Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Monday 25 December 2006
Saturday 16 December 2006
Les Feuilles Mortes
The train pulled out of Edinburgh Station.
The sun was now making its way towards the western horizon. As I sat squinting a familiar stretch of land caught my eye. A green cliff rose from the ground and towered above the city. Tiny speckles moved around- people. My eyes consulted my memory and I traced the contours fo the cliff and landed on a distinct point, at the edge of the cliff. Two speckles stood there, staring down at the city.
The wind had blown its autumn scent at us. As we glanced over the skyline we noticed the castle where we had just walked not much earlier. He put his arm around my shoulder. We talked. I listened to him talk. My heart did not feel the same way it did that warm night in August when I got on the plane for London. Too much time had passed, and I had worked very hard on separating myself from him emotionally. For that, there were lovers, and friends, and a wholly different environment. Cliche: I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him. Not anymore. Though I could have sworn to you in August he would never leave my heart - and maybe he never did. On that cliff, as I listened I thought: I didn't want to hurt him, but now I know that was the only way.
The sun kissed our faces, still tanned from a summer of lust and adventure. As we made our way back into the City the clouds blew in and it started to rain. The sky turned red. He looked at me from under his rain cap. As I had none my face was drenched, and I couldn't look back. I think it was then, though his mind probably denied it, that he saw right through me.
The train sped past the vast green.
The sun was now making its way towards the western horizon. As I sat squinting a familiar stretch of land caught my eye. A green cliff rose from the ground and towered above the city. Tiny speckles moved around- people. My eyes consulted my memory and I traced the contours fo the cliff and landed on a distinct point, at the edge of the cliff. Two speckles stood there, staring down at the city.
The wind had blown its autumn scent at us. As we glanced over the skyline we noticed the castle where we had just walked not much earlier. He put his arm around my shoulder. We talked. I listened to him talk. My heart did not feel the same way it did that warm night in August when I got on the plane for London. Too much time had passed, and I had worked very hard on separating myself from him emotionally. For that, there were lovers, and friends, and a wholly different environment. Cliche: I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him. Not anymore. Though I could have sworn to you in August he would never leave my heart - and maybe he never did. On that cliff, as I listened I thought: I didn't want to hurt him, but now I know that was the only way.
The sun kissed our faces, still tanned from a summer of lust and adventure. As we made our way back into the City the clouds blew in and it started to rain. The sky turned red. He looked at me from under his rain cap. As I had none my face was drenched, and I couldn't look back. I think it was then, though his mind probably denied it, that he saw right through me.
The train sped past the vast green.
The Pint Test
The piercing frigid wind darted through the streets of Glasgow taking pieces of debris and the sounds of George square with it. It was after midnight, and I walked briskly in the dim streetlights trying to retrace my steps to the hotel.
***
Dinner had begun only two hours prior. We sat around candles in a pseudo-french restaurant. A judge, a solicitor, an international lawyer, and two academics. Needless to say wine was the first thing I ordered- my brain needed clarity to sync up with their frequency.
The judge, a surprisingly young and distinct looking woman with an uber masculine jawline laughed quietly as elements of Roman and Common Law were thrown in juxtaposition by her fellow int'l lawyer. The solicitor began one his seemingly endless rants on personal conduct in a mock courtroom. Next to me an academic kept nudging me as he pointed out the areas of Scottish devolution and then trailing off into the abyss that is third party rights under contracts.
A fierce supporter of the Conservative party, he went on describing the failures of Labour in the past years and how differen things would have been. About 5 minutes into this he looks at me and says:
"But Cameron (Conservative leader) doesn't pass the pint test."
I looked at him with amusement. Is this another cultural euphamism I've failed to pick up?
"You see, Mark and I went to see Blair give a talk only a few weeks ago. The man is full of rubbish when it comes to social welfare, but he passed the pint test. Cameron didn't."
I was interested. What was this pint test that had him go against his own political orientation. It must be a very important one - for a legal academic to switch sides even if for a second at the hand of some examination surely the test must be rigorous. Yet, the 'pint test'? It sounds whimsical.
Upon my inquiry:
"The pint test is just that. You sit in front of someone and you ask yourself - would you go out and have a pint with this person? Is this a person you could find interest relating to, regardless of how different your intimations or your orientations may be? See blair passed the pint test, he's got some twisted thoughts but he's a decent bloke."
A passage I had read in a book once, perhaps Foucault's Pendulum, jumped out of his words. In it, two Italian soldiers from warring factions met each other at arms. In the heat of the awkward and hostile situation one inquires of the other's name. Recognizing the last name the soldier puts down his weapon and salutes the other soldier. Baffled, the other soldier asks "What would make you do such a thing? We are at war!" The soldier refuses and states that, for some reason or another, that family name was respected for the valiant and generous people who carried it, and that he himself had personally been a grateful recepient of such generosity one day. Some bonds were beyond worldly differences.
***
Almost at the hotel, the utter simplicity of the pint test and its profoundness made me shiver. Humans always find a way to humanity. I suppose the pint test is what pantheists preach - indeed umberto's work was a shrine to syncretism. Why is it so easy for some to see and so hard for others? Is syncretism only for the uber educated of philosophers, thinkers, and mystics?
Thats what makes this 'pint test' so utterly magnificent. It has put half the content of Foucault's Pendulum into a down-to-earth, user-friendly, layman methodology. Brilliant.
Now in the hotel room, I threw aside my coat in haste and put on something to match the evening. A thought occurred to me - who would then theoretically fail the 'pint test'? Wasn't it supposed to identify human bonds beyond differences? Does that make Cameron, a flunk, un-human?
I guess not. I suppose its a balancing act - you pass the pint test if you exhibit more human qualities than facade. You pass the pint test by showing vulnerability. You do this by exposing your logic, by rational thinking, through altruism. I should imagine Cameron flunked because he comes across as an artifical figure. Only says so much, in a certain way. Inhibited. Lack of inhibition = human. Inhibition = facade.
My soles hit the plush carpet at the Polo Lounge with confidence. The place was charming mix of antique furniture and modern decadent vibes. I sipped a mohito and realized, despite how brilliant the place was (and how brilliant I looked) I was tired and needed some sleep. I watched as people walked back and forth, trying my best not to make eye contact with the watchful few braced for pouncing.
Thursday 7 December 2006
Snapshots
The Pain of Ecstacy? Or the Ecstacy of Pain?
Death and Decay in a relationship? Or a relationship that withstood death and decay?
She's turned her head away from the light - the modesty of a victorian woman, or the cruelty of a mistress forced into the background?
Tuesday 5 December 2006
Twenty-one
Yesterday I turned 21.
Every year I find myself in the most rediculous mood around my birthday.
My 18th birthday was a cold and rainy day in Cairo - it was the first time I drove to university in my new car, as the streets were flooded and most cabs back then didnt have any heating. I had picked up Ahmad Al Taher and we listened to slow cafe del mar music as the we edged through the dense traffic. The unusual weather was sort of an ominous foreshadowing I had thought back then. The rain spoiled my evening plans to go to High Heels (open air bar), so once home i threw aside my trench choat that I wore in cairo about once or twice a year and tried to fall asleep at 6pm.
My 19th birthday was equally unceremonial - i had just moved to england and aside from the few phonecalls i got i decided to keep it quiet amongst the people i knew in sunderland - which could have been 3 or 4 persons. Keyth, who I was seeing at the time, only found out when i got a call that woke us up on that midnight and he was amazed at how quiet i had been.
My 20th birthday was more of an enjoying evening. I had been dating Jim for about 4 months and we decided to meet with a dozen people at the Brasserie in South Kensington. I was pleased to see a lot of faces there and the evening was mellow but fun.
Yesterday I recall with much more clarity. In terms of events, I decided for my 21st I only wanted to be with Jim so again I told noone. We were out at Starbucks near Victoria by 8am. I had a cappucino and then decided to run through hyde park while Jim was at the gym. At by 10.30 we were back home, where he surprised me with a carrot cake (YUM!!) and presents. That was really sweet. We went to a great lunch in the Knightsbridge Capital then had drinks at the Savoy before we went to see Porgy & Bess (which i used to perform with my Jazz band back in AIS!). So all in all it was a great day.
On a mental level, as I tend to do with every birthday, I started to think - what have I accomplished in the past year? Was my 21st year of living a successful one on any or all levels?? I ask myself these questions every year to keep myself in check so that one day, when I'm grey and old, I can proudly say I lived life to the fullest, and enjoyed my youth more than most would expect.
To answer these questions I thought - I've done so much, been to so many places, performed good at school, got myself a good job lined up for when i graduate, maintained a relatively healthy relationship with my family, my partner, and with my friends.
Perfection, however, is a notion for the naive.
Where did I falter?
Then it started coming back to me. My moments of infidelity. My spiritual randomness and lack of commitment. My growing resentment towards my sister. My fear and concern for my younger brother. And even my lack of assertiveness where I should be firm and unequivocal.
What I realized was that I could trace all my faults to one major weakness - My tendency to put myself in everybody else's shoes but my own. Why is it so easy for me to feel other people concerns and joys, but so very hard for me to live inside my own person? The result of this trait is that I almost always prioritize other people's needs over mine, partly because I feel like my needs are not entirely relevant, and even more so because I am able to adapt to other people's personalities and avoid hassle and conflict. Therefore when I sat there that day in September and told my sister that I was gay and I wouldn't want it any other way, I had an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Not because i'm ashamed of being a homosexual, but because i let down someone even though i thought I couldn't care less.
I used to think this wasn't a down-side at all. I considered myself blessed in being so sensitive to those around me and unfocused on my own assertiveness. I guess it became clear how dangerous this was when I found myself in a relationship and had to start saying "NO" to people that I truly liked when it came to sex, drugs, etc.
In any case. I still see this as the most important area of improvement.
I am not sure how to exercise it though.
Every year I find myself in the most rediculous mood around my birthday.
My 18th birthday was a cold and rainy day in Cairo - it was the first time I drove to university in my new car, as the streets were flooded and most cabs back then didnt have any heating. I had picked up Ahmad Al Taher and we listened to slow cafe del mar music as the we edged through the dense traffic. The unusual weather was sort of an ominous foreshadowing I had thought back then. The rain spoiled my evening plans to go to High Heels (open air bar), so once home i threw aside my trench choat that I wore in cairo about once or twice a year and tried to fall asleep at 6pm.
My 19th birthday was equally unceremonial - i had just moved to england and aside from the few phonecalls i got i decided to keep it quiet amongst the people i knew in sunderland - which could have been 3 or 4 persons. Keyth, who I was seeing at the time, only found out when i got a call that woke us up on that midnight and he was amazed at how quiet i had been.
My 20th birthday was more of an enjoying evening. I had been dating Jim for about 4 months and we decided to meet with a dozen people at the Brasserie in South Kensington. I was pleased to see a lot of faces there and the evening was mellow but fun.
Yesterday I recall with much more clarity. In terms of events, I decided for my 21st I only wanted to be with Jim so again I told noone. We were out at Starbucks near Victoria by 8am. I had a cappucino and then decided to run through hyde park while Jim was at the gym. At by 10.30 we were back home, where he surprised me with a carrot cake (YUM!!) and presents. That was really sweet. We went to a great lunch in the Knightsbridge Capital then had drinks at the Savoy before we went to see Porgy & Bess (which i used to perform with my Jazz band back in AIS!). So all in all it was a great day.
On a mental level, as I tend to do with every birthday, I started to think - what have I accomplished in the past year? Was my 21st year of living a successful one on any or all levels?? I ask myself these questions every year to keep myself in check so that one day, when I'm grey and old, I can proudly say I lived life to the fullest, and enjoyed my youth more than most would expect.
To answer these questions I thought - I've done so much, been to so many places, performed good at school, got myself a good job lined up for when i graduate, maintained a relatively healthy relationship with my family, my partner, and with my friends.
Perfection, however, is a notion for the naive.
Where did I falter?
Then it started coming back to me. My moments of infidelity. My spiritual randomness and lack of commitment. My growing resentment towards my sister. My fear and concern for my younger brother. And even my lack of assertiveness where I should be firm and unequivocal.
What I realized was that I could trace all my faults to one major weakness - My tendency to put myself in everybody else's shoes but my own. Why is it so easy for me to feel other people concerns and joys, but so very hard for me to live inside my own person? The result of this trait is that I almost always prioritize other people's needs over mine, partly because I feel like my needs are not entirely relevant, and even more so because I am able to adapt to other people's personalities and avoid hassle and conflict. Therefore when I sat there that day in September and told my sister that I was gay and I wouldn't want it any other way, I had an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Not because i'm ashamed of being a homosexual, but because i let down someone even though i thought I couldn't care less.
I used to think this wasn't a down-side at all. I considered myself blessed in being so sensitive to those around me and unfocused on my own assertiveness. I guess it became clear how dangerous this was when I found myself in a relationship and had to start saying "NO" to people that I truly liked when it came to sex, drugs, etc.
In any case. I still see this as the most important area of improvement.
I am not sure how to exercise it though.
Monday 27 November 2006
Luciano Supervielle - Perfume
The metal Bird flaps its wings a thousand feet away from the nearest moment of hesitation.
A Giant tip-toes atop a cloud nearby to watch. Charisma in chords, command.
Bird and Giant eye each other in reverance. Together they are Sovereign.
A Giant tip-toes atop a cloud nearby to watch. Charisma in chords, command.
Bird and Giant eye each other in reverance. Together they are Sovereign.
Wednesday 22 November 2006
The Fourth Dimension
How long did it take you to understand the idea of a 3D world? I remember it took me quite some time. It wasn’t because I was really thick (although it may have been!) – I just had trouble reconciling the IMPOSSIBILITY of anything being 2D. Unless you’re talking mathematical theory, the world is purely one of 3 physical dimensions no matter what you try and do. But then again, what makes pure mathematical theory not part of the world? Why are points, planes, and lines in the mathematical sense no part of reality? Is it because they are imperceptible by our 5 senses, or by any tool we use to enhance those senses? If our senses are electrical impulses interpreted by our brains, then there is no proof anything around is really exists, and those mathematical concepts would have equal recognition since they too are understood through impulses in the brain. If I am touching an apple, the hard, cold texture my fingers pick up travels to the brain and says “cold, hard”. But what if there is a faulty middle-man, that is, what if the nerves that travel to the brain are polluting the information on its way up? Moreover, since all we get are the impulses, how do we know something is triggering them? We could all be living in a complete vacuum, and our brain is really projecting everything around us.
