A Your Echoes In Space Presentation: The Universe
Words & Picture by © Mazzy Khatun 2017
A Your Echoes In Space Presentation: The Universe
Words & Picture by © Mazzy Khatun 2017
I know why the Free Bird sings
With a joyous thrill
Of a True Love unmet
But longed for still
And Alex’s T-Shirt caught his tune
He wishes to meet me, with tea and spoon
‘V’-shaped wings flap out on both sides
An ‘X’ in the middle to show Winchester hides
On this distant hill
By the windowsill
For I am the Free Bird, I joyfully sing
Even in the depths of night, my Pen lingering
To my Eternal Love… ♥ ♥ ♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015
A white classic of optics, my TAL pal is Russian without a six-pack
We are the spy of the stars, quiet gypsies travelling umpteen light years back
Achromatic refractor, the fruits of scholars Netherland today vigil in my hands
I wonder if You’re spying on me too – yes You – from distant Tatooine sands…
EPILOGUE: On October 24th 1982 a pioneering sci-film was aired on British television that would go on to make ground-breaking cinematic history. It does not matter if You are not a fan, You will have guessed it right anyway: STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE! In terms of my own evolving story, this was to be the single fundamental experience that sealed my Destiny with the field of astronomy forever. A love affair sparked to life, and soon afterwards my bookshelves were brilliantly filled to the summit with texts and manuals on the subject. To my Amma’s (Mother) prickly annoyance, the walls of my bedroom were not spared, they were outspokenly embellished with star charts and film posters of every space movie to grace our screens! My watch, my lunchbox and flask, my pencils and pens, my t-shirts were all conscripted into the Alliance! While other little girls were playing with their dolls and concerned themselves with dresses and make-up – perfectly nice things of course – I was far more at ease camping out in the garden with my arcane interstellar charts, looking up at the stars… :))
Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015
I am a firm believer that all who we meet along the meandering paths that course through our lives have something to teach us, whose presence will undeniably serve to be a pivotal influence on our spiritual development. As much as many may be quick to dismiss it, at the end of the day there is no other growth as important as the one that nourishes the spirit. I can personally testify to this claim since I have witnessed in the past the remarkable sparking of true self-realisation in the terminally ill and it is always the case that the sensation of approaching mortality – The Grim Reaper – takes on the last role of teacher in the patient’s life. Such is this teacher that the dying one comes to the painful regret that what they know now they wish they had known in earlier life. The miser who cloistered his attention to building towers, tight-fisted and cruel, miraculously turns into a tender-hearted giver on death’s doorstep. The workaholic, in his final days, becomes fraught with a sudden awareness that what he had deprived himself most in life was the chance that could have been his – to be there to watch his children grow. The vain model forever preoccupied with her prepossessing looks, now emaciated to the bone, sheds silent tears for not releasing herself from the beast of her ego earlier. HOWEVER, Life, too can enrich the content of our souls. I became a teacher to this end. I admit there have been times when it has been substantially harder for me to accept that a quality of untapped good potential exists in the person in front of me but, I always try my best to see it. If I find it torturous to observe any good in the person then, I reflect the entire experience back on myself and ask my conscience if I am the one holding back in giving someone a chance – am I the bearer of deep-rooted prejudices and unhelpful attitudes? Yes, dear reader, I am no more teacher as I am student. Therefore, returning to my original first line, I believe Destiny does bring people into our universe for spiritual edification, and quite often it is not apparent at first that this is occurring.
The photograph below is of one such tale from my past that I felt strongly compelled to share with you tonight. Three years ago a stranger posted a message on his Facebook wall which subsequently appeared on my Newsfeed. I remember vividly that I was in class and preparing to pack my bags to go home when something told me to open Facebook on the computer and, lo and behold, his message popped up on my Newsfeed. Alas, I am not fluent in Bengali – my ancestral tongue – and even to this day can only read and write my name. BUT, I am possessed with a sixth sense and have partial synaesthesia so the script on the screen that day began to glow and pulse with the fragrance of mysterious significance. As if I was a conduit of some higher power, my fingers on their own accord reached for the mouse and I glided straight towards the print button. I took the piece of paper home and looked at it again and oh how to tell you how I felt the urge to have it translated by my Amma (Mother) but she was quite poorly at the time so I did not want to bother her with my trivial curiosities. Accepting with a dull disappointment that this was beyond me, I folded the paper up and tucked it into my copy of Tagore right at the back of my mountainous bookshelf. In time, the message vanished into the thick mists of the past and it was only in those times that I needed to refer to specific passages of Tagore that did the piece of paper flutter out like a white origami butterfly.
