Confessions of a Vegetarian Shark

On The Jordanian Identity

2012-01-21T10:52:00.003+02:00

In his novel; Great Expectations, Charles Dickens gives his readers a great piece of advice: "Take nothing on its looks; take everything on evidence. There's no better rule."

Since the birth of the modern independent Jordanian state in 1921, there has been a continuous quest for a clear-cut definition of the noun "Jordanian" in more ways than the dictionary would normally give, that is, being from or related to Jordan. But beyond that generic definition, what does being Jordanian exactly mean? beyond the historical descent of people belonging to the land East of the river Jordan. but 91 years after the establishment of this nation, the question -and quarrel- remains as to who is truly Jordanian.

It is probably wise to shed a light on the Israeli point of view of the nation east of the river Jordan, as a gauge to measure the meaning through the true antagonists to the Jordanian identity, rather than quarreling among ourselves like school children trying to pointlessly inch our belonging to Jordan as per our descent or geographic roots. in that sense, it is important to revisit the role Revisionsit Zionism is playing in Israel today, as it is more alive today, than it's ever been, and the current Israeli leadership, is ideologically influenced by Jabotinsky's doctrine of the inevitability of the creation of a Jewish state on both banks of the Jordan. Netanyahu's Father, Benzion Netanyahu, was Jabotinsky's secretary, he's still his son's top "unofficial" adviser, and the source of his right wing ideology, while the ideology of the Likud -of which the prime minister of Israel is the leader- is an extension of the ideology of Herut, leading to their eventual merger in 1988.

This power hungry marketing is particularly successful amongst the community of former Soviet Union immigrants, who are seeking assertion of their Jewish identity through right wing zionist ideology. What's important for us though, is to be mindful of the fact that like any cancer cell in the body, it becomes more aggressive if it found little or no resistance from the body's immune system. Common sense tells us that if the immune system is weak and oblivious to the planned and immanent spread, while the body is feeding its narcissism in exterior by posing in a Hercules-like posture in front of a mirror, it will find itself fighting a losing battle within its corners; one which would end sooner than one could imagine, or indeed expects.

Coming back to the inter-Jordanian debate over identity, it is essential to stress the fact that identity in the Jordanian case isn't bound by the normal gauges of the definition, first and foremost, due to the nonexistence of a Jordanian nation, in the anthropological meaning of the term, Jordan isn't a nation-state, like Egypt or Russia for example, as those are nations in the ethno-social meaning of the term, but rather, we are a nation; and dare I say that the best plausible example to the national identity of Jordan, is in fact, -brace yourselves- Israel. It is true that Israel's national identity is based on the premise of the oneness of the Jewish people and its right of return to its ancestral homeland -as per the Zionist ideology- but the fact remains, that the Israeli society is a multi-ethnic, multi-ideological one, despite the original common denominator amongst all Israelis -besides their Jewish heritage in the loosest meaning possible to the majority of the citizens of Israel- excluding the Palestinian Arabs, is their belonging to Israel, the nation-state born on May 15th 1948, as an embodiment of the long lost collective identity of all Jews, and their unwavering will to fight for its survival, regardless of their inter-familiar differences.

In that sense, and objectively speaking, Jordan's existence is much similar to Israel's; not as the conspiracy theorists would argue in it being a buffer-zone between Israel and the rest of the Arab World, or as an eventual substitute homeland for the Palestinians, but rather, as per the aims of the Great Arab Revolt of 1916, which called for the liberation and eventual establishment of an independent -united- Arab state between the Turkish border to the north and the southern tip of The Hijaz, that was later revised to be the Fertile Crescent, in turn, later revised to be Greater Syria, and in the aftermath of Sykes-Picot, Jordan was the only surviving part of that great scheme, where the idea of a modern Arab nation being the homeland of All Freedom seeking citizens of the former Ottoman governorates in Arabia, under the umbrella of the Arab Hashemite Renaissance movement born in 1916 could be implemented, creating a single national identity that unites all those under its domain, from any background into the melting pot of the Jordanian identity, where difference isn't a means of conflict, but rather a means of compliment, not coincidentally for the very reason of facing the developing Israeli identity since 1948, two years after the re-birth of the Jordanian national identity.

Jordan has always been targeted in its national unity through doomsday scenarios of transfer and a substitute homeland, we all know it has, and we're contributing in that direction by facilitating the dismantlement of the backbone of Jordan -its society- by allowing quarrels about background to go on and grow to become more hostile and lethal. We're all Jordanians, it makes no difference who was where when, we're all Jordanians now, no Jordanian is a number or a statistic, no Jordanian has more -or less- rights than another, and no Jordanian is Temporary. It is true we have numerous shortcomings in the processes of both assimilation and acceptance, where family backgrounds play a role in many citizens' view of "the other" compatriot, but this malaise of character should never be allowed to become an instrument of division, there are underlying currents within our society that label people of other backgrounds with negative stereo-types like opportunism, lack of loyalty and conspiracy to "swallow" Jordan and the Jordanian identity, while in fact, those with the loudest voices against the oneness of the Jordanian identity -of all backgrounds- is in fact that of people trying to ride the tribal wave, in the name of national interest, an oxymoron of sorts, to say the least.

Any reform has to begin with addressing national identity first, once and for all, those who oppose the diversity of the Jordanian national identity, have to accept it; or choose another one that feeds their chauvinistic ambitions, and those who don't accept the Jordanian national identity to be their primary, also have to accept it; or choose another one. We're a people that has become one family, in the literal meaning of the word, even if some among us try to exercise their "ethnic purity" in the Nazi fashion, we're not "ethnically pure", none of us is, and our purity lies in our diversity, that's how Jordan was created, and that's how it should stay, for the sake of our children; All of them.

Being Jordanian isn't subject to hesitance or denial, it's not the hollow skeleton of modernity or pragmatism, it's one that knows the value of belonging: to its past, to its present, and to its future. And those -contrary to the modern interpretations of old theories- aren't subject to special prices or two for one offers.