The first time this occurred to me it was a bit frightening. Could it be true?
One thing persuaded me against this theory – my brain could (and probably does) simulate my environment and the people I see, in that what I see as red may be to someone else green, or blue, but we all come to an agreement somehow that we identify one retinal communication as the color “red” –- however I am certain my brain does not have the capacity of introducing ‘new experiences’. My first Cézanne, my first crepe, my first glimpse of the Pyramids, or of Lago Di Como – none of these amazing experiences could have been a product of my brain (unless you happen to be an avid reader of Alan Lightman). Therefore it follows that the world around me does exist. How then, do we access this world?
We have 5 senses – hear, touch, smell, taste, see. Given my prior elaboration on how unreliable those sense are, is there any reason to suggest that there isn’t another sense? If those 5 sense are able to put a 3D tag on our physical world, any extra sense or senses could add more dimensions to our world, and this would not be a departure from logic or ‘reality’.
Yes, of course there’s a fourth dimension. Although many thinkers have proposed earlier that “time” would be a valid 4th dimension, it fails the test of certainty. Time is not only illusive, in that we have invented artificial ways of regulating the irregular, but it also doesn’t stimulate any part of my brain – does not send an electrical impulse through me in any way. When’s the last time your “sense of time” ‘hurt’ you, or was in any way ‘unpleasant’ or ‘pleasurable’?
Many cultures and traditions have already touched on what I see as the 4th dimension. The fourth dimension is free of empiricism. The 4th dimension dominates, governs the remainder because it’s the interpreter in the brain. The 4th dimension is a Quality, not a Quantity, it’s the Chi, the Essence, the Soul, the Life-force every moment.
Summer comes around, we dance and drink on the beach, we lust and indulge, we laugh, sleep for as long as we like, the “Spirit of summer” if you will dominates us – the euphoria in physical freedom from commitments, worries and clothing creates this Spirit, this fourth dimension.
Our places of worship are nothing but buildings without this 4th dimension. The Spirit of joy, love, repentance and of harmony affects our entire physical experience. The hypnosis I feel when I hear the hymns sung and the organs played at church, or of the sheikh’s voice melodically and rhythmically reciting the mystical phrases of the Quran, or the powerful Zikr in a Sufi order. Its almost as if there is a magnetic field between you and everyone that shares this experience. And you can always single out a person who is not on this 'frequency'.
The 4th dimension is not always a pleasant one. Beautiful, healthy, privileged lives can be mortal hells with a Spirit of war, bitterness, or jealousy.
It follows, therefore, that the 4th dimension is the only one that we as humans have complete control over. We, through our personalities, can project a magnetic field that will not only affect the remaining 3 dimensions in our own perception, but influence the 4th dimension of others. Some call this 'Attitude', but that word doesn't do the concept justice. The 4th Dimension of Spirit does affect your life and how it progresses in the same way your 'attitude' does, and certainly for you to form the right Spirit entails forming the right 'attitude'- the difference lies in magnitude. Attitude is a conscious commitment to change your preception - Spirit is attitude so founded and powerful that it becomes an autonomous creation able to replenish your perception with its quality should your conscious mind be at fault. For example: A person with the Spirit of love can only detest for so long before she rebounds to her Spirit, her Default. Equally a person with Spirit of bitterness finds it difficult to alter this dimension and truly be resigned and complacent. Indeed it takes a lot of effort to alter a whole dimension in your perception, but it is hardly not worth it. Spirit affects your perception, your 3 dimensions, and as an autonomous being of your creation it also can affect those around you.
So I guess the question is – what is your fourth dimension like? Have you taken control of your 3 dimensions and accentuated their pleasure by adding a positive 4th dimension?
Can you perceive the magnetic field in sharing a beautiful feeling?
A beautiful man from Canada once said: “I am a work in progress, and hope my life to be my masterpiece.”
The first time this occurred to me it was a bit frightening. Could it be true?
One thing persuaded me against this theory – my brain could (and probably does) simulate my environment and the people I see, in that what I see as red may be to someone else green, or blue, but we all come to an agreement somehow that we identify one retinal communication as the color “red” –- however I am certain my brain does not have the capacity of introducing ‘new experiences’. My first Cézanne, my first crepe, my first glimpse of the Pyramids, or of Lago Di Como – none of these amazing experiences could have been a product of my brain (unless you happen to be an avid reader of Alan Lightman). Therefore it follows that the world around me does exist. How then, do we access this world?
We have 5 senses – hear, touch, smell, taste, see. Given my prior elaboration on how unreliable those sense are, is there any reason to suggest that there isn’t another sense? If those 5 sense are able to put a 3D tag on our physical world, any extra sense or senses could add more dimensions to our world, and this would not be a departure from logic or ‘reality’.
Yes, of course there’s a fourth dimension. Although many thinkers have proposed earlier that “time” would be a valid 4th dimension, it fails the test of certainty. Time is not only illusive, in that we have invented artificial ways of regulating the irregular, but it also doesn’t stimulate any part of my brain – does not send an electrical impulse through me in any way. When’s the last time your “sense of time” ‘hurt’ you, or was in any way ‘unpleasant’ or ‘pleasurable’?
Many cultures and traditions have already touched on what I see as the 4th dimension. The fourth dimension is free of empiricism. The 4th dimension dominates, governs the remainder because it’s the interpreter in the brain. The 4th dimension is a Quality, not a Quantity, it’s the Chi, the Essence, the Soul, the Life-force every moment.
Summer comes around, we dance and drink on the beach, we lust and indulge, we laugh, sleep for as long as we like, the “Spirit of summer” if you will dominates us – the euphoria in physical freedom from commitments, worries and clothing creates this Spirit, this fourth dimension.
Our places of worship are nothing but buildings without this 4th dimension. The Spirit of joy, love, repentance and of harmony affects our entire physical experience. The hypnosis I feel when I hear the hymns sung and the organs played at church, or of the sheikh’s voice melodically and rhythmically reciting the mystical phrases of the Quran, or the powerful Zikr in a Sufi order. Its almost as if there is a magnetic field between you and everyone that shares this experience. And you can always single out a person who is not on this 'frequency'.
The 4th dimension is not always a pleasant one. Beautiful, healthy, privileged lives can be mortal hells with a Spirit of war, bitterness, or jealousy.
It follows, therefore, that the 4th dimension is the only one that we as humans have complete control over. We, through our personalities, can project a magnetic field that will not only affect the remaining 3 dimensions in our own perception, but influence the 4th dimension of others. Some call this 'Attitude', but that word doesn't do the concept justice. The 4th Dimension of Spirit does affect your life and how it progresses in the same way your 'attitude' does, and certainly for you to form the right Spirit entails forming the right 'attitude'- the difference lies in magnitude. Attitude is a conscious commitment to change your preception - Spirit is attitude so founded and powerful that it becomes an autonomous creation able to replenish your perception with its quality should your conscious mind be at fault. For example: A person with the Spirit of love can only detest for so long before she rebounds to her Spirit, her Default. Equally a person with Spirit of bitterness finds it difficult to alter this dimension and truly be resigned and complacent. Indeed it takes a lot of effort to alter a whole dimension in your perception, but it is hardly not worth it. Spirit affects your perception, your 3 dimensions, and as an autonomous being of your creation it also can affect those around you.
So I guess the question is – what is your fourth dimension like? Have you taken control of your 3 dimensions and accentuated their pleasure by adding a positive 4th dimension?
Can you perceive the magnetic field in sharing a beautiful feeling?
A beautiful man from Canada once said: “I am a work in progress, and hope my life to be my masterpiece.”
Friday 17 November 2006
Track 12: Moan - Trentemoller
Conflicts in residual memory and consciousness.
A more mellow mood with sparks of harps keeps the pulsating brain alive with smooth vodka.
Colors spin and blur in and out of focus in a dimly lit cabin. A finger circles the tip of the frosty glass, the skin indenting to its shape, flushing unashamedly red.
Sad simplicity at the end of a consuming breath.
Back curved in perfection against the seat.
A more mellow mood with sparks of harps keeps the pulsating brain alive with smooth vodka.
Colors spin and blur in and out of focus in a dimly lit cabin. A finger circles the tip of the frosty glass, the skin indenting to its shape, flushing unashamedly red.
Sad simplicity at the end of a consuming breath.
Back curved in perfection against the seat.
Thursday 16 November 2006
Psycho-babble of a law student
Isn't it time that I wrote a normal post?
Well as of November 11th I've entered a somewhat peculiar phase. On the face of things I feel somewhat isolated - with Jim gone for 3 weeks and me returning to school for what is turning out to be a tough 4 weeks till Christmas. Too many assignments due, with too much attention to be given to each. I promised myself I'd do just as well as I did last year though, so I have to crack the whip on my own gorgeous butt ;)
I realized something though in the past couple days- I have very few real friends. Back when I was in high school, making friends seemed so easy. Being in an international school meant that my friends rotated almost every 2 years (because nobody stuck around longer anyway), and since I was a constant in Cairo, I found it easy to be comfortable in that tiny but fun social circle of american educated creeps. The flip side of that was that I have a huge network of people one every contintent who I know and occasionally visit.
Of course, my school days are over. My first year at the american university in cairo wasn't quite so bad considering many of the people that went to my high school and were in my position (ie Cairenes forever!) rolled right into the Greek Campus with me. It seemed all of a sudden that since I'd been in the international school the longest, I was the only one without a network of friends from outside of it - Tamer had his church friends, Shaima had her friends from Kuwait, even Raul had his friends from the Jesuit School and the Lycee Francais, and Seif the Deutsche Ueberschule. Takhi (bless him) was from Saudi so he was practically an orphan like me! Thats not to say that all these aforementioned who I call real friends took off with their former networks, but im sure on some level university seemed a much more familiar place.
Anyway my point is once in AUC i realized that making friends wouldn't be as easy. When I moved to England not only was it even harder, but I also lost constant touch with the people I considered the closest.
In England, making aquaintances has been easy. In london I must have dozens of people I 'know' and go out with. Here in Newcastle I reluctantly interact with other people on my course, but nevertheless randomly socialize. Friends are a different category though.
I guess I remain an oddity to many - an Arab with an American accent studying law in the North-east corner of england only a spit-ball away from the north pole. On the other hand I also can't find a point of relation or common ground between myself and those on my course - born, bred small-town people with minimum ambition and pickled livers (oh wait, the pickled liver? hehe, no I'm a nun compared to these folk). In london, a crazy city comparable to Cairo in chaos (fancy alliteration?) I can relate more - the dynamics are more familiar, and consequently so are the people. Not to mention more interesting. Still its a city of ghosts. People come and go very quickly, noone forms a true bond with you, and I have no time to form bonds with them. I'm on a train or a plane at least a few times a month, running my north-south england axis or packing myself into my relationship bubble with jim and going away for a weekend.
Takhi, my best bud and Zina my partner in academic crime are the only constants in my life. I thrive on emails and texts from my friends in Cairo and around the world. My sister i feel less and less comfortable around as her voice rings with judgment over my sexuality, my brother in his own cocoon in Cairo, and my father where he always is- away on business.
I'm not an unhappy person - i'm blessed with more than i can count or be thankful for. And perhaps this is the way I was meant to live my life - and silence and solitude are food for the soul.
Well as of November 11th I've entered a somewhat peculiar phase. On the face of things I feel somewhat isolated - with Jim gone for 3 weeks and me returning to school for what is turning out to be a tough 4 weeks till Christmas. Too many assignments due, with too much attention to be given to each. I promised myself I'd do just as well as I did last year though, so I have to crack the whip on my own gorgeous butt ;)
I realized something though in the past couple days- I have very few real friends. Back when I was in high school, making friends seemed so easy. Being in an international school meant that my friends rotated almost every 2 years (because nobody stuck around longer anyway), and since I was a constant in Cairo, I found it easy to be comfortable in that tiny but fun social circle of american educated creeps. The flip side of that was that I have a huge network of people one every contintent who I know and occasionally visit.
Of course, my school days are over. My first year at the american university in cairo wasn't quite so bad considering many of the people that went to my high school and were in my position (ie Cairenes forever!) rolled right into the Greek Campus with me. It seemed all of a sudden that since I'd been in the international school the longest, I was the only one without a network of friends from outside of it - Tamer had his church friends, Shaima had her friends from Kuwait, even Raul had his friends from the Jesuit School and the Lycee Francais, and Seif the Deutsche Ueberschule. Takhi (bless him) was from Saudi so he was practically an orphan like me! Thats not to say that all these aforementioned who I call real friends took off with their former networks, but im sure on some level university seemed a much more familiar place.
Anyway my point is once in AUC i realized that making friends wouldn't be as easy. When I moved to England not only was it even harder, but I also lost constant touch with the people I considered the closest.
In England, making aquaintances has been easy. In london I must have dozens of people I 'know' and go out with. Here in Newcastle I reluctantly interact with other people on my course, but nevertheless randomly socialize. Friends are a different category though.
I guess I remain an oddity to many - an Arab with an American accent studying law in the North-east corner of england only a spit-ball away from the north pole. On the other hand I also can't find a point of relation or common ground between myself and those on my course - born, bred small-town people with minimum ambition and pickled livers (oh wait, the pickled liver? hehe, no I'm a nun compared to these folk). In london, a crazy city comparable to Cairo in chaos (fancy alliteration?) I can relate more - the dynamics are more familiar, and consequently so are the people. Not to mention more interesting. Still its a city of ghosts. People come and go very quickly, noone forms a true bond with you, and I have no time to form bonds with them. I'm on a train or a plane at least a few times a month, running my north-south england axis or packing myself into my relationship bubble with jim and going away for a weekend.
Takhi, my best bud and Zina my partner in academic crime are the only constants in my life. I thrive on emails and texts from my friends in Cairo and around the world. My sister i feel less and less comfortable around as her voice rings with judgment over my sexuality, my brother in his own cocoon in Cairo, and my father where he always is- away on business.