Today, that sixth sense that had originally ascribed significance to the message reawakened and I found that I could not hush my desire to explore again the brackets and colon dots of that message. How peculiar that even today in Facebook I end all my comments with smiley faces made of brackets and colons, letting the final sentence always trail into lingering and unfinished thoughts using a parade of marching dots! I still have not deciphered the message into English and nor have I shown it to my Amma. Why? Because I know I am not meant to. My stranger, who may or may not know – wherever he may be – has taught me the beauty of patience and who has reinforced my inner Faith that everything will always work out in the end. I say this because I feel now more than ever that I must send this photograph out into the wider world. It is for this reason that I have photographed and posted this message today because I can feel it in my gut, the strength of iron conviction, that this is what I was meant to do and to do it now. Yes, the time is ripe for sharing a message that I have failed to unravel although, I can smell the scent of its essence much more intimately now: it is like spring and monsoon and dusk light dancing altogether in ecstasy in some faraway land. If you should be reading this and happen to be fluent in Bengali then please permit me to be bold enough to predict your response: your heartbeat knocking a little faster than usual followed by a slow tender smile, a dawn sky yawns… :))
Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014
Bengali Message printed off FaceBook in 2011
In shy embrace outside a Parisian café, sat beside You was the very coy I
Each peering into the eye of the other whilst the whole mad world ran by
My little red shoes dropped to the ground, at last my feet met the feather of rest
And our hearts, unseen to the folks close by, thumping thunderclaps against our bare brown chest…
Photograph & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014
A pleasurable act of self-indulgence to many, I normally loathe having my photograph taken because I find it awfully unstimulating and that is why I hardly ever fiddle with my profile picture in Facebook and why it is likely that in party albums my face is pretty much non-existent, even though I might have been the one to generate the most noise!! My passion and calling is steadfastly rooted in the telling of stories to enchant and entertain and my place, therefore, I take with a dimpled-smile behind the lens and the pen. However, if there is an urge to tell a story about me then it is on such rare occasions I deem it appropriate to turn the camera on myself. I did do such a thing two years ago, on the day after my birthday. I wanted to convey what felt to me to be the most ancient story of my life, indeed the recurrent theme of my Destiny. I made this photograph my cover photo in Facebook and not barely moments passed that I began to be the recipient of amusing friend requests, attracting the attention of many a male stranger who would start their preliminary email along the lines of, “Hi, you’re hot…” or “What a pretty lady…” or “I am lying on my bed as I look at you…” or, well, you ought to catch my drift! How insufferably boring to hear such monotonic flattery and how I sincerely pitied them all. As a synesthetic, I was able to peer through their words and into their souls where I was overwhelmed with sadness for I stood in front of vast black holes, silently but violently swirling in their inner universe, ripping every ounce of integrity into orphaned shreds. Men, whose hunger for meaning had been tragically contorted into lustful pursuits.
However, I foresaw with my third eye that something far more superior and magical would come out of my public placement of this story of pictures. It would be a beacon that would call my soul mate back to me for only he would be the one to READ the story from left to right and thus recognise, as like when morning mists disperse to reveal entire world of verdant forests, who I truly was.
In succinct chronological order composed of 1-2-3 frames I devised my ancient story purely out of three prints splashed out in rich sumptuous colour in which a rose sewn of magnificent petals unites with the black ocean of my hair – a boatman moored to his Home. In this life I patiently and faithfully wait for him to return once again so as to distil peace to the anarchy of the raging waves of my dark sea hair. Why do I feel now, more than ever, that he is close by…?
Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2012/2014
Presenting a bite-size morsel of storytelling magic that shall refrain from tipping over 123 words…
English is overflowing with fascinating expressions, often hoisted into service when in pursuit of articulating on the affairs of the heart. The colloquial phrase ‘getting something off one’s chest’ is one such example. No, I am not referring to the very rude act of pulling off one’s garments to reveal their chest! The phrase simply translates as mustering up the courage to finally saying something that for a long time you had stored away inside of you. Now, at the Christmas markets I came across what would have appeared to most folk as an oddity of objects placed here and there but, for me at least, I saw on a vivid blue chest of drawers, a pair of winged hearts ready for flight…
Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester Christmas Markets | UK 2014
Ladies and gentlemen and children, my second instalment from the city that sees ceaseless commotion churned by both wheel and foot – the capital of my country, London – is a typically comical offering but one not without its endowment of wisdom and, more significantly, a voice whose words when listened to will be of towering personal significance. Those with Sight, the Einsteins and Roald Dahls of this world, always wore a third monocle of deep perceptive vision that enabled them to go beyond the ‘event horizon’ of conventional seeing, catching in through their net of pupil and cornea the most marvellous gifts of knowledge. Quite often Destiny or, if you’re more inclined to scientific vocabulary, the fabric of space-time, is actually on our side. Its design is preoccupied with the pledge to guide the Seeker on their quest. Those born with Sight find this channel of communication comes quite naturally to them, without effort or conscious control. I am one of them – although most people on first hearing such incredulous claims tend to simply laugh it off, hardly surprising I must add. I confess it used to be a crushing fall to my spirits in my younger days when the person in front would give out a light chuckle and pass off my story as yet another cheeky act delivered to enliven the mood of the moment. I stopped minding what people used to think a long time ago. I cannot claim to know who I am, I don’t think any of us will ever know – we are all mysteries to ourselves. However I cannot emphasise enough how much I admire those that have Faith in me and in my Sight – the Sight wherein Signs flock as like sheep do to the shepherd.