Nature teaches us that the highest of all trees, is that with the deepest roots, and roots; go in every direction, without looking in a compass.

Why Palestine's UNESCO Membership is Historic

2011-10-31T23:36:00.007+02:00

Today, UNESCO addmitted Palestine as a full member in the International organization, and while it's not a full UN member yet, Palestine's addmitance to this particular club, or as I'd like to call it, The civilized part of the UN, where your history is your card in, not how big your army is, is one of historic proportions.

Israel's claims of being a Jewish state is based on territorial claims in The Holy Land, mainly in Jerusalem, Hebron as well as other sites in the West Bank, and while the seizure of land post the 1967 war changed the scene on the ground in terms of mushrooming settlements across the West Bank and Gaza, the core of the claim had always been the area known to Arabs and Muslims as "Haram Shareef", or The Noble Sanctuary, where The Al-Aqsa Mosque, The Dome of the Rock are located. The historic conflict between Arabs and Jews has always been based on religious and historic claims in that particular area, known to Jews and the Western Media as The Temple Mount, refering to the Temple of Solomon, destroyed in 70 A.D and thought to have once stood where the Al-Aqsa currently stands; the only reminisce of that claimed temple is the wall known as The Western Wall, or Wailing Wall, the western wall of the Haram Sharif, which, is legally part of the 1967 occupied territories.

Israel's historic moral defeat today is manifested with the following train of thought: Since UNESCO's role is to protect historic human history through declaring different sites across the world as World Heritage Sites, this status will be granted to Palestinian World Heritage Sites in Jerusalem: the Al-Aqsa Mosque and the rest of the Noble Sanctuary, including the Western Wall, The Abraham Sanctuary in Hebron, devided into 2 by the Israeli occupation, and the Christian holy sites in Jerusalem and Bethlehem, right to the Western bank of the river Jordan, giving them the recognition denied by the UN thanks to the US, and relabelling the "Disputed sites", into "Palestinian sites", bearing in mind the Jordanian guardianship of the Muslim holy places in Jerusalem, as per the Jordanian-Israeli peace treaty of 1994, reaffirming the historic, cultural and legal identity of the occupied territories, including the holy sites, as Arab, once and for all.

This would virtually suck the life out of the "Jewishness" of the Jewish State, morally as well as legally, by decree from the World organization responsible for the preservation of human heritage.

UNESCO membership also means that Palestine can become a member of the UN Industrial Development Organization (UNIDO), the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), and the UN Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD), as these bodies allow UNESCO members to become full members. It also places the Palestinians in a good position to become members of the International Telecommunications Union (ITU), the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO), and the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), where admission is similarly contingent on a majority or two-thirds majority vote.

If an increasing number of UN agencies admit Palestine as a member state, it strengthens their claim to statehood, internationalizes the Israel-Palestine conflict, and opens up avenues previously closed to the Palestinians to pursue grievances related to the Israeli military occupation of their lands.

It's time to play their game, you want a Jewish State? go ahead, but the "Jewish" holy sites are Arab and Palestinian, despite the occupation, status quo and US Vetos in the past 60 odd years, The World has spoken through it's moral body responsible for Education, Science, and Culture, not through it's exclusive Power Club called the Security Council.

Mahmoud Darwish is reborn today:

أيُها المارّونَ بين الكلماتِ العابرة

احمِلوا أسماءَكم وانصرفوا

The Philosophical Musings of a Human..being.

2011-10-26T12:36:00.004+03:00

It has been a while since I endeavoured into the uncharted world of human behaviour, mostly due to a state called "The Idleness of the Soul"; the unaware slipping into the common state of indifference, launching the autopilot embedded within us all and functioning in a robotic fashion going about our daily errands.

I have no clue why I keep quoting authors and literature, but it probably has something to do with the intricate detail with which they reflect human conciousness and self awareness. In his radio play "Under Milk Wood", Welsh playwright Dylan Thomas captures the essence of solitude, physical and/or intellectual, where one's own mental conversation echoes within, reminding one of their existence, in the purely Descartes-esque fashion of "I think, therefore I am". Doubt in existence needs an assirtion, and that assirtion is thought.

Knowing that doubt exists, we can generalize and assert that conscious acts exist, since doubts are a kind of conscious acts. And so, if we are to reach Descartes’ conclusion, we must somehow show that the self exists, and not just the conscious acts.

The really interesting question, then, is whether or not we can show that the existence of a conscious act guarantees the existence of a first person perspective aka "I", and if some constituted self must exist as a result of this. The structure of consciousness, the fact that we talk of the conscious act as a presentation, certainly implies that the act is structured around a first person perspective. In other words, without a first person perspective nothing can be conscious; and thus, to doubt that the first person perspective exists would itself be a conscious act structured around a first person perspective, confirming its existence.

Why is it structured around a first person perspective? Simply because someone might insist that there is no real first person perspective, only an appearance of one. So all we can really say is that the conscious act, the experience, seems as though it has a first person perspective, the existence of a first person viewpoint is itself a kind of minimal constituted self, since the first person perspective implies that there is someone who is having the current experience, even if it doesn’t necessarily give that self any other attributes, other than being there physically and/or mentally, at that specific time, completing the elements of existance.

Now, back to Dylan Thomas' "Under Milk Wood":

"And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now, Hush..the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cockle-women and the tidy wives.

Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the organ-playing wood, you can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.

Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast and slow..asleep."

194

2011-10-05T00:14:00.005+03:00

"He had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth." Márquez; "One Hundred Years of Solitude".

It is odd, that despite the 100 years of rhetoric about the value of freedom and human rights, the right for self determination is a valid argument for all the peoples of the world, from East Timor to Southern Sudan, which took 72 hours to become a full UN member, not to mention the mushrooming self determination calls across the world as we speak, but in the case of Palestine, it becomes a matter of long negotiations about disputed lands rather than occupied lands.

