Dmitry Trakovsky's Robe of Words

Dearest friend and former roommate Dmitry Trakovsky recently wrote to me from Santa Cruz. His email was a response to the Rumi poem that I put on the right of this webpage. I am reproducing it here, and his response follows it:

Those who don't feel this Love
pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,
let them sleep.
This Love is beyond the study of theology,
that old trickery and hypocrisy.
If you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.
I've given up on my brain.
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you,
and sleep.

Dear Kristina,

A thought just popped into my head. I read the Rumi poem about an hour ago and I was quite moved, I must say. He says that we should put away our brains yada yada, and I agree completely. However, for some reason I felt a slightly paradoxical undercurrent to the poem, because I believe that he is a person who has done some extensive brainwandering himself... otherwise, he wouldn't be able to express the dangers associated with intellectualism as well as he does. If he were just looking aside at people who live with their heads and not hearts, we as readers wouldn't be convinced of his idea. That's not the case though. He's certainly a person who at some point of his life has put on the 'robe of words'. Further still, I think that he is trying to take that robe off while he is writing the poem... through the poem itself... and that's actually why it's so effective. 'cause it's terribly difficult to take it off, as we well know. Only when you mack with a really hot girl does the robe of words come off fully... as well as your socks, shoes, pants... but that's another story...

D

PS. But I may have misunderstood it completely, and actually, I know nothing about Rumi... perhaps he was some kind of crazy sage that surpassed all of the mental states that I've experienced, in which case my analysis would be rubbish.

(Dima admires the Accademia bridge in Venice from a hotel room.)

Dear Dima,

Yes, he was some crazy sage. Yes, I do think that his mental states surpassed yours, but probably in frequency, not intensity. But no, your analysis is not rubbish. Rumi pretty much founded Sufism, so they say, but that doesn't mean that you and I are not as spiritual as he. We put our robes back on to communicate and make sure that others learn to take theirs off - it's part of being alive. But when we are staring into our own pupils in mirrors (haha), or when we have a conversation about theories of Love that turns silent because we have reached a universal truth and can say no more... we are sharing the highest quality of nakedness that every human is capable of feeling and that no human is capable of surpassing.

So, maybe now you understand why the adjective intellectual gives me the creeps: the more intellectual you get, the higher your risk of falling into a deep sleep under a very thick robe.

If My Iranian Grandmother Invited Gina Lollobrigida to a Tea Party, Does That Mean That I Got the Italophilia Gene from Both Sides?

It's the Friday before finals week. One of my professors cancelled our take-home paper and gave us all full credit, so I've only got three exams and a lengthy research paper left to finish. Graduate school applications are due next week, and I have until January to finish the Colonus translation. I will be "home" for the break from December 18 to January 7, and my mom said that we might go up to the mountains to visit her husband's family for New Years.

Maybe some wilderness will cause me to pick up my camera again, especially now that Taleen has given me a tripod as a belated 21^st birthday present. I turn 22 on January 8.

Even though nothing has inspired me visually lately, the nerves in my skull have been firing incessantly: before I go to sleep, all through the night, in the morning, while people are attempting to have conversations with me. . . This is the first time in my entire college career that I am actually excited about going to the library and staying in it all day. (The Querini Stampalia Library in Venice doesn't count because I went for aesthetic and atmospheric change.) I can't believe it, but I actually love learning again. I don't think I have been this excited about school since fifth grade taxonomy!

What a relief it is to have the pliability of my brain back.

Anyways, enough of bookishness. Without any acrobatic frogs or springtime lighting to tickle my fancy, my index finger is lacking in exercise. I have to keep resorting to old material, and this time it is really old.

These pictures (circa 1970) are of my dad, Fariborz, and his mom, Farah, in Iran. I think I look a lot like her when I am not wearing my glasses. My dad tells this great story of how my grandmother invited Gina Lollobrigida (Italian actress) to a womens' society tea party in Teheran. She actually showed up, but they had no common language, so they communicated using my favorite body language tools: smiles and eyes.

This is an even older picture of my grandparents, Farah and Reza, on their wedding day. Possibly mid-1940's? Yes, that is a Persian rug under their feet.

Amanda Nickelson

She and her identical twin Amy (who is married and has three kids) are turning 27 next month. She is really good at multi-tasking, making cappuccini, giving fashion advice, remaining calm during emergencies, and having a pleasant time.

We first met in Rome, but she doesn't remember. In Padua we had a class together that was altogether too difficult. One night, after resigning ourselves to failure, we stopped doing homework and went to Caffè Madrid to get free spritzes during happy hour. Once there, we vanquished an Uzbekistani exchange student with a cowboy hat who had recognized her from a hostel - we used the "not so ambiguous sexual orientation" trick. Then we moved in together along with Dima, Alba, and Eric. She is now in Seattle tackling her grandfather's Alzheimer's while planning a future relocation to New York City.

World Cup 2006

According to my good friend Amanda Wayne, who took a class on the history of the Venetian Empire, Galileo used gondolas and canals to smuggle the bodies of criminals from Venice to his anatomical theater at the Università degli Studi di Padova. They rowed by moonlight since human dissection was still forbidden.

There is still a water route from Padova to Venice, but most of the internal canals of the city have been filled in to make roads. One of the port termini is at Porta Portello, a large, stone gate that dates back to the 1500’s. Because of its marble steps that lead into the canal and the park area around it, the Portello is used for outdoor activities like the Portello River Festival that occurs every summer.

This year, the community set up a floating stage in the canal, next to the Portello, so that Paduans could sit on the steps and watch World Cup games. June 19th was the Italy vs. USA game, so most of the Americans went to the Portello to represent our country. Since I was leaving Italy in less than a week, and I had managed to connect myself with it immensely, I arrived at the game ready to cheer for the Italians – besides, they had a better chance of winning than the Americans did. As soon as I got there, I switched back to the USA again.

Sarah Came to Visit

She came during winter vacation, after Christmas and before my birthday. We rented a car, Amanda drove, and we took a road trip across Northern Italy. We left from Venice, hit Verona, Parma, La Spezia, Le Cinqueterre, Florence, Siena, a thermal bath from a horror film at midnight, Pisa, and Bologna. I took these pictures from our balcony at Vernazza, my favorite “Cinqueterra”. We were the only tourists there.