To those whom I have written personally in the past, either under one of your posts or in an email, please cast your mind back to the moment when I affectionately told you of how I often think that I must have at some point in my childhood run away with the circus. Yes, the colourful and riotous and positively oddball universe of the strange and wonderful, the circus is one of my favourite places where I energetically whisk my imaginative self to and enter under a canopy where rules were meant to be pleated like the concertina of an accordion and freedom abounds to juggle with ideas and thoughts and concepts in ways not endorsed by boring old linear strategies. Consider its use to be in the same vein as that of Sherlock Holmes’ ‘Thought Palace’. So, dear reader, if I have ever mentioned the word ‘circus’ to you then you must read on for Destiny had ordained that you were to converse with me in preparation for what I am about to show you in my photograph. To those new to my world, I greet you hello and whisper in your ear, ‘CIRCUS’! Great, now you are in the hood too!
The great Piccadilly Circus of London is where I found myself today. One of the world’s most iconic road junctions, the electronic billboard is studded in decorative neon lights and commercial signs that twinkle and slide away every second and in a random manner so that you are never sure what will come next. I, being the country girl, once stepping out from the underground tube and into the fresh daylight am always fixed on the spot as I try to take in the showy antics engineered by the media moguls. I am more fascinated by the colours than the products being advertised and more often than not take to flights of fancy of how super cool it would be if I could steal the entire board, squeeze it into my rucksack and take it back to my class so that I can use it as an alternative to the monotonously-faced black or white-board. Someday, perhaps! Oh do stop chuckling to yourself! Anyway, I stood there in the full blaze of the sun and putting aside the thoughts of the most diabolically but good-hearted heist to one side, I wondered what would it all look like if I were to steal the colour away from its face? I do believe I have never seen Piccadilly Circus in monochrome! Switching off the lights from the colour channels, what would Piccadilly Circus say to me? I remained stood there for a while more before my hands automatically began to make the settings on Lumiere, my camera, and I held it up and waited and waited and waited. Tourists were practically encroaching on my lungs and the vendor behind me was shouting for all of England but, I remained undeterred and stock-still. Something of mighty importance was about to happen and I could feel it shoot through the cortex of my bones like an electrical eel in search of something to sting!
And then the shutter button was pressed! Why? I do not know. I only know that it had to be pressed and thus, it was pressed.
Ladies and Gentlemen and Children, behold the spectacle of Destiny! I give you a tiger on a bus in the middle of Piccadilly Circus!
The poor stripy fellow stuck in the world’s most urbanite jungle, he seeks the OPEN wild for there, somewhere, lies his true HAPPINESS – and, as I had alluded to previously, the story of my circus was always going to be crucial for, today, it has come to join onto your own story. The circus has indeed come round full circle…
Postscript: ‘Baba Yaga’, you batty old witch, do something authentically noble for once my dear and release yourself, and your posse from Vogue, so that no longer are you the victims of the unsightly curse of the ‘chicken legs’! No need to take Slavic legends so literally…!
This is Mazzy of Bee-Bee-See News reporting from London! Cold tea? You must be out of your mind…!
Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | London | UK 2014
It is of no consequence whether you are male or female, if you are reading these words you have journeyed through one of the most unbelievably traumatic and yet dazzlingly monumental feats of Nature’s theatrics: a Mother bore you and she was born the day you came forth from her delicate but powerful body, thus, alongside her, you too were born. That is not where the tale of birth ends with you, dear reader. There is the potential of a Second Birth in the seed of every person and it awaits your realisation, glistening in uncharted depths and carrying the sweetness of ruby red stones as those that rest hidden in an unpeeled pomegranate. It is a very special sort of birth and not achieved by all. It tends to follow after towering loss and shadowing regrets. It is when the Night of your soul smiles profusely because it no longer has any desire to be Day. Night is delighted with its own cloak of a million silver stars for each star is a dawn song of its own.
My Sight has been my guide in life and today, it tells me that are you undergoing your own Second Birth. When will you be complete? I do not know. But I can feel echoes in the air of the cogs of change whirring away and, therefore, I humbly send you healing prayers that I hope will float and settle in the cradle of your heart. I shall know when they have reached their destination…
Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Indian Sacred Medicine Bowl | Pitt River’s Museum | Oxford University | Oxford UK 2014