herself, a perfectionist of sorts, perhaps to a fault – one of her very few.
My Zahir is a survivor, always will be, and I would implicitly trust her to bring us all out of the gates of hell, for, as I've stated several times before in other essays, she is a goddess. But my Zahir doesn't know that she's a goddess, and it is my job, as I've discussed before, to demonstrate to her that she is divine, and to mentor her for her ultimate mission here on Gaia. For now, at least, it is kind of like the unseeing leading the sightless in that my own basic understanding of her mission has not yet been fully revealed to me. Perhaps the epiphany of my revelation will come soon or perhaps never, and for the purposes of this essay we will leave it at that. Suffice to say that I know enough to say unequivocally that my Zahir is a goddess, and that is why, in the name of shadowy destiny, she and I were brought together by the guiding light of Sophia. Should that seem ludicrous or even lunatic, so be it, because shallow critical opinion doesn't matter to me, for, as a Sophian Gnostic, I know what I know as well as what I don't know, which, I'll admit, is one hell of a lot. Yet I do know I will eventually find true gnosis and that my Zahir is a goddess incarnate.
Of the untamed wild woman archetype so enchantingly described in Clarissa Pinkola Estés' classic bestseller, Women Who Run With the Wolves, my Zahir inherently possesses and practices the lifestyle of Wild Woman – full of the naturally uninhibited strength of character and personal independence that allows her to live a rewarding life of relative freedom, artful creativity, and instinctive knowledge and understanding of a woman's most important qualities including patience, compassion, nurturing, and caring. She loves all living things that come into her life – plants, animals, and humans alike – and spreads her love with a modicum of discretion based only upon her own innate conceptual values of humanity, civility, decency, and morality, which are far different and far more powerful than the defined roles of the typical "civilized" woman who is inflexibly raised and strictly controlled in this modern world of the patriarchy.
There is no doubt in my mind that my Zahir is a throwback to the ancient world of the matriarchy and matriarchal lineage when, once upon a more felicitous time, God was a Goddess. I can't help but wonder about her ultimate destiny.
vvv
Copyright (2009) by Albert Lloyd Williams
In numerous essays I've written about my Zahir (I capitalize zahir because she is my own personal zahir), but I've never discussed the feminine wiles and attributes that attract me to her so obsessively. This, then, is all about her, and why she consumes every thought I have, every breath I take. In my time-jaded, yet discerning, eyes she is the most exquisitely attractive image on the face of the planet. Whoever agrees or doesn't doesn't matter at all to me, for I love her unconditionally. Every man's obsession is his alone, and my Zahir is mine.
She is a bit taller than average, and thin: five-eight, maybe, and 120 pounds with her boots on. She has small breasts, long legs, a thin waist, and lovely firm, somewhat slender, hips and ass. Of medium complexion, her hair is a mousy chocolate brown, cut in a long page-boy style, and her enchanting eyes match the color of her hair. She has high cheek bones and perfect white teeth that wonderfully enhance her ready smile. My daughter says she looks like a cowgirl, and I guess that is an adept generalized description, for my Zahir does have the tom-boyish looks and the self-assured independent demeanor of a gal who grew up on a working western dude ranch. Also, she likes to wear blue-jeans and cowboy boots, and she looks damn good in them.
Born in South Dakota, of German descent, she possesses a lovely contralto-like voice that carries a delightful hint of Norwegian accent typical of the region where she grew up. She is married to a commercial airline pilot, and they have two grown children – a daughter, who will graduate from law school this spring, and a son.
In contrast to the former love of my life who owns two doctorates, a masters, and a bachelors, my Zahir is not well educated, but I've never known a more street-wise person. Her inherent intelligence often astounds me; I see it in her work and in the expression of her thoughts and views. She is an effortlessly natural leader who deploys her staff in the most imaginative and productive manner I've ever seen, yet she doesn't hesitate to be testy and hard with those who fail to meet her expectations of performance. She demands the very best from those around her, and if she doesn't get it voluntarily, she commands it. Eventually, the would-be slackers all get the idea, and they will either come to her party or leave, willfully or not, for less challenging pastures. Often leading by example, she is a tireless worker herself, a perfectionist of sorts, perhaps to a fault – one of her very few.
My Zahir is a survivor, always will be, and I would implicitly trust her to bring us all out of the gates of hell, for, as I've stated several times before in other essays, she is a goddess. But my Zahir doesn't know that she's a goddess, and it is my job, as I've discussed before, to demonstrate to her that she is divine, and to mentor her for her ultimate mission here on Gaia. For now, at least, it is kind of like the unseeing leading the sightless in that my own basic understanding of her mission has not yet been fully revealed to me. Perhaps the epiphany of my revelation will come soon or perhaps never, and for the purposes of this essay we will leave it at that. Suffice to say that I know enough to say unequivocally that my Zahir is a goddess, and that is why, in the name of shadowy destiny, she and I were brought together by the guiding light of Sophia. Should that seem ludicrous or even lunatic, so be it, because shallow critical opinion doesn't matter to me, for, as a Sophian Gnostic, I know what I know as well as what I don't know, which, I'll admit, is one hell of a lot. Yet I do know I will eventually find true gnosis and that my Zahir is a goddess incarnate.
Of the untamed wild woman archetype so enchantingly described in Clarissa Pinkola Estés' classic bestseller, Women Who Run With the Wolves, my Zahir inherently possesses and practices the lifestyle of Wild Woman – full of the naturally uninhibited strength of character and personal independence that allows her to live a rewarding life of relative freedom, artful creativity, and instinctive knowledge and understanding of a woman's most important qualities including patience, compassion, nurturing, and caring. She loves all living things that come into her life – plants, animals, and humans alike – and spreads her love with a modicum of discretion based only upon her own innate conceptual values of humanity, civility, decency, and morality, which are far different and far more powerful than the defined roles of the typical "civilized" woman who is inflexibly raised and strictly controlled in this modern world of the patriarchy.
There is no doubt in my mind that my Zahir is a throwback to the ancient world of the matriarchy and matriarchal lineage when, once upon a more felicitous time, God was a Goddess. I can't help but wonder about her ultimate destiny.
vvv
Copyright (2009) by Albert Lloyd Williams
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