I'm not an unhappy person - i'm blessed with more than i can count or be thankful for. And perhaps this is the way I was meant to live my life - and silence and solitude are food for the soul.
Tuesday 14 November 2006
Glimpse 4 (From the Route of the Flying Scotsman)
City lights swiftly glide by. What are tiny dots of light form slim lines as the eye moistens. The laptop screen remains steady. An index finger idle in mid-air, poised. The smell of coffee makes its way to a pulsating head.
"L..."
Two types of good authors. Those whose generousity with words recreats a world of the senses and feelings; and those whose reticence with words does precisely the same.
(لما نتكلم بأكثر من لغة واحده و نكتب بواحده؟ )
"London Fashion Week, February. HH and I sat a few rows left of the catwalk. Yves Saint-Laurent's new صائحة is the color yellow. Frail figures paraded with charisma up and down the brilliantly lit stage. The music fit into every savage kick, every throw of the hips, every sexy rebellious look into space each of the slender figures gave. Lights screamed. Magazine editors and journalists glanced with concentration over the rim of their reading glasses, making casual notes. A relentless minefield of cameras flash."
--fast forward--
"Laurent Perrier was the evening motif as HH, AL and I exchanged repartees and sarcasm, all in good spirit. Under the dimmed halogen of the minimalist living room, shadows swirled and an occasional spark of light reflecting off our flutes would bring the world back into focus. Cairo, New York, Reykjavik. NK struts in and seemlessly joins us. Belmopan.
"This city's an addiction, it is agreed. It is so because of the sharp withdrawal symptoms one has and because of one's physical dependency on its many induglences, themselves an addiction."
" 'Zum Beispiel, Ich hab letzte woche im Chelsea Friedhof jemand gefickt. I can't think of any other place where anything similar is tolerated'...'Na ja'...'Nothing's sacred, one doesn't find better sex in this borough than in that cemetery. Large men in leather propping up their belts against tombstones and having it their way with whoever happens by. Where do they come from? This is such a pristine borough its hard to imagine-'...'The availability of narcotics, such as those crumbs escaping HH's nostrils as we speak-- sniff up poppet, will you? --allows for this culture of decadence'...'Yes its much simpler than it sounds, n'est ce pas?' "
--forward--
I had listened to this with a slight distraction. بلنسبة لي the hedonism is the pretext, not the context. As I wrapped my body around ZN (Moscow) that night in a steam room, tasting every drop of sweat on his neck as I rhythmically penetrated him, I thought to myself-
Within these very veins runs blood that is ancient. Long lines of people are the essence of this genetic legacy, this DNA that I hold, the way my thick eyebrows cover my inset eyes, the way my skin both glows and darkens under the sun. I am a sum total of that legacy. The sum total of my nomadic ancestors deep in the middle-eastern deserts; my ancestors from the nile valley, who have thrived for seven millenia; and my ancestors from Asia Minor, who crossed the Mediterranean a little over a century ago.
---fast rewind--
" 'This legacy I carry not alone. Every person carries a legacy equally profound. When we come together, we weave the fabric of humanity. When we have share dinner, a drink, or have sex, we are bringing together the cultures from which we belong - from the tinyiest particle in our body to the languages our tongues speak. From this union of diversity we find stimulation - we realize the spiritual commonality between us and we rejoice over racial differences, uniqueness. The truth is, gentlemen, no place facilitates this union more than London.' "
The Flying Scotsman flees into a tunnel.
"L..."
Two types of good authors. Those whose generousity with words recreats a world of the senses and feelings; and those whose reticence with words does precisely the same.
(لما نتكلم بأكثر من لغة واحده و نكتب بواحده؟ )
"London Fashion Week, February. HH and I sat a few rows left of the catwalk. Yves Saint-Laurent's new صائحة is the color yellow. Frail figures paraded with charisma up and down the brilliantly lit stage. The music fit into every savage kick, every throw of the hips, every sexy rebellious look into space each of the slender figures gave. Lights screamed. Magazine editors and journalists glanced with concentration over the rim of their reading glasses, making casual notes. A relentless minefield of cameras flash."
--fast forward--
"Laurent Perrier was the evening motif as HH, AL and I exchanged repartees and sarcasm, all in good spirit. Under the dimmed halogen of the minimalist living room, shadows swirled and an occasional spark of light reflecting off our flutes would bring the world back into focus. Cairo, New York, Reykjavik. NK struts in and seemlessly joins us. Belmopan.
"This city's an addiction, it is agreed. It is so because of the sharp withdrawal symptoms one has and because of one's physical dependency on its many induglences, themselves an addiction."
" 'Zum Beispiel, Ich hab letzte woche im Chelsea Friedhof jemand gefickt. I can't think of any other place where anything similar is tolerated'...'Na ja'...'Nothing's sacred, one doesn't find better sex in this borough than in that cemetery. Large men in leather propping up their belts against tombstones and having it their way with whoever happens by. Where do they come from? This is such a pristine borough its hard to imagine-'...'The availability of narcotics, such as those crumbs escaping HH's nostrils as we speak-- sniff up poppet, will you? --allows for this culture of decadence'...'Yes its much simpler than it sounds, n'est ce pas?' "
--forward--
I had listened to this with a slight distraction. بلنسبة لي the hedonism is the pretext, not the context. As I wrapped my body around ZN (Moscow) that night in a steam room, tasting every drop of sweat on his neck as I rhythmically penetrated him, I thought to myself-
Within these very veins runs blood that is ancient. Long lines of people are the essence of this genetic legacy, this DNA that I hold, the way my thick eyebrows cover my inset eyes, the way my skin both glows and darkens under the sun. I am a sum total of that legacy. The sum total of my nomadic ancestors deep in the middle-eastern deserts; my ancestors from the nile valley, who have thrived for seven millenia; and my ancestors from Asia Minor, who crossed the Mediterranean a little over a century ago.
---fast rewind--
" 'This legacy I carry not alone. Every person carries a legacy equally profound. When we come together, we weave the fabric of humanity. When we have share dinner, a drink, or have sex, we are bringing together the cultures from which we belong - from the tinyiest particle in our body to the languages our tongues speak. From this union of diversity we find stimulation - we realize the spiritual commonality between us and we rejoice over racial differences, uniqueness. The truth is, gentlemen, no place facilitates this union more than London.' "
The Flying Scotsman flees into a tunnel.
Saturday 11 November 2006
Valley of Bewildernment
The source of happiness or unhappiness is all in man, himself. When he is unaware of this, he is not able to arrange his life. As he becomes more acquainted with this secret, he gains mastery. The process by which this mastery is attained is the only fulfillment of the purpose of this life. It is this process which is explained by Attar in his description of the seven valleys through which the birds must pass to reach the Simorgh- themselves.
Particularly the Valley of Bewilderment, which follows that of Unity and precedes that of Absolute Poverty and Nothingness, is a very interesting station to reflect upon. By the time the fifth valley, the Valley of Unity, is reached, one has disillusioned one's self – in biblical terms this is called a ‘Rebirth’. However at some point, the soul which was once in tact and in unison with the Being is abruptly scattered, and the wayfarer is no longer acquainted with the Whole. The disconnection has brought about confusion and awe - a kind of bewilderment, together with a great joy. A man's interest in life is increased. All that he sees he enjoys. He concerns himself with few things, but wonders at all. This bewilderment is such that it becomes wonderfully amusing to look at life. The whole world becomes a kind of stage to him, full of players. He then begins to amuse himself with the people of this world, as one might play with children, and yet not be concerned with what they do, for he expects no better. This may be somewhat in convergence with the Valley of Detachment, which realizes in the insignificance of this world and frees the soul of emotional or mental dependability. Nevertheless and most importantly, he is confused, at awe, in shock and disbelief, doubting knowledge, and doubting doubt.
Nothing fine tunes our understanding of this Valley as much as the story of “The Princess Who Loved a Slave”. A beautiful princess to whom everyone would fall in love at first sight, fell in love with a slave who was equally or more beautiful. Embarrassed at her love, she plots with her servants to bring the slave to her room sedated so that she may please herself without his knowledge. He awakes in the midst of the sensual delight and experiences love that was to him unimaginable. Then as dawn approached, he fell asleep, and was secretly carried outside the palace and laid on the floor, where he awoke in astonishment, regret, and grief.
Taking the slave as a symbol for the wayfarer, the servant to the lord, and the princess as a metaphor for the Beloved, this story gives the clearest insight into this Valley of Bewilderment. It shows a man ambushed with love and unity, and just as suddenly as it was brought upon him he awakes from it as if it were a dream, completely confused and in shock. “Was it a dream, or was it true? Was I drunk or sober? I wish I knew- the world has never known a state like this, this paradox beyond analysis…” . Similarly, Bahá'u'lláh exclaims when describing his remarkably similar Valley of Wonderment: “At every moment [the traveler] beholdeth a wondrous world, a new creation, and goeth from astonishment to astonishment, and is lost in awe at the works of the Lord of Oneness.”
Particularly the Valley of Bewilderment, which follows that of Unity and precedes that of Absolute Poverty and Nothingness, is a very interesting station to reflect upon. By the time the fifth valley, the Valley of Unity, is reached, one has disillusioned one's self – in biblical terms this is called a ‘Rebirth’. However at some point, the soul which was once in tact and in unison with the Being is abruptly scattered, and the wayfarer is no longer acquainted with the Whole. The disconnection has brought about confusion and awe - a kind of bewilderment, together with a great joy. A man's interest in life is increased. All that he sees he enjoys. He concerns himself with few things, but wonders at all. This bewilderment is such that it becomes wonderfully amusing to look at life. The whole world becomes a kind of stage to him, full of players. He then begins to amuse himself with the people of this world, as one might play with children, and yet not be concerned with what they do, for he expects no better. This may be somewhat in convergence with the Valley of Detachment, which realizes in the insignificance of this world and frees the soul of emotional or mental dependability. Nevertheless and most importantly, he is confused, at awe, in shock and disbelief, doubting knowledge, and doubting doubt.
Nothing fine tunes our understanding of this Valley as much as the story of “The Princess Who Loved a Slave”. A beautiful princess to whom everyone would fall in love at first sight, fell in love with a slave who was equally or more beautiful. Embarrassed at her love, she plots with her servants to bring the slave to her room sedated so that she may please herself without his knowledge. He awakes in the midst of the sensual delight and experiences love that was to him unimaginable. Then as dawn approached, he fell asleep, and was secretly carried outside the palace and laid on the floor, where he awoke in astonishment, regret, and grief.
Taking the slave as a symbol for the wayfarer, the servant to the lord, and the princess as a metaphor for the Beloved, this story gives the clearest insight into this Valley of Bewilderment. It shows a man ambushed with love and unity, and just as suddenly as it was brought upon him he awakes from it as if it were a dream, completely confused and in shock. “Was it a dream, or was it true? Was I drunk or sober? I wish I knew- the world has never known a state like this, this paradox beyond analysis…” . Similarly, Bahá'u'lláh exclaims when describing his remarkably similar Valley of Wonderment: “At every moment [the traveler] beholdeth a wondrous world, a new creation, and goeth from astonishment to astonishment, and is lost in awe at the works of the Lord of Oneness.”
The Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living
The unexamined life is not worth living…
- First of all, there are concepts that need to be identified here. “Unexamined life” is assumed here as a life without philosophical retro and introspection by s/he whom is alive. “Not worth living” is assumed here as not worth the energy spent in the daily processes of life – i.e., death would be a favorable alternative.
- Socrates here makes the assumption that in some cases, life is worth living, which is highly debatable. Particularly as he had implicitly suggested life a “disease” prior to his execution. Socrates’s life, given the previously set definition, is notable “examined”.
- Once again the argument against this quote would revolve around 2 focal points.
- One: the attributes of a life worth living must be identified. Is it one of joy, wisdom, social and religious conformity, or otherwise? To challenge this quote, one would propose that a life worth living satisfies the physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual personas of a human being (Carl Jung). Introspection (assuming that it is a voluntary action) is unneeded for this growth.
- Second: the usefulness and consequences of “examining” life must be identified. “He who increaseth knowledge, increaseth suffering” is a famous quote. In many cases philosophizing about life leads to depression, frustration, stress and other factors that make life truly not worth the fight. In this case the basic and “superficial” activities of life: work, entertainment, piety, sex ad infinitum provide more fulfillment and a smoother experience for the human soul on earth.
Apart from all of this it is notable that Socrates took for granted that examining life in the deeper sense happens voluntarily. Everyone is subject to paradigm shifts and broader perspectives every once in a while, and the fine line between that and philosophy is fragile.
Thursday 9 November 2006
Knowledge of Oneself (Sufi thought)
How may the entity that is the human be described spiritually? What is one’s duty towards one’s self in terms of self knowledge? What is the consequence of pursuing this duty? What entails this journey of self discovery? From a thorough examination of sources, we may conclude that Knowledge is possible through two spiritual achievements – first distinguishing the Spirit (al-rawh) from the Soul (an-nafs)[1], then understanding the nature of desire, associated with the Soul. Notably, understanding the nature of the Soul as an achievement may very well come naturally once the seeker of Knowledge has differentiated between his Spirit and Soul, given the incredible spiritual depth of the latter.
