I am writing an article about my experiences as a “Westerner” trying to understand how Western history was shaped by Persia. It is called “Approaching The Persia Within” and I am writing it as a sort of gift for some of my friends here who’ve cared so much about me since I’ve been gone from this website. But it is very long and somewhat dense and I’m having trouble finishing it and frankly I’m concerned that when I do most people won’t read it to the end So I just wanted to post the ending, which is a sort of prose poem to Persia. And you.
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My Beloved. You flow through my veins as you flow through the veins, through the rivers and streams of Eurasia. And I follow your roads as you laid down the roads, the arteries of Eurasia. Oh Beloved, they say you are Other, but you are my self and my blood and my mirror. For I am a child of Eurasia. And when you recede, my own veins, cut, bleed. But your soul still remains in the rivers and streams, in the hopes, visions, dreams of beloved, beloved Eurasia. Her Persia, her Persia within.