One has to admit that the struggle for Palestinian self determination was never handled rationally, not that rationale was an option to people uprooted from their ancestral lands in a few months to make way for people who claim it to be theirs first; an argument that can easily be made by native Americans in the case of North America, aborigines in the case of Australia, and the list goes on, but having reached the point we're in today, one has to be pragmatic with the hopes and realistic with the expectations.

194 would be the number Palestine would hold in the list of nations at the UN, an interesting coincidence with the UNGA resolution 194 of 1948, which calls for the return of the displaced Palestinian refugees of the 1948 war, but being a General Assembly resolution, it has no legally binding power as those of the UN Security Council resolutions, it remains, though; an ethical bedrock of the United Nations' moral duty of justice and equality, not to mention its idealistic role as the peacekeeper of the world, at least on paper.

The fact of the matter is that the US position towards Israel transcends elections, the Jewish vote and democracy, it goes deep into religious belief; Israel is seen as the prologue to the return of Jesus Christ, and the protection of Israel in every way possible serves that purpose, whereas the Palestinians are Philistines, a pagan barbarian enemy of the chosen people eventually defeated by David, Goliath is their most famous historical character, the David vs Goliath story has become the embodiment of Good vs Evil in the collective psyche of the Judeo-Christian narrative. Evangelism in the US is fascinated by Israel, a tiny peaceful promise by God to the Jewish people to herald the return of Jesus Christ to establish the Kingdom of Heaven, threatened by the descendants of Goliath, the choice as to who to side with is as clear as daylight.

The World is a messed up place, truth and lies are meshed up with interest and gain, hypocracy is a human trait reincarnated through the United Nations, George Orwell's Animal Farm -written one year prior to the establishment of the UN- is probably the best representation of its inner workings: "All Pigs are Equal, but some Pigs are more Equal than Others". And yet, Benjamin Netanyahu comes to the UN in 2011 and says: "In 1984 when I was appointed Israel's ambassador to the United Nations, I visited the great rabbi of Lubavich. He said to me - and ladies and gentlemen, I don't want any of you to be offended because from personal experience of serving here, I know there are many honorable men and women, many capable and decent people, serving their nations here - But here's what the rabbi said to me. He said to me, you'll be serving in a house of many lies." [source]. I'm not entirely sure whether the rabbi was insulting the UN or praising it with that statement.

Alright, so where do we go from here? A US veto is on the menu, Palestine won't become a full UN member, despite the prospected use of the same course that was taken by Israel in 1948, it is -none the less- the beginning of a great annual nuisance to Israel and a cause for a great annual embarrassment to the supposed fair broker to the Arab-Israeli conflict. Tonight, a vote at the UN Security Council is expected to be made to propose sanctions on Syria, it's expected that Russia -which announced its backing of the Palestinian statehood bid- would use the veto to abort it, so in a way, a tit for tat ping pong game between the US and Russia, a US veto for Palestine, a Russian veto for Syria, and they're even. The quartet's envoy, the Right Honorable Tony Blair -on his part- turned out to be having an affair with an Israeli business woman, so that's also in the bag, we're set, we're back to the global city of mirrors -or mirages- Márquez was talking about, it's our 100 Years of Solitude this time around, though.

"Look at situations as contingent, not as inevitable, look at them as the result of a series of historical choices made by men and women, as facts of society made by human beings, and not as natural or god-given, therefore unchangeable, permanent, irreversible." Edward Said.

Eleven

2011-09-10T23:59:00.006+03:00

Remember the Birth pangs of the New Middle East? The genius theory prophesied by Ms. Rice, who; on this eve of the 10th anniversary of 9/11, had ignored, underplayed and dismissed intelligence reports warning of an imminent threat to the US mainland, 2 months prior to the attacks, voiding her political wisdom obsolete since the first few months of the Bush Administration.

It seems that the number Eleven has an element of change embedded within it's identical straight lines, as was the case in 9/11's tsunami style change across the world, 2011 has proven to be a year of unimaginable change in the Arab world, Three regime changes in Eight months, Two others in the process. A whole mindset of defiance has risen from beneath the proverbial ashes of the Arab defeated spirit. Tonight, remarking on the attack on the Israeli embassy in Cairo last night, Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu noted that "The Middle East is now undergoing a political earthquake of historic proportions. Perhaps this can be compared to what happened a century ago at the end of the First World War with the establishment of a new world order."

Two of Israel's most relied on historic allies in the region -using the hip Facebook language- have "unfriended" Israel, even if this status change is temporary, the fact remains that Israel is as clueless as it's never been before in its history, Netanyahu's comparison of the current state of the Middle East to the era at the end of the First World War isn't a haphazard statement, the whole map of the Middle East was redrawn in the aftermath of WWI, Israel hadn't been born yet but it's probably the ultimate prize that came out of that "earthquake". Since its creation in 1948, Israel had always been the re-shaper/re-drawer of borders in the Middle East, through the series of wars from '48 to '73, not to mention the Lebanon invasion of '82 and the Lebanon war of '06 -which saw that first genius statement of the new Mid East- and the Gaza war of '08.

in 2011, Turkey's 61 year old strategic alliance with Israel is frozen, Egypt's 30 year old puppet regime has fallen, Syria's "good bad neighbour" is in the process of falling, and the whole political map is reshaping with Israel's helpless eyes fixated Westwards seeking protection and reassurance from its historic ally and benefactor across the Atlantic ocean, to guarantee its survival and to salvage the broken pieces of diplomatic tantrums in the Arab World.

Bottom line, Welcome to the new Middle East, The birth pangs of the New Middle East have returned; Israel isn't the only constant anymore, but rather the new emerging variable. History never accepts the status quo, even if the status quo conveniently lasts for centuries.

When South Becomes the New North

2011-08-09T00:20:00.015+03:00

I, for one; do not care what the official Jordanian position towards what's happening in Syria is, if -that is- there was indeed an official -or an unofficial- Jordanian position to begin with, for all the diplomatic etiquette, and all the elegance and eloquence in political communiqués become void of their meaning when five minutes across the Jordanian northern border, people's human dignity is being abused for the sake of one man's -cosa nostra style- narcissistic ego.