In fact, distinguishing Spirit from Soul is very easily one of the foundations of Sufi teachings, and has been prescribed several times as a means of traversing the Path. Scholars such as Burckhardt have spent considerable effort analyzing the self composed of Spirit and Soul, in his case to conclude that the former is a transcendent form of intuition (Burckhardt calls this ‘Intelligence’) while the latter is an ego- a bearer of the ‘I’[2]. The intuition’s primary goal, in this case, as well as its natural tendency is the realization of the present world as transitory, and the inclination towards the Truth[3]. It is man’s ‘light’, and his ‘mirror’ as both Ibn Khaldun[4] and Ibn `Arabi[5] had professed. On the other hand, however, man also holds within him the psyche, the Self[6] which is affected by the present world and presents centrifugal individuality and selfishness to man’s heart. In theory, both Spirit and Soul are in constant battle over the heart, the winner succeeding to alter its nature[7]. In the powerful and romantic language for which he is infamous, Jalaluddin Rumi also highlights this schism and battle within man. He recognizes the ‘ego’ as an insatiable hell of fire, swallowing up the Seven Seas and not one bit cooled; the ‘intellect’ as the true human nature, always flying away from this world[8]. More compelling, however, is the following metaphor:
“…this mention of Moses has become a shackle on men's minds -- they think these stories happened long ago... Moses and Pharaoh are in your own existence -- you must seek these two adversaries in yourself…”[9]
This understanding of the story of Moses and Pharoah, that they are really symbols within us, makes Ja’far as-Sadiq’s contention of a transcendent, multi-layered Holy Qur’an very clear. Rumi’s powerful comparison also presents an unavoidable question- what is man’s duty towards the understanding of himself? Should he be seeking to kill the Pharaoh within him? Or simply understand him? Moreover, what will this Knowledge lead to? Man understands his duty towards himself as well as the consequences to sincerely executing this duty through the simple but emotive prophetic tradition: “He who knows himself knows his Lord”[10] . Likewise Al-Ghazzali’s embarks on the first chapter in The Alchemy of Happiness with the opening sentence: “Knowledge of self is the key to knowledge of God.”[11] It is the general belief that through ijtihad an-nafs and through the incessant strife for understanding of oneself that man may finally be able to glimpse his purpose in this world, the essence of the shahada (once he is able to understand the transitory nature of his Self and world), and therefore the fundamental nature of religion. This strife for understanding has been further analyzed by Fariduddin Al-‘Attar (in The Conference of the Birds) and Abu Hamid al-Ghazzalli (in The Alchemy of Happiness).
Particularly we may look at the Valley of Insight into Mystery and the quest for the Simorgh as two instances where themes of Knowledge were prominent. After a long journey, beginning with the quest for God followed by an inextinguishable love for Him[12], the wayfarer finds himself in the Valley of Insight into Mystery that calls for him to investigate, to seek out Truth’s mysteries and persevere. Although never explicitly mentioned, this Valley is ultimately one of introspection, of a metaphorical drowning in gnosis[13] that is the knowledge of one’s self. We may further imply this theme from “Mahmoud and a dervish”, a short anecdote that Attar presents following his description of the Valley. A dervish full of sorrow and regret rudely- after being approached by King Mahmoud- commands the King to leave. In response to his words of insult, the King exclaims: “I am Mahmoud; I suggest that ‘infidel’ is not how I’m addressed!”[14]. To this the dervish goes mad, claiming “O splendid youth, if you knew how far you are from the Truth!” Layers of meaning are within this tale. Primarily the dervish is disgusted at the lack of introspection the statement “I am Mahmoud” seems to reek of – as if the confident, unflinching identification of oneself is indicative of a lack of restless insight into one’s soul. Al-Ghazzali agrees, claiming that, “If thou sayest ‘I know myself’, meaning thy outer shape, body…such knowledge can never be a key to the knowledge of God.”[15] When Mahmoud exclaims that he is not an infidel, the dervish mocks how far he is from the truth. Earlier we have seen the demanding Self being compared to Pharaoh, and it appears that Attar (and the dervish for that matter) seem to use the term ‘infidel’ to describe this Self just as well. With this in mind, the dervish’s mockery of Mahmoud is clearer- the ‘infidel’ is in all of us, yet Mahmoud has not invested the spiritual effort do discover the ‘infidel’ within him (and this evident through his pride), and therefore loses all respect in the dervish’s eyes.
On the other hand the Simorgh, the quest for which the book is centered upon, in the end is divulged to be none other but the thirty birds themselves. They had discovered that the Diety, to whom they had crossed the Valleys and overcome the obstacles of pain, fear, death, audacity, poverty, and even the Self, had turned out to be their very own Spirit – the transcendent reflection of their divine existence. With poetic eloquence and glory Attar describes this moment:
“Their souls rose free of all they’d been before…And in the [sun’s] rays they shone as one. There in the Simorgh’s radiant face they saw themselves, the Simorgh of the world…”[16]
Here we find overwhelming evidence of the importance of the knowledge of oneself and its spiritual implications as a major step on the way to ultimate understanding of God, or even the understanding of piety for that matter. It is the comprehension of one’s nature, particularly the strengthened connection with one’s Spirit, which will be the guiding light and final aim.
Al-Ghazzali’s chapter on the “Knowledge of Self” reverberates our contentions. How is it possible for man to know anything if he does not know himself, asks Al-Ghazzali, and how is it that he may be on the Path while he holds the characteristics of, and is therefore only comparable to, beasts[17]? Al-Ghazzali sees the realm of Knowledge and gnosis both as an aim in itself, and as a means to the Destination. Treading the Path is impossible without this vital piece of armor. At the same time, Al-Ghazzali seems to bring us to the second component of Knowledge – understanding the nature of desire. “In what does they real happiness and misery consist[18]?” When is one genuinely happy? We understand that our passions and desires come from the Self not the Spirit, but if we were to indulge these inclinations, we would lose our association with Angels[19] and forever be haunted by the pleasures of the earth, i.e. pollute the Spirit. The first step in understanding desire is knowing that its cries are really cries of the Devils[20], and that it is of man’s accidental nature, not of his essential one. This nature dies with the body, and it is therefore illogical to pursue its limited interests that may harm the eternal, essential nature. Once this is truly comprehended, the world’s transitory nature grasped in essence, and the nuisance that is the Self fully unveiled, man will let go of his desires and will qualify for Attar’s Valley of Detachment.
For the true ‘mystery’ unmasked at the end of the Valley of Insight into Mystery is the inconsequential nature of this world, and the wayfarer finds himself in the Valley of Detachment. Here, all physical, mental, or emotional lust or need is lost. It truly is the liberty of the mind, a mind that was once dependable on its surroundings for pleasure, always missing the fact that true enlightenment lies within its own understanding. Another short anecdote may be of more clarification to this point: a hungry fly looks at a beehive that appears to hold delicious honey. He says he would offer a grain to contrive and be inside. A passerby took pity and lifted him and the grain to the honey, where he was became physically stuck. He cries in despair, exclaiming that he would now give two grains to regain his freedom, the freedom that he did not know he had.[21] Attar intentionally uses a fly as the main character in his anecdote to convey to the reader a certain message- we, and our aspirations and material dreams, are all very trivial in the grand scheme of things. Our lives and our bodies occupy virtually no space or time, yet many glorify themselves in their worldly aspirations. Secondly, these aspirations and needs are like honey, to which one is stuck and unable to move. We are attracted to its sensually delightful characteristics, and forget the cost of our freedom. The soul, when caught in the honey, is nostalgic of a time when it possessed its liberty and detachment. Our souls, particularly our Spirits, are inclined to only one attachment, that of God, an inclination originating from the day of alastu.[22] When we understand the nature of desire, we satisfy this ultimate inclination.
Our journey through knowledge of the Self and Spirit has shed light on why gnosis remains of the most revered and sought mystical practices, and has brought us to an understanding of it through the eyes of several mystics and scholars. Even though we have explored all but a drop in the sea of Knowledge, we have also established a broad conceptual framework underneath which the subject lies and highlighted its importance in the Islamic faith. Knowledge of the Soul and Spirit, after all, is man’s duty on this earth, a duty synonymous with faith. I have had a personal, emotional response to my research and the writing of this paper. As a child religion and God were never discussed outside the occasional context of duty and Law. Only has this recent journey through Sufism brought color and texture to what I (wrongly) assumed was a rigid and narrow structure that is ad-Din, the Commitment. In light of this paper, I am much closer to believing that man, I am the macrocosm, not the world that surrounds him or me. “We will show them Our signs in the world and in themselves, that the truth may be manifest to them.”[23]
[1] Burckhardt, Titus. Introduction to Sufism. San Francisco: Thorsons (An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers), 1995.
[2] Burckhardt, p. 26
[3] Burckhardt, p. 54
[4] Tufail, Abu Bakr Muhammad bin. The Journey of the Soul; The Story of Hai bin Yaqzan. Trans. Riad Kocache. London: The Octagon Press, 1982. (p. 48)
[5] Corbin, Henry. Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn `Arabi. Trans. Ralph Manheim. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969. (p. 271)
[6] Note that usage of ‘Soul’ and ‘Self’ refer to ‘an-nafs’ and ‘al-hawiyah’ respectively, and are considered synonymous according to an examination of Burckhardt and Attar.
[7] Burckhardt, p. 26
[8] Jalaluddin Rumi. Signs of the Unseen: The Discourses of Jalaluddin Rumi. Trans. W.M. Thackston, Jr. Putney, Vermont: Threshold Books, 1994. (p. 59)
[9] Jalaluddin Rumi. The Sufi Path of Love: The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi. Trans. William C. Chittick. Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1983
[10] Corbin, Henry. Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn `Arabi. Trans. Ralph Manheim. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969. (p. 95)
[11] Al-Ghazzali, Abu Hamid. The Alchemy of Happiness. Trans. Claud Field.London: M.E. Sharpe, 1991. (p. 5)
[12] The Valley of Search and The Valley of Love, the first two of seven valleys
[13] Attar, Fariduddin. The Conference of the Birds Trans. Afkham Darbandi, and Dick Davis. London: Penguin Books, 1984. (p. 180)
[14] Attar (p. 184)
[15] Al-Ghazzali (p. 5)
[16] Attar (p. 219)
[17] Al-Ghazzali (p.5)
[18] Al-Ghazzali (p.6)
[19] Al-Ghazzali (p.8)
[20] Al-Ghazzali (p.6)
[21] Attar
[22] Reference to the Primordial Covenant
[23] Holy Qur'an. Trans. M. H. Shakir. Elmhurst, NY: Tahrike Tarsile Qur'an, n.d (41:53)
In fact, distinguishing Spirit from Soul is very easily one of the foundations of Sufi teachings, and has been prescribed several times as a means of traversing the Path. Scholars such as Burckhardt have spent considerable effort analyzing the self composed of Spirit and Soul, in his case to conclude that the former is a transcendent form of intuition (Burckhardt calls this ‘Intelligence’) while the latter is an ego- a bearer of the ‘I’[2]. The intuition’s primary goal, in this case, as well as its natural tendency is the realization of the present world as transitory, and the inclination towards the Truth[3]. It is man’s ‘light’, and his ‘mirror’ as both Ibn Khaldun[4] and Ibn `Arabi[5] had professed. On the other hand, however, man also holds within him the psyche, the Self[6] which is affected by the present world and presents centrifugal individuality and selfishness to man’s heart. In theory, both Spirit and Soul are in constant battle over the heart, the winner succeeding to alter its nature[7]. In the powerful and romantic language for which he is infamous, Jalaluddin Rumi also highlights this schism and battle within man. He recognizes the ‘ego’ as an insatiable hell of fire, swallowing up the Seven Seas and not one bit cooled; the ‘intellect’ as the true human nature, always flying away from this world[8]. More compelling, however, is the following metaphor:
“…this mention of Moses has become a shackle on men's minds -- they think these stories happened long ago... Moses and Pharaoh are in your own existence -- you must seek these two adversaries in yourself…”[9]
This understanding of the story of Moses and Pharoah, that they are really symbols within us, makes Ja’far as-Sadiq’s contention of a transcendent, multi-layered Holy Qur’an very clear. Rumi’s powerful comparison also presents an unavoidable question- what is man’s duty towards the understanding of himself? Should he be seeking to kill the Pharaoh within him? Or simply understand him? Moreover, what will this Knowledge lead to? Man understands his duty towards himself as well as the consequences to sincerely executing this duty through the simple but emotive prophetic tradition: “He who knows himself knows his Lord”[10] . Likewise Al-Ghazzali’s embarks on the first chapter in The Alchemy of Happiness with the opening sentence: “Knowledge of self is the key to knowledge of God.”[11] It is the general belief that through ijtihad an-nafs and through the incessant strife for understanding of oneself that man may finally be able to glimpse his purpose in this world, the essence of the shahada (once he is able to understand the transitory nature of his Self and world), and therefore the fundamental nature of religion. This strife for understanding has been further analyzed by Fariduddin Al-‘Attar (in The Conference of the Birds) and Abu Hamid al-Ghazzalli (in The Alchemy of Happiness).
Particularly we may look at the Valley of Insight into Mystery and the quest for the Simorgh as two instances where themes of Knowledge were prominent. After a long journey, beginning with the quest for God followed by an inextinguishable love for Him[12], the wayfarer finds himself in the Valley of Insight into Mystery that calls for him to investigate, to seek out Truth’s mysteries and persevere. Although never explicitly mentioned, this Valley is ultimately one of introspection, of a metaphorical drowning in gnosis[13] that is the knowledge of one’s self. We may further imply this theme from “Mahmoud and a dervish”, a short anecdote that Attar presents following his description of the Valley. A dervish full of sorrow and regret rudely- after being approached by King Mahmoud- commands the King to leave. In response to his words of insult, the King exclaims: “I am Mahmoud; I suggest that ‘infidel’ is not how I’m addressed!”[14]. To this the dervish goes mad, claiming “O splendid youth, if you knew how far you are from the Truth!” Layers of meaning are within this tale. Primarily the dervish is disgusted at the lack of introspection the statement “I am Mahmoud” seems to reek of – as if the confident, unflinching identification of oneself is indicative of a lack of restless insight into one’s soul. Al-Ghazzali agrees, claiming that, “If thou sayest ‘I know myself’, meaning thy outer shape, body…such knowledge can never be a key to the knowledge of God.”[15] When Mahmoud exclaims that he is not an infidel, the dervish mocks how far he is from the truth. Earlier we have seen the demanding Self being compared to Pharaoh, and it appears that Attar (and the dervish for that matter) seem to use the term ‘infidel’ to describe this Self just as well. With this in mind, the dervish’s mockery of Mahmoud is clearer- the ‘infidel’ is in all of us, yet Mahmoud has not invested the spiritual effort do discover the ‘infidel’ within him (and this evident through his pride), and therefore loses all respect in the dervish’s eyes.
