And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.
there is a trance-like emotion where we forget ourselves and delve into an object of interest. ecstasy, normally connected to great mystical moments but there is everyday, normal, vulgar ecstasy: the ecstasy of anger, the ecstasy of speed, the ecstasy of sight . i have delved into such everyday normal vulgar ecstasies but never in the real ecstasy (not the drug).
above is Shelley’s The Waning Moon. The ecstasy i search is waning all the time, even before its born in my mind. There is one tool of its origination though: Namaz.
I wish it lives and breathes with me, the waning ecstasy.