I won't go into the known facts of inter-familial ties between Jordan and Syria, nor will I remind you that the flag of Jordan was -at one point- the flag of the Kingdom of Syria, neither will I stress the unbreakable Jordanian historic sociological and cultural belonging to the Leventine identity more than its economic yearning towards the Gulf. But if I were to practice my talents in crystal-ball gazing and my world renowned supernatural powers in prediction and astrology, I would predict a firm Jordanian position towards Syria in the next few days, one that stresses the "importance of safeguarding the human dignity of the Syrian people, and their inherent human right of free expression void from the threat of physical harm, pointing out the sanctity of human life". A position that boasts with idealism and chivalry, as All our official positions are. We will, of course; add actions to words and seal this noble position by recalling our ambassador from Damascus for consultations.

You might be sly in thinking that this -better late than never- eventual expression of our deep inner feelings of humanity comes to you courtesy of our GCC membership hopes, or the unprecedented Saudi, Kuwaiti, and UAE financial aid to Jordan in the past and coming week or so, not to mention the official Syrian announcement of a drug smuggling bust on the Syrian-Jordanian border today, but you'd be wrong; in fact, it all comes down to our piousness and ever so clear consciousness, you see.

Má Vlast

2011-08-05T01:17:00.006+03:00

What is Jordan's most recent assertion of existence? probably a shocking question to some, but I've been thinking about variations of this question for a while. This year, we celebrated the 43rd anniversary of the battle of Karamah of 1968; and despite the unfair historical hijacking of the first Arab victory post the 1967 war, it remains the fundamental proof of Jordan's ability to survive. Some would also include the September 1970 events, and they might be correct, but Karamah endures as the first straight forward Israeli defeat.

In the 1950s and 1960s, Jordan had a Message, one of insistence to succeed as a model of a modern Arab nation built from the ground up, one reflective of the diversity of the Arab nation both ethnically and religiously, a civilized model of Arab renaissance in the 20th century, this was fortified with the constitution of 1952 and the parliamentary elections of 1956, the 1st and last purely democratic exercise in Jordanian history, despite the subsequent regionally inspired political turmoil in 1957. The social and economic development in the 1960s and 1970s was another assertion of existence, so was the life and death of notable Jordanian politicians like Hazza' Al Majali and Wasfi Al Tal, although I would argue that our best example of the will and power to succeed was embodied in King Hussein himself, hence, the example could be extended to his own life, until his passing in 1999.

Jordan's enduring stable political identity's marking of its 90th anniversary this year is one worthy of note, and there's much to say about the virtues of the Jordanian model of government. But the political, economic and social map has changed massively since the passing of King Hussein, the fact remains; that Jordan's one time idealistic -bearer of arm/bearer of olive branch- image has vanished from the collective Jordanian psyche during the past decade or so, and was replaced by the materialistic image of singular capital gain through plural capital loss. Which brings to mind Ibn Khaldun's theory on The Rise and Fall of Nations, when, in the fifth phase of a nation's life, it suffers from the symptoms of old age, including national dementia, where the one-time single unit made of multiple compositions is fragmented into many, replacing collective national pride with factionalism, tribalism, and individualism, diminishing the capacity of diversity as the engine of the political unit. A negative socio-political evolution where decadence and decay hits the nation and sedentary luxuries over-ride the basic duties of government in safeguarding justice and equality among all citizens, regardless of their economic stature.

The mere recurring use of the word Reform, refers to infested deterioration, the only problem is that even if you get a facelift, or a botox injection, or any other cosmetic treatment called "Reform", you'd most likely still suffer from chronic age-related arthritis, increasing loss of hearing, and probably, at one point, Alzheimer's disease, despite the baby -blemish free- skin. Your best bet lies in your regular mental and physical exercise, in other words, the clear and constant engagement of all the proverbial colors of the social and political spectrum in the assessment of the national priorities, void from unquestionable hierarchical patronage, dismissal, or pastoral dictation.

On The "Re" In Reform

2011-07-15T21:30:00.029+03:00

I have to admit, in the beginning, that I've been quiet for a long while for more than one reason, but mainly out of the void of something useful to say; Having said that, I imagine that today's events in Amman, are as about useful of a reason to speak as one could have.

I also have to admit, that despite my being a critic to many government policies throughout my not so brief adulthood, bearing in mind my on and off government service, I'm not entirely certain that the objective sought by those who take to the streets every Friday, and for the sake of the argument I'll call them the callers for reform is the same objective for all, and whether they're all calling for the same reform.

We acknowledge the need for Political and Economic reform, and as far as I'm concerned, all the elements of reaching an enlightened, fair and unanimously agreed upon form of government are on the table; Corruption has become pandemic in Jordan, and there has to be -and I'm not taking a shot in the dark if I assume that there really is- a genuine will in cutting the pipelines of corruption, as far as the system allows, bearing in mind the particularities of the Jordanian political and economic interdependant nature of relationship.

The center of Amman isn't the courtyard of the Bastille, and storming it like storming the infamous prison one day after the former's anniversary has to be one of the most dramatically orchestrated and least politically wise moves the opposition ever made, not because of the timing, but because the call for the protests didn't have a single specific demand shared by all the opposition, if; that is, we can call whomever was in the streets today an opposition. There seems to be a phantom of multiple interest groups with different economic and social claims: from those who are stating their claims in what's called واجهات عشائرية or tribal lands, to those who are looking to better their retirements, to teachers seeking the formation of a syndicate, to fading political parties and movements looking to return into the spotlight by riding the waves of all of the above. A rainbow of crossing interests with the least kind of interest in actual reform rather than economic gain for a certain few, however rightful their claims may be. Taking to streets every week is not going to change the facts, or the speed with which any reform is being achieved, nor will it change the fact that it wouldn't make a difference whether or not the political will towards reform is indeed genuine.

