Arabic name of this city is Al Shams. Along with Varanasi, India and Aleppo this is one of the world’s most ancient continually inhabited cities.

I sit now on the floor writing in the tomb of the great Sufi theologan Mohi al-Din Ibn Al-Arabi who wrote many a hard wisdom about seeking enlightenment. I notice that I am distressed inside.

Yesterday I had the intellectual talk with my peers on world politics, environment, developing economies and what humans do to one another. We came to the usual cul de sac of frustration, halplessness, hopelessness and anger. I feel in my heart of hearts there must be a different thought path that leads to hope and light.

Sitting here in the tomb of this saint I cry at my own lack of generosity and trust, my lack of discipline, all those wasted moments, and pity myself because the universe has not brought me into the shadow of a teacher who took me in hand, banished my fears, and set me on the right path.

Damascus is wonderful, winding lanes of beautiful food and curious people, the mountains surrounding it stark and appealing in the sunlight, glimmering and rolling enticingly by night. There are too many places of interest here, too many hammams, too many visits to do to drop it and leave for Beruit.

In Palmyra I stayed until the juice was gone from the fruit, in Aleppo, in Istambul, in Olympos, in Cappadoccia, so long I left without a feeling of missed opportunities, only the fear of and desire for something new.

Note: Hammam al Moqaddam marks a great area to see authentic Damascus and looks a great bathhouse to boot.