On the other hand the Simorgh, the quest for which the book is centered upon, in the end is divulged to be none other but the thirty birds themselves. They had discovered that the Diety, to whom they had crossed the Valleys and overcome the obstacles of pain, fear, death, audacity, poverty, and even the Self, had turned out to be their very own Spirit – the transcendent reflection of their divine existence. With poetic eloquence and glory Attar describes this moment:
“Their souls rose free of all they’d been before…And in the [sun’s] rays they shone as one. There in the Simorgh’s radiant face they saw themselves, the Simorgh of the world…”[16]
Here we find overwhelming evidence of the importance of the knowledge of oneself and its spiritual implications as a major step on the way to ultimate understanding of God, or even the understanding of piety for that matter. It is the comprehension of one’s nature, particularly the strengthened connection with one’s Spirit, which will be the guiding light and final aim.
Al-Ghazzali’s chapter on the “Knowledge of Self” reverberates our contentions. How is it possible for man to know anything if he does not know himself, asks Al-Ghazzali, and how is it that he may be on the Path while he holds the characteristics of, and is therefore only comparable to, beasts[17]? Al-Ghazzali sees the realm of Knowledge and gnosis both as an aim in itself, and as a means to the Destination. Treading the Path is impossible without this vital piece of armor. At the same time, Al-Ghazzali seems to bring us to the second component of Knowledge – understanding the nature of desire. “In what does they real happiness and misery consist[18]?” When is one genuinely happy? We understand that our passions and desires come from the Self not the Spirit, but if we were to indulge these inclinations, we would lose our association with Angels[19] and forever be haunted by the pleasures of the earth, i.e. pollute the Spirit. The first step in understanding desire is knowing that its cries are really cries of the Devils[20], and that it is of man’s accidental nature, not of his essential one. This nature dies with the body, and it is therefore illogical to pursue its limited interests that may harm the eternal, essential nature. Once this is truly comprehended, the world’s transitory nature grasped in essence, and the nuisance that is the Self fully unveiled, man will let go of his desires and will qualify for Attar’s Valley of Detachment.
For the true ‘mystery’ unmasked at the end of the Valley of Insight into Mystery is the inconsequential nature of this world, and the wayfarer finds himself in the Valley of Detachment. Here, all physical, mental, or emotional lust or need is lost. It truly is the liberty of the mind, a mind that was once dependable on its surroundings for pleasure, always missing the fact that true enlightenment lies within its own understanding. Another short anecdote may be of more clarification to this point: a hungry fly looks at a beehive that appears to hold delicious honey. He says he would offer a grain to contrive and be inside. A passerby took pity and lifted him and the grain to the honey, where he was became physically stuck. He cries in despair, exclaiming that he would now give two grains to regain his freedom, the freedom that he did not know he had.[21] Attar intentionally uses a fly as the main character in his anecdote to convey to the reader a certain message- we, and our aspirations and material dreams, are all very trivial in the grand scheme of things. Our lives and our bodies occupy virtually no space or time, yet many glorify themselves in their worldly aspirations. Secondly, these aspirations and needs are like honey, to which one is stuck and unable to move. We are attracted to its sensually delightful characteristics, and forget the cost of our freedom. The soul, when caught in the honey, is nostalgic of a time when it possessed its liberty and detachment. Our souls, particularly our Spirits, are inclined to only one attachment, that of God, an inclination originating from the day of alastu.[22] When we understand the nature of desire, we satisfy this ultimate inclination.
Our journey through knowledge of the Self and Spirit has shed light on why gnosis remains of the most revered and sought mystical practices, and has brought us to an understanding of it through the eyes of several mystics and scholars. Even though we have explored all but a drop in the sea of Knowledge, we have also established a broad conceptual framework underneath which the subject lies and highlighted its importance in the Islamic faith. Knowledge of the Soul and Spirit, after all, is man’s duty on this earth, a duty synonymous with faith. I have had a personal, emotional response to my research and the writing of this paper. As a child religion and God were never discussed outside the occasional context of duty and Law. Only has this recent journey through Sufism brought color and texture to what I (wrongly) assumed was a rigid and narrow structure that is ad-Din, the Commitment. In light of this paper, I am much closer to believing that man, I am the macrocosm, not the world that surrounds him or me. “We will show them Our signs in the world and in themselves, that the truth may be manifest to them.”[23]
[1] Burckhardt, Titus. Introduction to Sufism. San Francisco: Thorsons (An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers), 1995.
[2] Burckhardt, p. 26
[3] Burckhardt, p. 54
[4] Tufail, Abu Bakr Muhammad bin. The Journey of the Soul; The Story of Hai bin Yaqzan. Trans. Riad Kocache. London: The Octagon Press, 1982. (p. 48)
[5] Corbin, Henry. Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn `Arabi. Trans. Ralph Manheim. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969. (p. 271)
[6] Note that usage of ‘Soul’ and ‘Self’ refer to ‘an-nafs’ and ‘al-hawiyah’ respectively, and are considered synonymous according to an examination of Burckhardt and Attar.
[7] Burckhardt, p. 26
[8] Jalaluddin Rumi. Signs of the Unseen: The Discourses of Jalaluddin Rumi. Trans. W.M. Thackston, Jr. Putney, Vermont: Threshold Books, 1994. (p. 59)
[9] Jalaluddin Rumi. The Sufi Path of Love: The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi. Trans. William C. Chittick. Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1983
[10] Corbin, Henry. Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn `Arabi. Trans. Ralph Manheim. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969. (p. 95)
[11] Al-Ghazzali, Abu Hamid. The Alchemy of Happiness. Trans. Claud Field.London: M.E. Sharpe, 1991. (p. 5)
[12] The Valley of Search and The Valley of Love, the first two of seven valleys
[13] Attar, Fariduddin. The Conference of the Birds Trans. Afkham Darbandi, and Dick Davis. London: Penguin Books, 1984. (p. 180)
[14] Attar (p. 184)
[15] Al-Ghazzali (p. 5)
[16] Attar (p. 219)
[17] Al-Ghazzali (p.5)
[18] Al-Ghazzali (p.6)
[19] Al-Ghazzali (p.8)
[20] Al-Ghazzali (p.6)
[21] Attar
[22] Reference to the Primordial Covenant
[23] Holy Qur'an. Trans. M. H. Shakir. Elmhurst, NY: Tahrike Tarsile Qur'an, n.d (41:53)
Wednesday 8 November 2006
Want vs Need (step aside Bradshaw)
I still can't effectively distinguish between things that I want and things that I need...In certain circumstances its fairly obvious I suppose - I need water to survive, and I want to try that new chocolate bar...But this compass I loose once I try to assess my needs and wants in a relationship.
I think the reason this confusion exists is because a relationship in of itself is not something I need. Therefore when I do want it and have it, I expect all my 'wants' to be satisfied (otherwise why be in it), since technically there are no needs. This is the tricky part, because it is unlikely that any partner will satisfy my array of wants in totality (as it is unlikely that i will satisfy their's), therefore I have to in a sense begin ranking my wants by importance. This is even trickier, because it demands the wisdom of experience.
So how do we rank our wants? Should we use hedonistic calculus? Should we rank them with some regard to what our current partners can provide? Do we want everything? Where is it that I can compromise in a relationship.
I really need to find an answer to this question, I'm not just reflecting here. I realize that instead of ranking our wants in a relationship, we fall into the trap of ranking our partners! For example, Joe meets Jane, Joe's as thick as a brick, Jane's never looked for intelligence in a man, but because she hasn't realized that intelligence for her is an insignificant want (if one at all), Jane compares herself to her friends, and ranks/labels Joe as an idiot she shouldn't be interested in - while in reality, had she consulted her own check-list, she could have had a long lasting relationship with Joe.
There are general categories of things we look for in a partner: how successful are they in what they do, in their family relationships, humour, intelligence, beauty, affection, generosity etc. I have accepted that my categories will not match anybody else's, and likewise my order of wants is unique to me.
Now let me throw in another twist and bring us into a hypothetical situation. Martin meets Larry, Larry connects with Martin on so many levels, enjoys the affection between them immensely, finds him funny, intelligent, handsome, and generous. Although he and Martin don't share many interests and with time he has discovered some impatience, he sees these as things easily surmountable. The catch is, Martin refuses to sexually please Larry, the affection between them never develops into a physical intimacy that Larry expects from his partners. What is Larry to do in this case? Sex is a different category in a sense because it may be categorized as a legitimate human 'need'. But with so many of Larry's wants satisfied in his partner Martin, he wonders whether it is worth loosing so much over sex.
Larry fears that resentment will grow, that he will crack under the pressure and make a few mistakes with other people he meets. He fears that the lack of common interests and Martin's impatience will be accentuated by this sexual void. And conversely he realizes that Martin is a rigid monogamist who rarely compromises.
In an ideal world, Martin would at least consult his own compass of wants in a relationship - if he shares Larry's passion for what they have together, he may find room for compromise, for a future.
I don't believe relationships are confusing or complicated. If they become so then there should be no reason to hold on. These are some things to think about though.
I think the reason this confusion exists is because a relationship in of itself is not something I need. Therefore when I do want it and have it, I expect all my 'wants' to be satisfied (otherwise why be in it), since technically there are no needs. This is the tricky part, because it is unlikely that any partner will satisfy my array of wants in totality (as it is unlikely that i will satisfy their's), therefore I have to in a sense begin ranking my wants by importance. This is even trickier, because it demands the wisdom of experience.
So how do we rank our wants? Should we use hedonistic calculus? Should we rank them with some regard to what our current partners can provide? Do we want everything? Where is it that I can compromise in a relationship.
I really need to find an answer to this question, I'm not just reflecting here. I realize that instead of ranking our wants in a relationship, we fall into the trap of ranking our partners! For example, Joe meets Jane, Joe's as thick as a brick, Jane's never looked for intelligence in a man, but because she hasn't realized that intelligence for her is an insignificant want (if one at all), Jane compares herself to her friends, and ranks/labels Joe as an idiot she shouldn't be interested in - while in reality, had she consulted her own check-list, she could have had a long lasting relationship with Joe.
There are general categories of things we look for in a partner: how successful are they in what they do, in their family relationships, humour, intelligence, beauty, affection, generosity etc. I have accepted that my categories will not match anybody else's, and likewise my order of wants is unique to me.
Now let me throw in another twist and bring us into a hypothetical situation. Martin meets Larry, Larry connects with Martin on so many levels, enjoys the affection between them immensely, finds him funny, intelligent, handsome, and generous. Although he and Martin don't share many interests and with time he has discovered some impatience, he sees these as things easily surmountable. The catch is, Martin refuses to sexually please Larry, the affection between them never develops into a physical intimacy that Larry expects from his partners. What is Larry to do in this case? Sex is a different category in a sense because it may be categorized as a legitimate human 'need'. But with so many of Larry's wants satisfied in his partner Martin, he wonders whether it is worth loosing so much over sex.
Larry fears that resentment will grow, that he will crack under the pressure and make a few mistakes with other people he meets. He fears that the lack of common interests and Martin's impatience will be accentuated by this sexual void. And conversely he realizes that Martin is a rigid monogamist who rarely compromises.
In an ideal world, Martin would at least consult his own compass of wants in a relationship - if he shares Larry's passion for what they have together, he may find room for compromise, for a future.
I don't believe relationships are confusing or complicated. If they become so then there should be no reason to hold on. These are some things to think about though.
Friday 3 November 2006
Epistomology
Imagine a world without opinion. One of the most astounding features of our daily thought processes is ‘forming an opinion’ that is initially thought of as a highway to truth, while in arguable theory it leads to a vague and incomplete reality. A knower’s personal point of view is a gigantic obstacle which s/he must overcome in the pursuit of knowledge. A world without personal or ideological biases influencing knowledge claims is one with vivid reality.
Many come to hypothesize that personal point of view could in fact be an asset or an advantage in the pursuit of knowledge. In fact, there is a very convincing theory, stating that if one develops an opinion in a particular area of knowledge acquired, his or her opinion will act as a driving force to the acquisition of more knowledge to either further prove the validity of the opinion, or disprove it. This means the pressure exerted by personal bias is not, therefore, a ‘problem’ of knowledge. A student may read an article in a magazine about euthanasia, and immediately develop an opinion against it for any given reason. This theory generalizes that the student (given s/he is in the constant quest for knowledge) will be driven to research more on the topic, proving or disproving the soundness of his or her opinion. Then it would be safe to say that the establishment of an opinion in any given area would in fact aid in the uncovering of truth (in its various forms).
Defects, specifically regarding the transfer of information from one knower to the next, are inevitable if an opinion is developed. A person that develops a point of view when acquiring knowledge cannot transfer information on the topic without imposing that opinion, or without making judgments (The Enterprise of Knowledge, 2000), particularly if in narrative form. This almost re-states the very prominent problem of knowledge: the extent to which personal ideological biases influence knowledge claims. A professor espousing the ownership of nuclear weapons might mildly present its dangers yet emphasize its importance in warfare deterrence, while another pacifist professor might present the same information, yet emphasize the dangers more than the deterrence. A more fanatic pacifist expert on the topic might even discard a whole branch of knowledge (for example, the theories of deterrence) if it conflicts with his or her opinion (Rourke, 1999). Next to that, professors and other teachers could make judgments, sometimes involuntarily, through even the tone of the voice used. Such acts (emphasis, judgments) during any given explanation could cause misinterpretation of facts. It is up to the knower (recipient of knowledge in this case) to use his or her intuition and override the teacher’s bias and any of his or her own formed opinions to gain a well rounded education on the subject; such a critical analysis is harder than it sounds. Opinion, therefore, if established by a knower, not only will influence his knowledge claims (in fact, distort them) but the knowledge of those who learn from him or her. In that case, the knowledge transferred is not subject to much interpretation by the knower; again proving biases (if indirect) influence knowledge claims.
