Blog
Persian Rugs: A Birthday Blog
Like a rug maker, I’ve known both pain and beauty in weaving together the different pieces of my life. Childhood trauma dispersed my memories, making it hard for me to be sure of what had happened. So my first task was to learn how to tell my own story, through writing and speaking, and in doing so, to tie together these tatters of memory.
Meha
I didn’t expect that meeting Meha was going to keep me up at night, but it did. In my dreams, those days, I was always on a boat in the middle of a dark ocean, when a bigger boat, full of male guards, stopped mine to arrest me and take me back to my family, who had paid for my abduction. I woke up screaming in my bed, night after night. It wasn’t Meha’s fault, of course…
I Heard His Voice…
Marco was waiting for me outside Jivamukti Yoga Studios, leaning against a white Ferrari. He held the door for me and I got in. “Okay, yoga girl,” he said. “What do you feel like eating?” “I don’t care,” I said. “Let’s just drive.” This was our first date. Spring 1998.