The Jordanian model of government isn't Plato's Utopia, and I'd be the first to admit it, but throughout the 90 years since the establishment of an Emirate East of the river Jordan, the term "Jordanian Refugee" has never been used, and that, to me -and to anyone who has any sense of justice- has to be the Apodictic proof of the benign nature of the Jordanian system of government. We've had Palestinian, Lebanese, Iraqi, Syrian, Libyan, Yemeni precede the term refugee in the past months and years, and almost all of the above refer to lands where government is irrelevant to the historical continuity of the social belonging to the lands they refer to, but that civilizational certainty hasn't saved their peoples from being displaced and become refugees -even briefly- as a result of a man-made circumstance dictated by the wisdom -or lack thereof- of the political system.

I'm not, neither will I claim to be more monarchist than the monarch, but to me, the respect of human dignity is first and foremost in any relationship, especially when it comes to the relationship between the ruler and the ruled. The social contract between any people and their government gives away rights as well as gains others, the protection of the human dignity is probably the single most important of all rights. Keeping in mind the style of government we've seen across the Arab World in the past 50 years; one cannot stress enough the importance of this little detail when one see's images of people being stepped on, kicked in the face and shot at by regime thugs bearing all sorts of lethal weapons and orders to use them at will in Syria, an hour away from Amman, for example.

The bottom line is that, despite the shortcomings of the political, economic and social policies, as well as the misuse of power against protesters we saw today and several times before, one has to be fair to one's own nature and acknowledge the fact that these abuses are not systemic, nor are they an integral part of the political system's composition and character, which makes it even more important not to underestimate the value of being a citizen of Jordan in 2011, and not a citizen of any other country where human dignity can easily be waived, misused and abused, for the sake of the continuity of one person's malignant political regime.

Update: There needs to be a clear definition of authority, particularly over the Police and the security apparatus, the removal of weapons only to be replaced by sticks, stones and barbecue grills to face-off protesters isn't a an exercise to restore order, it's official hooliganism under the pretext of keeping law and order. Not having control over anti-riot police voids the word authority from its meaning, it makes us a borderline Police state.

The Mental Trips of Sinbad II

2011-03-24T18:32:00.002+02:00

Less often than we'd like to admit, we're very fragile creatures; even if we overly portray ourselves as a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. For the most part, we're hiding behind self-made walls of pride and prejudice, of vanity and greed, heading aimlessly with the stride of the knowledgeable goat being led by a shepherd's dog.

Our minds are our compasses, and despite them being shallow pools of rain, sometimes; they do reflect the stars a million light years away, and those stars, are our eventual destination, if we choose to engage all our senses in the art of "living". Humanity is best served by the act of leaving a trace remembered long after one's short "cameo" is over, otherwise it's a waste of space and time.

Live, Love, Loath -moderately- and most of all, Learn; and while doing so, be thankful for God's Grace.

On Arabs, Revolutions, and Conspiracy Theories

2011-03-11T13:42:00.010+02:00

There's been a lot of talk about hidden hands behind the Tsunami-style revolutions across the Arab World; and although it's a fair assumption if we take the long history of Conspiracy Theories' relationship with the collective Arab psyche, it is also humiliating to the human spirit, which is the same all over the world, for no human spirit is more refined or capable of change than any other.

We have to admit; in the beginning, that Arab Will has been deficient since the beginning of the 20th century; the 400 odd years of Ottoman rule contributed to the dormancy of the free spirit of the Arab, partly because the Ottoman empire was seen as the House of Khilafah, the most divine rule in Islam, and revolting against it would be considered one of the greatest acts of heresy imaginable, and partly because the economic and social state under which Arabs were, made it increasingly impossible for them to think about anything more than earning their daily bread.

As of late 1880s, Arab intellects who've been exposed to the diversity of the world, through their travels to the West and East, such as Muhammad Abdo and Jamal Al-Deen Al Afghani to name a couple, began advocating Change as an element of Reform -Rather than Reform as an Element of Change- they taught and preached about the virtue of changing the Islamic self view, which roughly translates to looking into a mirror and changing one's own self before seeking to change the surrounding circumstances, a clear understanding of the Qur'anic verse:

إِنَّ اللهَ لا يُغَيِّـرُ مَا بِقَومٍ حَتَّىٰ يُغَيِّـرُوا مَا بِـِأنفُسِهم

"Allah changeth not the condition of a folk until they (first) change that which is in their hearts"

This revolutionary vision, gave the responsibility of achieving Freedom to humans, rather than the centuries old silent acceptance of tyranny -in all its forms- and labeling it as a God-willed Destiny. The fresh breath of air the Islamic mind got during that period, made it possible for the Arab mind to recover the long lost identity of being an Arab, from Egypt to Syria to Palestine and Lebanon, Arabs began identifying themselves as such, regardless of their religious background, a revert to the thought of supremacy of humanity over taboos.

I'm not going to bore you with a long lesson in history for you all are more educated on the matter than I am, so to make a long story short, I would argue that the past five generations of Arabs have lived through one setback after the other, from the Great Arab Revolt's Utopian promise of a unified Arab state's ending with Sykes-Picot, to the creation of Israel and the loss of Jerusalem, to Saddam's lost dream of Arab potential, to the endless pointless peace process. Arabs got used to the thought of self degradation and finger pointing, blame became our favourite pass-time, and docking responsibility became our greatest sport, we've learned to enjoy defeat in a masochistic way affecting all aspects of our lives and driving us to revert to the belief that misery, tyranny, corruption and decadence is Fate only breakable by God, for which we have to wait as if it were a table of bounties delivered from heaven as we lay on our sides and watch.

Some would argue that the US has a role in the Arab revolutions, others would blame Aljazeera's Israeli agenda, other others would give the credit to the Muslim brotherhood. All of these hypotheses are deliberately or indeliberately underestimating the power of the human spirit, even if that human spirit belongs to people who have been misrepresented, ignored, deceived and oppressed for centuries. The fact remains, that these revolutions are of the people, by the people and for the people; they're the natural evolution of any human experience similar to the one the Arab world lived through in the past 100 years; it happened in Eastern Europe in the late 1980s, in Latin America in the 1990s and in South East Asia in the past 10 years. And if one could borrow a line from the US declaration of Independence -without suggesting anything to anyone other than asserting the universal equality of man's aspirations- I would say that "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal" in their search for a better life, not only in the economic gain and loss meaning of the word, but rather through the embodiment of the supremacy of Freedom over Life itself, even if we've been written off as a domesticated breed.