Another vital reason to why a knower must discard any personal bias while in the pursuit of knowledge is to avoid perceptual selectivity. Developing an opinion, especially an early development, influences the absorption of more information on the topic, as only evidence supporting one’s opinion is considered. Meaning that in any given case, a knower who has taken a side on an issue, and has further researched it, will tend to see or learn (even if unconsciously) those facts that support his or her argument in a process called perceptual selectivity (Psychology Today and Tomorrow, 2002). This notion or theory, if applied on the earlier counter argument, completely disproves its validity, for a knower’s opinion would drive him or her to the hunt for more knowledge, however it is very unlikely, unless the facts are too obvious, that the knower will change his or her preconceived opinion. Why? As one psychologist puts it, opinion can sometimes be the product of months of mind labor – a product achieved through the summoning of reason, consulting emotion, investigating language, and identifying through perception - and to let go of it or change it would be especially hard on the knower (Zaher, 2002). Therefore, with perceptual selectivity, certainty is highly unattainable through the different ways of knowing, and this theory again degrades opinion. The candidate’s biologist friend once, after examining the bio-methods of HIV onslaughts, developed an opinion claiming a vaccine was impossible to prevent it. She tended, during her skim of notes on a new prototype for the vaccine, to come up with more and more reasons to why this is true, yet gave less heed, dismissed, or even did not see any possible counter-claim. This implies that development of opinion is lethal to the acquisition of knowledge, and could, as obvious through the example, make truth a difficult goal. To what extent does a formed ideological bias influence knowledge claims or collection? Perceptual selectivity plays on limiting perception, and this could mean either that the knower will not see a counter argument in any given source, or perceive meanings in a way that is complimentary to his or her opinion. Therefore knowledge claims acquired by a knower are incomplete for they are looked at from one angle, with the existence of all other angles (if involuntarily) ignored and, relating, could in effect influence how this knowledge is later on taught.
To better justify the thesis of this investigation, one must come to ask – what is possible if opinion is out-ruled in the knowledge process? Modern information technology (with the exception of the internet) has somewhat moved towards this goal over time as information in CD-ROMS and encyclopedias lean more and more to the objective route. Without opinion or judgments, knowledge is better gained, and the ambiguous nature of truth is better understood. Using the previous example of euthanasia, two cultures might have conflicting opinions on this issue and clash in ideologies. Each culture has reached their opinion after an examination of their values and belief system, and since these are overwhelmingly powerful collective motives, neither accepts the notion of the other’s idea’s potential. As impossible as this might sound, in a world where opinion is inexistent in the pursuit of knowledge, the two cultures will understand the potential for truth in each other’s value and belief system, and realize there is not one answer. Unfortunately, and as Collingwood claims in The Enterprise of Knowledge, objectivity is impossible anywhere, even (or especially) in knowledge sources. An encyclopedia will give information that is encyclopedic in nature; a ninth grade history textbook will give information considered important for ninth graders – therefore audience becomes a key factor and a limitation in the pursuit of knowledge.
It is worthy to mention that, in one area of knowledge, history, ambiguity and uncertainty in events, people, or places is so great that opinion and speculation on the three form a the majority of the knowledge to be gained. In this case it would be safe to suggest that secondary sources present the opinions or hypotheses regarding their objects of study while still conserving their relative objectivity. For example, a good resource would present the myth of Atlantis and all evidence supporting its existence (which includes opinions and speculations), then equally present contrary view points, thus keeping the reader in wonder at the balance of power in both arguments and not imposing a certain opinion (Dailey, 2002). History, then, is a special case because personal ideological biases are being studied; it is also an example of an area of knowledge where certainty is virtually unattainable.
Personal opinion in the pursuit of knowledge can only be an impediment a knower must overthrow. In fact, as obvious through previously given examples, it is a contradiction to the concept of “knowing”. A knower that fails to realize the existence of more than one truth, and falls in the unreasonable act of holding one opinion, is no more than an infant in the theory of knowledge, let alone life. T. H. Huxley once mentioned in his Science and Culture and Other Essays: “Irrationally held truths may be more harmful than reasoned errors.” (Ratcliffe, 1994) As obvious through this investigation, opinion can only be an irrationally held truth.
Many come to hypothesize that personal point of view could in fact be an asset or an advantage in the pursuit of knowledge. In fact, there is a very convincing theory, stating that if one develops an opinion in a particular area of knowledge acquired, his or her opinion will act as a driving force to the acquisition of more knowledge to either further prove the validity of the opinion, or disprove it. This means the pressure exerted by personal bias is not, therefore, a ‘problem’ of knowledge. A student may read an article in a magazine about euthanasia, and immediately develop an opinion against it for any given reason. This theory generalizes that the student (given s/he is in the constant quest for knowledge) will be driven to research more on the topic, proving or disproving the soundness of his or her opinion. Then it would be safe to say that the establishment of an opinion in any given area would in fact aid in the uncovering of truth (in its various forms).
Defects, specifically regarding the transfer of information from one knower to the next, are inevitable if an opinion is developed. A person that develops a point of view when acquiring knowledge cannot transfer information on the topic without imposing that opinion, or without making judgments (The Enterprise of Knowledge, 2000), particularly if in narrative form. This almost re-states the very prominent problem of knowledge: the extent to which personal ideological biases influence knowledge claims. A professor espousing the ownership of nuclear weapons might mildly present its dangers yet emphasize its importance in warfare deterrence, while another pacifist professor might present the same information, yet emphasize the dangers more than the deterrence. A more fanatic pacifist expert on the topic might even discard a whole branch of knowledge (for example, the theories of deterrence) if it conflicts with his or her opinion (Rourke, 1999). Next to that, professors and other teachers could make judgments, sometimes involuntarily, through even the tone of the voice used. Such acts (emphasis, judgments) during any given explanation could cause misinterpretation of facts. It is up to the knower (recipient of knowledge in this case) to use his or her intuition and override the teacher’s bias and any of his or her own formed opinions to gain a well rounded education on the subject; such a critical analysis is harder than it sounds. Opinion, therefore, if established by a knower, not only will influence his knowledge claims (in fact, distort them) but the knowledge of those who learn from him or her. In that case, the knowledge transferred is not subject to much interpretation by the knower; again proving biases (if indirect) influence knowledge claims.
Another vital reason to why a knower must discard any personal bias while in the pursuit of knowledge is to avoid perceptual selectivity. Developing an opinion, especially an early development, influences the absorption of more information on the topic, as only evidence supporting one’s opinion is considered. Meaning that in any given case, a knower who has taken a side on an issue, and has further researched it, will tend to see or learn (even if unconsciously) those facts that support his or her argument in a process called perceptual selectivity (Psychology Today and Tomorrow, 2002). This notion or theory, if applied on the earlier counter argument, completely disproves its validity, for a knower’s opinion would drive him or her to the hunt for more knowledge, however it is very unlikely, unless the facts are too obvious, that the knower will change his or her preconceived opinion. Why? As one psychologist puts it, opinion can sometimes be the product of months of mind labor – a product achieved through the summoning of reason, consulting emotion, investigating language, and identifying through perception - and to let go of it or change it would be especially hard on the knower (Zaher, 2002). Therefore, with perceptual selectivity, certainty is highly unattainable through the different ways of knowing, and this theory again degrades opinion. The candidate’s biologist friend once, after examining the bio-methods of HIV onslaughts, developed an opinion claiming a vaccine was impossible to prevent it. She tended, during her skim of notes on a new prototype for the vaccine, to come up with more and more reasons to why this is true, yet gave less heed, dismissed, or even did not see any possible counter-claim. This implies that development of opinion is lethal to the acquisition of knowledge, and could, as obvious through the example, make truth a difficult goal. To what extent does a formed ideological bias influence knowledge claims or collection? Perceptual selectivity plays on limiting perception, and this could mean either that the knower will not see a counter argument in any given source, or perceive meanings in a way that is complimentary to his or her opinion. Therefore knowledge claims acquired by a knower are incomplete for they are looked at from one angle, with the existence of all other angles (if involuntarily) ignored and, relating, could in effect influence how this knowledge is later on taught.
To better justify the thesis of this investigation, one must come to ask – what is possible if opinion is out-ruled in the knowledge process? Modern information technology (with the exception of the internet) has somewhat moved towards this goal over time as information in CD-ROMS and encyclopedias lean more and more to the objective route. Without opinion or judgments, knowledge is better gained, and the ambiguous nature of truth is better understood. Using the previous example of euthanasia, two cultures might have conflicting opinions on this issue and clash in ideologies. Each culture has reached their opinion after an examination of their values and belief system, and since these are overwhelmingly powerful collective motives, neither accepts the notion of the other’s idea’s potential. As impossible as this might sound, in a world where opinion is inexistent in the pursuit of knowledge, the two cultures will understand the potential for truth in each other’s value and belief system, and realize there is not one answer. Unfortunately, and as Collingwood claims in The Enterprise of Knowledge, objectivity is impossible anywhere, even (or especially) in knowledge sources. An encyclopedia will give information that is encyclopedic in nature; a ninth grade history textbook will give information considered important for ninth graders – therefore audience becomes a key factor and a limitation in the pursuit of knowledge.
It is worthy to mention that, in one area of knowledge, history, ambiguity and uncertainty in events, people, or places is so great that opinion and speculation on the three form a the majority of the knowledge to be gained. In this case it would be safe to suggest that secondary sources present the opinions or hypotheses regarding their objects of study while still conserving their relative objectivity. For example, a good resource would present the myth of Atlantis and all evidence supporting its existence (which includes opinions and speculations), then equally present contrary view points, thus keeping the reader in wonder at the balance of power in both arguments and not imposing a certain opinion (Dailey, 2002). History, then, is a special case because personal ideological biases are being studied; it is also an example of an area of knowledge where certainty is virtually unattainable.
Personal opinion in the pursuit of knowledge can only be an impediment a knower must overthrow. In fact, as obvious through previously given examples, it is a contradiction to the concept of “knowing”. A knower that fails to realize the existence of more than one truth, and falls in the unreasonable act of holding one opinion, is no more than an infant in the theory of knowledge, let alone life. T. H. Huxley once mentioned in his Science and Culture and Other Essays: “Irrationally held truths may be more harmful than reasoned errors.” (Ratcliffe, 1994) As obvious through this investigation, opinion can only be an irrationally held truth.
Trentemoeller
Watch this guy ok, his music gave me a half-hour orgasm today as he mixed for Dance Department's podcast. Extremely creative sound synthesis, across the frequencies from bass to treble, and the package is good for any dancefloor.
Sometimes I don't know what I would do without good DIRRRTY music.
Sometimes I don't know what I would do without good DIRRRTY music.
Thursday 2 November 2006
Lovecraft
"And at the last from inner Egypt came The strange dark one to whom the Fellahs bowed; Silent and lean and cryptically proud, And wrapped in fabrics red as sunset flame. Throngs pressed around, frantic for his commands, But leaving, could not tell what they had heard: While through the nations spread the awestruck word That wild beasts followed him and licked his hands. Soon from the sea a noxious birth began; Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold; The ground was cleft, and mad auroras rolled Down on the quaking citadels of man. Then, crushing what he had chanced to mould in play, The idiot Chaos blew Earth?s dust away. "
HP Lovecraft
(Thanks Heimir- flattered!)
HP Lovecraft
(Thanks Heimir- flattered!)
Glimpse 3 (at the Serene meadow of Love, Hope - Death, Decay)
One
And once upon a time the alter-I wrote: “You know, that day she died, when I felt the life rush out of her, I screamed. It was a quiet, long, weak scream that disappeared as I fell to my knees aside my bed. I remember my sister begging me to stop between her sharp whimpers. I remember disbelief. I remember sorrow, and pain that lasts to this day. I would wake up in the morning and my very insides would be torn- non present. I was a shell.
“She had breathed like someone was ripping her heart out of her body. He was there. Oh yes, we've met before. He knows me. He'll come soon for me. And when he does his face will not be as pleasant it was for her. It will be a face to which ruddy curls turn white. A beacon from the Seventh Hell.
“I had lain by her bedside on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. It was coming I always knew it was, but no preparation could have braced me quite enough. I spent the next day in a chair, watching my terrified brother sleep. I watched the sun circle the sky. I could not eat.
“I watched as people rested their heads against furniture for support as tears streamed down their faces.
“I had walked to the kitchen and started wailing again. I remember the dim light coming from the balcony of the neighboring house. She's gone, I managed to let out, and she’s gone forever. I felt my father's hand against the back of my neck.
“I cried for months to come. Never admitting the real reason but I did. Then I stopped crying. I became exactly who I was not. Or who I always wanted to be.”
-------------
I looked out the window. The dark clouds suffocated the earth of its light, like a cold blanket. It was still 8:30 in the morning. The sun or at least a few scattered rays had cut their way through the many ominous clouds. Nevertheless a streetlight cast a dim orange light on the deserted courtyard with the naked, wet branches glistening against it. I looked back at my computer screen, reaching for a glass of vodka. Then I caught my florescent reflection in the glass and paused. I am pollution. Doomed, unworthy, fucked up pollution. I took a big gulp and looked back at my screen.
This is wrong, I thought. It’s shit. I don’t buy into self pity. It is truly pathetic and rarely appreciated. Like bad acting. When I realized this before, my life changed and I became successful and wanted. I owe too much to my ego to forfeit it because of a few common and distant experiences. I deleted the file and shut the lid. With my glass in hand, and foot against the wall under the desk, I tipped my chair slightly. Equally distasteful is that sappy emotion crap. How could anyone buy so easily into emotional dependency on another person? How can they forfeit their dignity, pride, and compromise their image for another imperfect person? I knew exactly how. It’s this fucking vodka, always picking my brain.
I got up and crawled under the cold covers again. I could smell winter. I dug the side of my head in the pillow and pulled my knees up. I looked at my arm. Two blue lumps sat still. Their color matched the color of the sky outside. A dark, odorless conspiracy of blue and purple. Two veins ran under them like rivers feeding from viscous lakes. Home flashed through my mind. The bruises started to swirl, like cold jelly. They touched each other and merged, now dancing, nudging themselves right and left. I shut my eyes and opened them again. The lumps behaved themselves.
I looked through my wall, and took a long breath. They say the world is finite, that whatever marvel or atrocity one’s imagination and creativity may muster, it remains in reality as only bits and pieces of the Now and of what our minds may lead us to identify as Before. That is why we cannot imagine heaven, or hell. They remain as two abstractions, identifiable only as the diametrical oppositions of one another. If we were to deny the existence of one, whatever definition we had of the other would blur and eventually fade away. Intangible and mystifying, the notions of heaven and hell remain as the only Stamp, the only Signature of the Creator marking the Creations closest to His heart... We are all born with the idealism of perfection and total annihilation embedded. And those of us with surviving souls continue to understand these as mysteries of the dead, and not topics upon which one revels during life.