Let Freedom Ring.

The Battle for Tubrok 2011

2011-03-03T21:09:00.003+02:00

In the aftermath of the Tunisian and Egyptian popular revolutions, and the role both countries' Armies had in their success, the question that begs itself is this: What is the Combat Ideology of the Arab armies? The combat ideology roughly translates to a clear definition of the rules of engagement; a clear definition of the "enemy", which can be as clear as a national existential enemy like Israel for example, or a local occurring threat from a neighbour or a group in the shape of a military attack or an act of espionage or terrorism.

In both the Egyptian and Tunisian cases, the Combat ideology of the army saw the people as the source of legitimacy and the only constant in the equation, whereas the head of state was seen as the variable, despite him being the commander in chief as per the constitutional delegation within the presidential duties. This was the nexus under which the revolutions succeeded in their ultimate goal of removing the head of state. Without the backing of the armed forces, the people would've been mascaraed and the world wouldn't have known about it, or would've seen and heard about it and would've played the constant hypocritical role of calling for restraint.

Now that the Change Express has moved eastwards through Libya, Yemen and Bahrain, it's particularly interesting to observe the role of the military in these events, the tribal nature of the society in all three countries makes it extremely difficult to make a clear cross section distinction between the professional role of the army as the guardian of national interest and the tribal affiliation its members have, an element that might dictate their political position either with the regime against the people, or with the people against the regime.

Libya is in a league of it's own; the Authority of the people isn't admissible if the people doesn't want Gaddafi; in fact, the people is disposable if they challenge his anti authority.

The leader of the revolution is quite known for his clownish behaviour, a source of endless entertainment for those of us lucky enough not to be living under his glorious rule, but the fact remains that he's a thug, probably the worst thug ruler in the Arab World, he's had connections with international terrorists since the 1970s, from Carlos to Abu Nidal, for no reason other than keeping his name alive around the world; a severe condition of psychotic narcissism. he's been financing civil wars across Africa for decades, swindling his country's wealth on outlandish intellectual excursions and his sons' decadent pleasure. Gaddafi is smarter than he looks -as hard as that may sound- he's been walking back and forth on the tight rope of anti westernism since his rise to power in 1969, hitting and running for attention whenever he gets the chance.

The king of African kings is paying African mercenaries to crack down on his own people's revolt against him. In Gaddafi's dictionary, revolting against a life-time revolutionary needed across the globe is a cardinal sin. The Libyan army's reaction wasn't quite clear in the first few days since February 17th, its combat ideology is probably based on devotion to the leader, rather than the country, but we've seen some interesting examples of heresy against this ideology, several army officers and fighter pilots, as well as some high ranking officials within the military have announced their siding with the people against Gaddafi, a clear indication of their belief in the superiority of country and people over leader, even if the leader is the great Muammar. The turning point in the military's siding with the people was probably Gaddafi's seeking of foreign mercenaries, this will probably be proven to be Gaddafi's fatal error, he ended the people army's allegiance to his great leadership when he bought foreigners to fight the army's people.

Gaddafi's days are numbered, but his fall isn't going to be as graceful as those of Bin Ali and Mubarak, his psychotic obsession on being a loved leader makes it very difficult for him to simply pack and leave, even if he's known for travelling light and living in a mobile tent. He will set a precedent, as he does and either commit suicide or be killed, probably the latter.

It is probably a good mental exercise and/or an excellent fortune telling capability to sit and ponder on the combat ideology of the different Arab countries.

God Save Libya.

هنا القاهرة

2011-02-11T21:23:00.001+02:00

هنا القاهرة؛ مدينةُ القهرِ المستحكمِ بأقدارِ الناس، هنا.. يصحو الفجرُ على أنّات الفقراء، البؤساء، التعساء، المظلومين، المحرومين، المنسييّن، المهفييّن على أطراف الأرض المنهوبة

هنا، تَمسحُ إبتسامةُ الرضا، الحزنَ الموروثَ من ألف عام، وهنا فقط، يُقهرُ الطغاةُ.. ولو بعد حين

هنا القاهرة

Reflections Over The Nile

2011-02-10T02:44:00.007+02:00

Revolution, is a Carnival of humanity, it brings out the instinctive good in humans. There's an Arabic idiom called "قهر", I've been thinking of an accurate English translation of the word and all I can come up with was Servitude, a moral oppression of the inherent instinct of human dignity. What is happening in Egypt now is exactly that, a deliberate attempt to break the human spirit, with the greatest force possible. Egypt's Tahrir Square has become a mini Egypt, a Utopian island of justice and freedom for all, within a land where justice and freedom was bound by participating in a false hierarchy based on loyalty to the Godfather through the membership of the ruling party, a key that opened the doors of heaven for the past 3o years to its holders, and soon will open the doors of hell.

If there's a lesson to draw from the recent events in Tunisia and Egypt it's simply this: Corporate Oligarchies are a threat to the stability of the political system. Since the early 1990s, and the rise of capitalist entrepreneurship across the world, a global phenomenon of utilizing the business mind into the mechanism of government emerged into the political scene, hoping it would create the momentum to modernize the bureaucracy into a slimmer more efficient organism.

This "genius" model was presented across the Arab World through western educated professionals with limited experience in the workings of governments and the political process of nations, they came in with a condescending mentality and a bloated ego, not to mention an appetite to use or misuse authority for their corporate minded benefit through government sponsored models with flashy titles across the Arab World, from Tunisia, to Egypt, to Jordan.

Now that this model has proven its naivety, not to mention its immoral justification of greed as ambition, and embezzlement as investment, the question begs itself, now what? They say business and pleasure don't mix, it is even wiser not to mix business with government; public property never was a means of private gain even for long-term political players, it's called public service for a reason, the service of the public rather than the service of the private. It is time to re-evaluate the whole fascination with the western capitalist model, not because it's proven its failure or because socialism is the inevitable economic conclusion as Marx predicted. Both have their stories of success and failure around the world and throughout the years, but because it's not fair for the larger bulk of the population in developing countries such as ourselves to become pawns on a big chess board of financial gain and loss played by the financially able few. The minute you put public property on the market, the political influence that runs through the veins of civil society would swallow the public interest for the benefit of the few, examples of this are mushrooming across the Arab World, including but not limited to Solidaire in Lebanon and Abdali in Jordan, to name a couple.

I'm fascinated with the Egyptian revolution, and I insist on calling it a revolution and not a movement, an uprising, or a protest. It's a social revolution that has already begun redefining and elevating the moral standards and intellectual aspirations of all Arabs in the 21st century. it's the first true exercise of the true nature of the people in the Arab World, breaking all the clichés of religious tensions and gender inequalities -both do exist- but when the national interest is at risk, everything else dissolves into a melting pot of the basic unifying identity; one of the greatest, most noble feelings of humanity. The fighter-jets of the political regimes can't break the spirit of freedom seekers, nor can its camels, horses and mules match the speed of the internet; a lesson to be remembered by all, on both sides of the political fence, across the Arab World.

Welcome to the Arab World: "Under New Management"

2011-01-31T17:05:00.011+02:00

On June 9th 1967; and in the aftermath of the six day war, President Nasser of Egypt went on television and announced his resignation from the presidency to the Egyptian people, holding full responsibility of the Arab defeat in the war; even before he had finished his speech, thousands of Egyptians invaded the streets across the country expressing their rejection of that resignation and their collective trust in Nasser, even after his leadership caused The worst and most humiliating defeat in history.

On the personal level, I'm not a great fan of Nasser's school of politics, but historical credibility has to give the man the justice in noting his personal integrity. The reason I'm mentioning this piece of history is its contrast with what is currently taking place in Egypt; Thousands have been protesting across the country for the 7th straight day calling for the resignation of Hosni Mubarak from office, and yet; he's refusing, despite the increasing number of protesters, and the joining of multiple representatives of the Egyptian social mosaic in the calls to his resignation: from representatives of the judiciary, to academics, to artists, to religious leaders, which gives a greater momentum to the movement with every passing day. There's a popular consensus on the rejection of Mubarak's remain in office, and this consensus is a declaration of popular divorce with the political system, The Egyptian regime lost the popular respect long before the events began last Tuesday, but it has sealed its fate -inadvertently- when the social contract between the people and the government was broken with the abandonment of the police and public security personnel of their responsibilities as soon as they felt their own security was at risk, rather than the people's.

The marvel of this revolt is that it is a totally spontaneous outburst of over-bottled feelings of injustice, fed across generations of political destitution, it was impossible to predict, nor does it have a limit to its aspirations; it is not the revolt of the political elite in which political bargain is laid on the table for the parties to discuss, but rather a revolt of the inexperienced youth on the status quo, with the full intent to change everything and everyone within their definition of the "status quo" which includes whole regimes, a historical precedence in Arab history. In 1968, the student revolt in France caused an infection similar to the Tunisian revolt across the world, despite France's historic pride in being the cradle of popular revolutions; that revolt managed to rock the stable boat of De Gaulle's 5th Republic, to the extent of forcing De Gaulle himself to briefly flee the country -which I think was what Bin Ali had in mind for a the first 5 minutes- and the dissolve of parliament and the call for new elections.

They say that History is the cruelest of all judges, Mubarak's days as president are numbered, and he's certainly not helping his own historical biography with his mulish behaviour. But the bottom line remains that 11 years into the 21st century, it's about time for Arab change to begin, from the least expected sector, in the least expected manner, taking the least expected amount of time, answering yet redefining Condi Rice's prediction of the emergence of a New Middle East, with the Lebanon war of 2006 as its Birth Pangs, but the new born seems to have surprised even the best doctors in the world, with its belonging to its biological parents, rather than its prospective adopters.

The Winter of Discontent

2011-01-28T19:18:00.008+02:00

The opening line of William Shakespeare's Richard III reads "Now is the winter of our discontent, Made glorious summer by this sun of York", and if one is allowed to borrow the phrase, I would replace York with Tunis, Cairo and any coming cities where the Sun of glorious change is yet to shine.

There's a concept of political thought called Pop ular Sovereignty, it's simply an exercise of popular will, and although it's a pillar of western democracy explained through the writings of the fathers of the Political philosophy; Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau, it's a universal act of human behaviour against dictatorship and oppression of human dignity; it was used during both the American and French revolutions 200 years ago and has gained its practical meaning through those two examples. But the most important reason for the exercise of this popular power is the belief in the failure of other more conventional forms of sovereignty; nations usually legitimize their political system through parliaments, which -theoretically- are chosen by the people to represent their interests through the various channels of the political process through what is called parliamentary sovereignty, which -in most Arab states- is a puppet in the hand of the top ruler and an extension to his sole power, giving false legitimacy to the regime. but when the people decide to deny that trust and break the fortified barrier of authority, popular sovereignty becomes the delegitimizing force to any political system and the engine that powers the collective will of the people, and through it, people express the long forgotten cliché printed in most constitutions "The people is the source of all powers" and it actually comes into play, with calls like "الشعب يريد إسقاط النظام" The people wants to overthrow the regime, used in Egypt as we speak, a reuse of Tunisia's original call to overthrow the post Bin Ali government.

The Egyptians are the barometer of the Arab conscience; for the better part of the 20th century, Egypt was the center of Arab nationalism until the Camp David accords of 1979, and the public movement of the Egyptian people has always been the trigger for other movements across the Arab world, but this time; Tunisia took the world by surprise and heralded the era of popular sovereignty conquering rusty regimes that have been in power for decades; powered by youth with ages averaging the age of the regimes themselves and powered by their sheer enthusiasm to change using the Internet and social networks to organize their movement.