I’m still scared of hell though. I shuffled in my bed. God is justice. I could now see a fraction of the large window behind the headboard. I waited for the sun to scream its way through the dark moisture. I was utterly convinced it would any second now, if I channeled enough concentration at the sky. It didn’t work. I rested my eyes now on the pulled back desk chair on the other side of the room. Its firm, geometric, minimalist design gave me a hint of peace. Nothing is more satisfying then looking at right angles. I traced with my eyes the cubic legs and saw them intersect perpendicularly, neatly with the seat. I sighed quietly.
It was a warm Saturday summer night when I first saw him, in the first week of August of this year. I had rung up CY at nine or ten in the evening and told her I needed a drink. I picked her up and we went, we raised toasts, talked about our day, men, and made further plans for the evening. He had walked in with 3 of his friends, one of whom I recognized. The next day we met again in another bar, this time I had gathered a lot of people including a new Australian guy, MK I think it was, whom I’d just met and fucked that afternoon. I had glanced across the tiny dance-floor and saw the same configuration of friends walking to a table. After a few drinks we met on the dance floor. He said something in a very convincing Egyptian accent. I was too surprised and responded in English. MNC, he said his name was. Two days later, we met again.
I turned in my bed, now staring through the ceiling. I dangled my aching arm from the bed.
Only those who have experienced heaven, even if for a fraction of a second, are able to long for it. Only those who have held on to the wings of an Angel know Flight, and fully understand and are in constant Freefall.
I had a lot of work to do. I needed to read and highlight yesterday’s lecture and finish a reflection. Simple, but time consuming. I was always good at my work. As I stared at the ceiling I started building up energy to thrust myself out of the bed and back to my computer screen. I looked at my bookshelf. I looked away.
Re-ligion is ‘reconnection’ in Latin (commitment in Arabic, and a deliberation in German). Our attempts to reconnect, in fact the very reconnection, is constantly disturbed by tradition, whose build-up has been parallel with religion; in some cases, the two have become inseparable. Those who claim absolute clarity (or clairvoyance), who deny the imbalance and human pollution, and who claim to know heaven and hell, one can only feel pity for.
I brought the other end of my pillow up against me face so as to enclose it. I was cold, despite the alcohol. My head throbbed. My arm hurt. Fucking nurse was blind. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them again I could tell it was around midday. There still was no sun but the clouds had taken a lighter, greyer tint. They were also moving faster now. Windy. Shit. I couldn’t get up. I just turned nineteen. I thought about my future. I could feel the anger welling up, only to be replaced almost instantly by despair, and then nothing. I crawled out of bed for a shower…
The warm water launched an assault on my senses. My skin almost cracked with the first stream of it. My nose and mouth inhaled the steam that seemed to infiltrate my brain, circulating the blood and cleaning it. The constancy of flowing water and its delicate splashing against my face and the shower floor gave my ears and head an almost spiritual rhythm. The transparency of the water, its simplistic beauty, reinforced our mutual trust. I stood there immobile for minutes on end. I was in ecstasy. I smiled. Then I started laughing. And from water We have made all that is living…
I see him there, everyday,
In between a mind spent
And a quiet soul in bitter decay.
I stepped out of the shower, dripping water. I dried myself up, massaging my head gently with the towel, then working my way throughout the rest of my body. I decided to hop to my room, so I held open the shower-room door and bounced my way into my room…
I made my way east on HyL Road, passing the countless run-down houses with mildew growing in between the bricks. The sky had cleared up, and the temperature dropped. I felt the bottle against my right thigh. Looking both ways before I crossed another road, I reached for it, and, covering up the letters “AZT” with my thumb, swallowed today’s pill in defeat.
I see him there, everyday,
In between a mind spent
And a quiet soul in bitter decay.
I can see him there.
A face to which ruddy curls turn white.
I keep those eyes closed,
With my ears drown His chuckle.
With my blanket I cover my face from his breath.
In your presence,
In your presence my Angel of Death stands in front of me,
I see him now,
In between a Self in repent
And a quiet soul in solemn disarray.
I can see him the clearest
When you lie next to me.
Vulture eyes that show the gates of hell.
And once upon a time the alter-I wrote: “You know, that day she died, when I felt the life rush out of her, I screamed. It was a quiet, long, weak scream that disappeared as I fell to my knees aside my bed. I remember my sister begging me to stop between her sharp whimpers. I remember disbelief. I remember sorrow, and pain that lasts to this day. I would wake up in the morning and my very insides would be torn- non present. I was a shell.
“She had breathed like someone was ripping her heart out of her body. He was there. Oh yes, we've met before. He knows me. He'll come soon for me. And when he does his face will not be as pleasant it was for her. It will be a face to which ruddy curls turn white. A beacon from the Seventh Hell.
“I had lain by her bedside on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. It was coming I always knew it was, but no preparation could have braced me quite enough. I spent the next day in a chair, watching my terrified brother sleep. I watched the sun circle the sky. I could not eat.
“I watched as people rested their heads against furniture for support as tears streamed down their faces.
“I had walked to the kitchen and started wailing again. I remember the dim light coming from the balcony of the neighboring house. She's gone, I managed to let out, and she’s gone forever. I felt my father's hand against the back of my neck.
“I cried for months to come. Never admitting the real reason but I did. Then I stopped crying. I became exactly who I was not. Or who I always wanted to be.”
-------------
I looked out the window. The dark clouds suffocated the earth of its light, like a cold blanket. It was still 8:30 in the morning. The sun or at least a few scattered rays had cut their way through the many ominous clouds. Nevertheless a streetlight cast a dim orange light on the deserted courtyard with the naked, wet branches glistening against it. I looked back at my computer screen, reaching for a glass of vodka. Then I caught my florescent reflection in the glass and paused. I am pollution. Doomed, unworthy, fucked up pollution. I took a big gulp and looked back at my screen.
This is wrong, I thought. It’s shit. I don’t buy into self pity. It is truly pathetic and rarely appreciated. Like bad acting. When I realized this before, my life changed and I became successful and wanted. I owe too much to my ego to forfeit it because of a few common and distant experiences. I deleted the file and shut the lid. With my glass in hand, and foot against the wall under the desk, I tipped my chair slightly. Equally distasteful is that sappy emotion crap. How could anyone buy so easily into emotional dependency on another person? How can they forfeit their dignity, pride, and compromise their image for another imperfect person? I knew exactly how. It’s this fucking vodka, always picking my brain.
I got up and crawled under the cold covers again. I could smell winter. I dug the side of my head in the pillow and pulled my knees up. I looked at my arm. Two blue lumps sat still. Their color matched the color of the sky outside. A dark, odorless conspiracy of blue and purple. Two veins ran under them like rivers feeding from viscous lakes. Home flashed through my mind. The bruises started to swirl, like cold jelly. They touched each other and merged, now dancing, nudging themselves right and left. I shut my eyes and opened them again. The lumps behaved themselves.
I looked through my wall, and took a long breath. They say the world is finite, that whatever marvel or atrocity one’s imagination and creativity may muster, it remains in reality as only bits and pieces of the Now and of what our minds may lead us to identify as Before. That is why we cannot imagine heaven, or hell. They remain as two abstractions, identifiable only as the diametrical oppositions of one another. If we were to deny the existence of one, whatever definition we had of the other would blur and eventually fade away. Intangible and mystifying, the notions of heaven and hell remain as the only Stamp, the only Signature of the Creator marking the Creations closest to His heart... We are all born with the idealism of perfection and total annihilation embedded. And those of us with surviving souls continue to understand these as mysteries of the dead, and not topics upon which one revels during life.
I’m still scared of hell though. I shuffled in my bed. God is justice. I could now see a fraction of the large window behind the headboard. I waited for the sun to scream its way through the dark moisture. I was utterly convinced it would any second now, if I channeled enough concentration at the sky. It didn’t work. I rested my eyes now on the pulled back desk chair on the other side of the room. Its firm, geometric, minimalist design gave me a hint of peace. Nothing is more satisfying then looking at right angles. I traced with my eyes the cubic legs and saw them intersect perpendicularly, neatly with the seat. I sighed quietly.
It was a warm Saturday summer night when I first saw him, in the first week of August of this year. I had rung up CY at nine or ten in the evening and told her I needed a drink. I picked her up and we went, we raised toasts, talked about our day, men, and made further plans for the evening. He had walked in with 3 of his friends, one of whom I recognized. The next day we met again in another bar, this time I had gathered a lot of people including a new Australian guy, MK I think it was, whom I’d just met and fucked that afternoon. I had glanced across the tiny dance-floor and saw the same configuration of friends walking to a table. After a few drinks we met on the dance floor. He said something in a very convincing Egyptian accent. I was too surprised and responded in English. MNC, he said his name was. Two days later, we met again.
I turned in my bed, now staring through the ceiling. I dangled my aching arm from the bed.
Only those who have experienced heaven, even if for a fraction of a second, are able to long for it. Only those who have held on to the wings of an Angel know Flight, and fully understand and are in constant Freefall.
I had a lot of work to do. I needed to read and highlight yesterday’s lecture and finish a reflection. Simple, but time consuming. I was always good at my work. As I stared at the ceiling I started building up energy to thrust myself out of the bed and back to my computer screen. I looked at my bookshelf. I looked away.
Re-ligion is ‘reconnection’ in Latin (commitment in Arabic, and a deliberation in German). Our attempts to reconnect, in fact the very reconnection, is constantly disturbed by tradition, whose build-up has been parallel with religion; in some cases, the two have become inseparable. Those who claim absolute clarity (or clairvoyance), who deny the imbalance and human pollution, and who claim to know heaven and hell, one can only feel pity for.
I brought the other end of my pillow up against me face so as to enclose it. I was cold, despite the alcohol. My head throbbed. My arm hurt. Fucking nurse was blind. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them again I could tell it was around midday. There still was no sun but the clouds had taken a lighter, greyer tint. They were also moving faster now. Windy. Shit. I couldn’t get up. I just turned nineteen. I thought about my future. I could feel the anger welling up, only to be replaced almost instantly by despair, and then nothing. I crawled out of bed for a shower…
The warm water launched an assault on my senses. My skin almost cracked with the first stream of it. My nose and mouth inhaled the steam that seemed to infiltrate my brain, circulating the blood and cleaning it. The constancy of flowing water and its delicate splashing against my face and the shower floor gave my ears and head an almost spiritual rhythm. The transparency of the water, its simplistic beauty, reinforced our mutual trust. I stood there immobile for minutes on end. I was in ecstasy. I smiled. Then I started laughing. And from water We have made all that is living…
I see him there, everyday,
In between a mind spent
And a quiet soul in bitter decay.
I stepped out of the shower, dripping water. I dried myself up, massaging my head gently with the towel, then working my way throughout the rest of my body. I decided to hop to my room, so I held open the shower-room door and bounced my way into my room…
I made my way east on HyL Road, passing the countless run-down houses with mildew growing in between the bricks. The sky had cleared up, and the temperature dropped. I felt the bottle against my right thigh. Looking both ways before I crossed another road, I reached for it, and, covering up the letters “AZT” with my thumb, swallowed today’s pill in defeat.
I see him there, everyday,
In between a mind spent
And a quiet soul in bitter decay.
I can see him there.
A face to which ruddy curls turn white.
I keep those eyes closed,
With my ears drown His chuckle.
With my blanket I cover my face from his breath.
In your presence,
In your presence my Angel of Death stands in front of me,
I see him now,
In between a Self in repent
And a quiet soul in solemn disarray.
I can see him the clearest
When you lie next to me.
Vulture eyes that show the gates of hell.
Glimpse 2 (at the sleepy Mount of Sad Privelige)
Three
Slowly it all came to focus, from a blur into crystal clarity. The scent of a delicate and fresh mélange of fragrances in the air, like a ribbon of silk floating about, tickling the edge of your nose, all the while carried by a hint of a warm breeze. The sounds of champagne glasses, as their smooth curves meet one another in mellow santés. The ambience of debonair laughter, of soft heels against the white marble, of the dolce piano embracing the alto saxophone in a subtle, sentimental tour de force. The feel of the dark voleur against my fingertips as I touch the lapels of my jacket, then of the cool crystal of my champagne glass. The kaleidoscope of autumn pastels lit by omniscient lights and soft candles, swirling in my imagination, imprinting themselves in the back of my mind. I watched as the small bubbles of champagne made their way randomly to the top, releasing their odor into the air. I daintily swayed the glass and admired the perfect viscosity of its contents.
I raised my glass and felt the sharp, defiant, and sweet Dom Perignon trickle down my throat.
My head spun faster.
I was at a cocktail party on the Belvedere Rooftop of the Nile Hilton. My friend Y had insisted that this be my re-introduction into Cairo after almost a year in England. I wasn’t sure what to make of that invitation, he knows how cynical I can get at the French embassy parties, but after that lonely weekend in Paris I wasn’t about to pass out on a night of savoir faire back home.
Home.
Leaning against the rail I looked out to the Nile, the glitzy hotels marking the skyline, the busy traffic lights reflected onto the dark water. The small feluccas making their way here and there. The sound of trotting horses and carriages. It isn’t always this pretty. I only wish he was here. I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty, he was probably on his way home from dinner, probably in London. It seems so frivolous and immature now, but I had decided not to reply to his messages after he failed to live up to his promise and come join me in Paris. Taking the hint, he also gave up. I wished he wasn’t always so damn snug.
“Prost!” I heard Y say as he came by and ticked his glass against mine.
“That’s precious, you Alsace-born sans-culotte!”
“Bastard!” He pretended to push me over as I laughed exaggeratedly. “What are you doing all the way over here anyway? Are you contemplating suicide already? It’s only your first week in Cairo darling you should save that for the finale, being the drama queen that you are.”
“Oh please.” I looked turned my back to the river and looked at the bar for no reason. We paused for a minute; he set one elbow against the rail. “Besides, all you French lot were over here when I arrived, somehow the crowd managed to distance themselves and form a radius around me, but I guess I know how you francophones feel about deodorant.”
He frowned, giving me a dismissive top-to-bottom glance and sipping some more bubbly. “You said _____ would come.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t.” I snapped.
Taking the hint, he said no more and shifted his position, now with his back also to the river. In the distance three new couples strolled in. I recognized two of the women’s faces. They held on to their tiny purses as the maitre ushered them and their partners to their tables. One of them excused herself, heading towards the ladies room, her maroon dress revealing a nicely tanned bosom.
“AN’s finally here, with CL.” Y exclaimed. I looked again towards the entrance and noticed both men almost skipping to where we were. AN stopped halfway, looked around, and feigned nausea. I giggled. AN’s one of those people that can turn anything into a French and Saunders. Armed with a vicious sense of humor, admirable intelligence, and southern American accent, one can only defer.
“Darling,” he said as he came towards me.
“Oh, I missed you, sweety.” I gave him a long hug. I unwrapped myself and looked towards CL.
“CL, really good to see you again.”
“Hi X, you too!” We hugged. I had only known CL briefly before I left for university in England, he was closer to my age and we’d met through a mutual friend.
AN looked around at the party, nausea returning to his face. “Darling, remind me, why am I here?”
Y gave him a playfully dirty look, “I ask myself the same question.”
“Sweety,” I explained, “where would the glitterati of Cairo be without you?”
“‘Cheers, thanks a lot.’” He signaled a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses, then, continuing the Patsy from Ab Fab routine, he added, “‘Buns so tight they were bouncing of the walls’.”
I smiled. The waiter arrived, and Y raised his glass in toast. “Vive la France!” AN pretended to choke, then actually did. We all laughed.
“Is it the fourteenth already?” CL wondered, looking at his watch aimlessly.
“Unfortunately,” AN added, patting himself on the chest.
“I propose a toast to revolution, to the courage in shedding one’s skin of all that holds him down.” I lifted my glass and maintained my smile. I could feel my face brighten up. AN raised an eyebrow, and then his glass. Y and CL joined.
We spent a minute in silence. The music had winded down and now only the pianist was playing a nostalgic, pianissimo tune. The warm breeze had slightly picked up, fluttering my tie occasionally. The laughter was more audible. I closed my eyes.
Slowly it all came to focus, from a blur into crystal clarity. The scent of a delicate and fresh mélange of fragrances in the air, like a ribbon of silk floating about, tickling the edge of your nose, all the while carried by a hint of a warm breeze. The sounds of champagne glasses, as their smooth curves meet one another in mellow santés. The ambience of debonair laughter, of soft heels against the white marble, of the dolce piano embracing the alto saxophone in a subtle, sentimental tour de force. The feel of the dark voleur against my fingertips as I touch the lapels of my jacket, then of the cool crystal of my champagne glass. The kaleidoscope of autumn pastels lit by omniscient lights and soft candles, swirling in my imagination, imprinting themselves in the back of my mind. I watched as the small bubbles of champagne made their way randomly to the top, releasing their odor into the air. I daintily swayed the glass and admired the perfect viscosity of its contents.
I raised my glass and felt the sharp, defiant, and sweet Dom Perignon trickle down my throat.
My head spun faster.
I was at a cocktail party on the Belvedere Rooftop of the Nile Hilton. My friend Y had insisted that this be my re-introduction into Cairo after almost a year in England. I wasn’t sure what to make of that invitation, he knows how cynical I can get at the French embassy parties, but after that lonely weekend in Paris I wasn’t about to pass out on a night of savoir faire back home.
Home.
Leaning against the rail I looked out to the Nile, the glitzy hotels marking the skyline, the busy traffic lights reflected onto the dark water. The small feluccas making their way here and there. The sound of trotting horses and carriages. It isn’t always this pretty. I only wish he was here. I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty, he was probably on his way home from dinner, probably in London. It seems so frivolous and immature now, but I had decided not to reply to his messages after he failed to live up to his promise and come join me in Paris. Taking the hint, he also gave up. I wished he wasn’t always so damn snug.
“Prost!” I heard Y say as he came by and ticked his glass against mine.
“That’s precious, you Alsace-born sans-culotte!”
“Bastard!” He pretended to push me over as I laughed exaggeratedly. “What are you doing all the way over here anyway? Are you contemplating suicide already? It’s only your first week in Cairo darling you should save that for the finale, being the drama queen that you are.”
“Oh please.” I looked turned my back to the river and looked at the bar for no reason. We paused for a minute; he set one elbow against the rail. “Besides, all you French lot were over here when I arrived, somehow the crowd managed to distance themselves and form a radius around me, but I guess I know how you francophones feel about deodorant.”
He frowned, giving me a dismissive top-to-bottom glance and sipping some more bubbly. “You said _____ would come.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t.” I snapped.
Taking the hint, he said no more and shifted his position, now with his back also to the river. In the distance three new couples strolled in. I recognized two of the women’s faces. They held on to their tiny purses as the maitre ushered them and their partners to their tables. One of them excused herself, heading towards the ladies room, her maroon dress revealing a nicely tanned bosom.
“AN’s finally here, with CL.” Y exclaimed. I looked again towards the entrance and noticed both men almost skipping to where we were. AN stopped halfway, looked around, and feigned nausea. I giggled. AN’s one of those people that can turn anything into a French and Saunders. Armed with a vicious sense of humor, admirable intelligence, and southern American accent, one can only defer.
“Darling,” he said as he came towards me.
“Oh, I missed you, sweety.” I gave him a long hug. I unwrapped myself and looked towards CL.
“CL, really good to see you again.”
“Hi X, you too!” We hugged. I had only known CL briefly before I left for university in England, he was closer to my age and we’d met through a mutual friend.
AN looked around at the party, nausea returning to his face. “Darling, remind me, why am I here?”
Y gave him a playfully dirty look, “I ask myself the same question.”
“Sweety,” I explained, “where would the glitterati of Cairo be without you?”
“‘Cheers, thanks a lot.’” He signaled a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses, then, continuing the Patsy from Ab Fab routine, he added, “‘Buns so tight they were bouncing of the walls’.”
I smiled. The waiter arrived, and Y raised his glass in toast. “Vive la France!” AN pretended to choke, then actually did. We all laughed.
“Is it the fourteenth already?” CL wondered, looking at his watch aimlessly.
“Unfortunately,” AN added, patting himself on the chest.
“I propose a toast to revolution, to the courage in shedding one’s skin of all that holds him down.” I lifted my glass and maintained my smile. I could feel my face brighten up. AN raised an eyebrow, and then his glass. Y and CL joined.
We spent a minute in silence. The music had winded down and now only the pianist was playing a nostalgic, pianissimo tune. The warm breeze had slightly picked up, fluttering my tie occasionally. The laughter was more audible. I closed my eyes.
Glimpse 1 (at the Valley of urban decadence)
Two
“Come on, hurry up!”
I stopped trying to adjust my thick chain of a necklace and started running to catch up with him. With the Thames to our back we ran into a large avenue which I recognized to be Nine Elms Lane. He held out his had frantically to stop the oncoming vehicles, I ran faster until we made it across. Dashing into the first left we entered a dark street at the end of which was dim tunnel. We picked up the pace, the sharp winter wind cutting to our bones. I started gasping for air and laughing all at once. By the time we made it through the tunnel onto the other side of the dark road I was out of breath but not ready to let that stop me. I ran faster and beat him, making a sharp right where we could see a dim streetlight in the distance. My stomach could already feel the bass.
I looked at my watch. Half past two. Enough time. We flashed our cards at the bouncers who let us then skip the queue to security. After every pocket had been fumbled through by the frowning and obviously tired security guard, he let us through, with an almost defeated look on his face. The bass was unavoidable now, already associating itself with my heartbeat. Not slowing down we ran into the dark lobby lit by hidden red light-bulbs. The faces in the lobby all looked the same. We flung our coats, hats, and shirts into the cloakroom, smiling at each other uncontrollably, a smile full of apprehension, sexiness, and knowledge of what was to come. I grabbed his hand and ran up the ramp leading into the club. With every step forward the music diffused itself further into my chest until finally, swinging the doors open, it fully engulfed me.
The first glance into a heaving gay London club after midnight never fails to awe. The sudden flash of laser against the glistening, muscle-bound bodies strikes a prism in my eyes. The hands held up in rapture, the bodies entwining in lust. It wasn’t like New York or Amsterdam, nobody was trying to communicate in any way past the expression on their faces and the worship of the music. The music. The bass.
I felt an arm around my heaving chest and kiss against my neck. Recovering, I turned around and kissed him back. Then, in the same fashion, I grabbed his hand as I pushed my way through the tight crowd. We made it to the darker corner of the club. I turned around, revealing my smile to him once again. He winked. Once against a wall I reached into my crotch and felt the tiny plastic bag. Mocking the security guard in my head, I fumbled through it and my palm re-emerged with our first two pills. Without thought we popped one each, and immediately looked in the direction of the bar. Water. He ran off to get some. Feeling a crumb of coke against my nostril hairs, I sniffed sharply. Wide-eyed, half naked men danced wherever I looked. Small risers throughout the massive warehouse-style dance-floor made some of them more conspicuous than others. The lights shrieked. The high ceilings held the occasional white screen where a rapid kaleidoscope of picture slideshows was projected through the laser show. I decided to follow to the bar, but on my second step I felt someone squeeze my buttocks. I turned around and gave my biggest grin when I realized it was the two guys I met last week in DTPM. I greeted them with friendly kisses as the deejay brought on the climax of one of his creations, which sent us and the whole club into a fit of wild dancing. He was back with the water, already sweating, still grinning, and jumping insanely with the beat.
Then I started to feel it. The tingling sensation in my stomach. The butterflies. I couldn’t smile any wider. I looked at him as I danced, he winked knowingly. It was my first come-up. Suddenly the blood rushed uncontrollably through my veins. My pupils dilated and the light grew stronger, more colorful, more surreal. And the music. The bass. I looked up and absorbed its decadent, malevolent beat. It came in stronger pangs now, and I internalized every bit, until my heart depended on it to survive. I’m in love. I’m in love with me, with this music, with these men, and most of all with him. I approached him from behind and we wrapped each other in a long kiss, suddenly breaking into a steady, dirty dance. Next to us a man had sunk to his knees and dug his face into another’s crotch.
“Come on, hurry up!”
I stopped trying to adjust my thick chain of a necklace and started running to catch up with him. With the Thames to our back we ran into a large avenue which I recognized to be Nine Elms Lane. He held out his had frantically to stop the oncoming vehicles, I ran faster until we made it across. Dashing into the first left we entered a dark street at the end of which was dim tunnel. We picked up the pace, the sharp winter wind cutting to our bones. I started gasping for air and laughing all at once. By the time we made it through the tunnel onto the other side of the dark road I was out of breath but not ready to let that stop me. I ran faster and beat him, making a sharp right where we could see a dim streetlight in the distance. My stomach could already feel the bass.
I looked at my watch. Half past two. Enough time. We flashed our cards at the bouncers who let us then skip the queue to security. After every pocket had been fumbled through by the frowning and obviously tired security guard, he let us through, with an almost defeated look on his face. The bass was unavoidable now, already associating itself with my heartbeat. Not slowing down we ran into the dark lobby lit by hidden red light-bulbs. The faces in the lobby all looked the same. We flung our coats, hats, and shirts into the cloakroom, smiling at each other uncontrollably, a smile full of apprehension, sexiness, and knowledge of what was to come. I grabbed his hand and ran up the ramp leading into the club. With every step forward the music diffused itself further into my chest until finally, swinging the doors open, it fully engulfed me.
The first glance into a heaving gay London club after midnight never fails to awe. The sudden flash of laser against the glistening, muscle-bound bodies strikes a prism in my eyes. The hands held up in rapture, the bodies entwining in lust. It wasn’t like New York or Amsterdam, nobody was trying to communicate in any way past the expression on their faces and the worship of the music. The music. The bass.
I felt an arm around my heaving chest and kiss against my neck. Recovering, I turned around and kissed him back. Then, in the same fashion, I grabbed his hand as I pushed my way through the tight crowd. We made it to the darker corner of the club. I turned around, revealing my smile to him once again. He winked. Once against a wall I reached into my crotch and felt the tiny plastic bag. Mocking the security guard in my head, I fumbled through it and my palm re-emerged with our first two pills. Without thought we popped one each, and immediately looked in the direction of the bar. Water. He ran off to get some. Feeling a crumb of coke against my nostril hairs, I sniffed sharply. Wide-eyed, half naked men danced wherever I looked. Small risers throughout the massive warehouse-style dance-floor made some of them more conspicuous than others. The lights shrieked. The high ceilings held the occasional white screen where a rapid kaleidoscope of picture slideshows was projected through the laser show. I decided to follow to the bar, but on my second step I felt someone squeeze my buttocks. I turned around and gave my biggest grin when I realized it was the two guys I met last week in DTPM. I greeted them with friendly kisses as the deejay brought on the climax of one of his creations, which sent us and the whole club into a fit of wild dancing. He was back with the water, already sweating, still grinning, and jumping insanely with the beat.
Then I started to feel it. The tingling sensation in my stomach. The butterflies. I couldn’t smile any wider. I looked at him as I danced, he winked knowingly. It was my first come-up. Suddenly the blood rushed uncontrollably through my veins. My pupils dilated and the light grew stronger, more colorful, more surreal. And the music. The bass. I looked up and absorbed its decadent, malevolent beat. It came in stronger pangs now, and I internalized every bit, until my heart depended on it to survive. I’m in love. I’m in love with me, with this music, with these men, and most of all with him. I approached him from behind and we wrapped each other in a long kiss, suddenly breaking into a steady, dirty dance. Next to us a man had sunk to his knees and dug his face into another’s crotch.
an Exposition
I've jumped onto the underwhelming bandwagon that is blogging for reasons beyond my own concious comprehension. I suppose the seemingly relentless and unstoppable pace at which my life runs has allowed very little time for creative thought or reflection, and I see my urge to make use of this space as an attempt by some part of me at a personal record of development, and perhaps a minefield for any who dare to tread over these hyper-text-markup pages. Whether it will succeed in the former is yet to be seen.
I've never been one for words, use twisted and convoluted ways of expressing myself, but here I will shed all inhibition. Whether it's fact or fiction, or a mixture of both the source will be the same - a mind with no hinderance.
And this alone will justify the time I spend on this record.
I've never been one for words, use twisted and convoluted ways of expressing myself, but here I will shed all inhibition. Whether it's fact or fiction, or a mixture of both the source will be the same - a mind with no hinderance.
And this alone will justify the time I spend on this record.
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