The most notable hallmark of these movements is their lack of defined leadership, despite the existence of the multiple colors of the political spectrum in their midst, the youth movement is reminiscent to the movements witnessed in Eastern Europe in the late 1980s which resulted in the collapse of the Eastern block, the other notable hallmark is that they're not by any means the movements of the less advantaged, but rather of those belonging to internet savvy, educated middle class backgrounds; the backbone of the economic and social movement in any given nation. On the other hand, the main players in the political system are known for their old age and long-term chronic physical illnesses; experience can never match enthusiasm, it is physically incapable of matching the speed with which the will of change sweeps across the streets, they can oppress it with force, but this will only cause it to explode with greater vigor. The strength and power of despotism consists wholly in the fear of resistance.

The lesson always overlooked by authoritarians is that sovereignty does not belong to the greater or stronger, it belongs to the people; to the daring small and the fearless few, and those who dare challenge their reality, are destined to control their future.

It is especially entertaining to read the clueless reactions of the US and Israel.

On The Demise of Nations

2011-01-23T22:10:00.002+02:00

There's a certain inevitability in the cycle of life of all living things, and since man is a living thing, everything he creates is affected by a Medusa kind of curse, one which condemns its fate, and seals it with a predetermined life span; it is us humans, who have the power to prolong or shorten the life span of our creations, whether these creation are materially tangible, like buildings or railways, or intangible in essence but existent in reality, like companies, banks, or nations.

I've come across an interesting article by an Indian Doctor named Gaurang Bhatt titled "Idiot Leaders Cause Demise of Nations" a straight forward title that needs no introduction or interpretation; The article tackles the political history of India from the rise of the moguls to the partition of 1949, but since human nature is one and the same, it can be used to draw lessons and/or find similarities across the globe. He argues that there are clear tell-tales of any given nation's ominous fall, and these include The lust for power, delusions of grandeur, lack of foresight and indifference to national cohesion, among other factors.

Some nations are to an extent immune from the follies of their leaders, and those are old world nations which have existed for millennia, and passed through the hands of dozens of leaders, decent and decedent, and yet rose from under the proverbial ashes, because their anthropological and geopolitical circumstances have willed them to be constant nations, rather than temporary states, but the game of ethnic or religious tension is always a tool of creating a schism through any society; it happened in Europe throughout the 19th century, and in the Middle East in the early 20th century, and today it's happening in Iraq, and is taking shape in Egypt as we speak, and I'm afraid of it spreading further.

Debt, corruption and collective lack of respect and/or fear of national authority and its symbols are certainly signs of national dementia; economic security is the glue that keeps any society together, it is the single most important component in social cohesion, and any tremors that hit the base of economic security of the average street man, would cause even greater social tremors, crime rates would rise, and collective disenchantment with any symbols of authority would increase, resulting in a chronic state of lawlessness, one which would appear and disappear more often, and become more malignant as they grow. The recent events in Tunisia are the freshest, most striking example of this; a young man who's been jobless and trying to make a living through selling vegetables on a cart was denied from even that, and he became the trigger to a national uprising that overthrew a dictator in 3 weeks.

Nations are constant if their social cohesion is stabilized through a long history of the existence of a civil society; and the existence of a civil society void from the interference of national authority is almost exclusive to "old world" cosmopolitans like Damascus, Baghdad or Cairo in the Mashreq; and Casablanca and Qairawan in the Maghreb. The Tunisian historical precedence of popular regime change is actually an example of the supremacy of society over the political system, it is a clear indication of the social hierarchy -despite the former existence of parallel hierarchies made by the overthrown regime- which puts The People on top of the pyramid of identity, followed by any temporary characterization like political affiliation or regional background, which caused the -also temporary- economic and social supremacy of the selected few, in the example of the ex-president's wife's family and co.

The Arab world is riddled with similar examples of the rise -and not yet fall- of the corrupt few political and economic hierarchies over the rest of society, Egypt is probably the closest and the one with the most similarities to the Tunisian example in terms of the social structure of both the nation and the regime, but that doesn't mean that other examples do not exist, the difference is the composition of the societies; some are more homogeneous than others, and some are more prone to the ancient wisdom of "divide and conquer" especially if the components of division are right there waiting to be used or misused to the favour of the junta be it in the form of a government, or a whole political system. Ibn Khaldun -a Tunisian born- comes to his greatest relevance in the increasingly multicultural societies of today: What is social solidarity, and how does a society achieve it and maintain it? He argues that no society can achieve anything—conquer an empire or even survive—unless there is internal consensus about its aims.

Speaking of Ibn Khaldun; an interesting footnote to all the above would be the reminder of his theory of the Rise and Fall of nations, which ends with the collapse of the nation, and is only preceded by a stage of inflated bureaucracy, increasing taxation, and exaggerated expenditure on the ruler and his entourage, rather than the people.

How many contemporary example of the above can you think of?

Avé Maria

2011-01-03T00:44:00.023+02:00

Almost three years ago, I wrote two articles "here and here", on the effect of Identity and Faith on the collective mindset of people, and among what I wrote was that All aspects of human interaction contribute to the creation of culture, and before settling; the storm of culture-building acquires and sheds many aspects of the life of people as it takes the shape of Identity; language, Faith and even tolerance or ethnocentrism.

I'm mentioning this in the aftermath of the heinous crimes against Christian citizens of the East, namely Iraq a couple of months ago, and with the passing first few minutes of the year in Egypt.

Whomever is the perpetrator of these crimes is very much aware of the idea of National Identity, and as I have explained in the previous post, Nation states are extremely hard to fragment, with their solid backbone of historical -and in many cases genetic- composition, they're almost impossible to destroy, both Egypt and Iraq are in more ways than one considered to be Nation states; both are the cradles of the oldest civilizations in humanity, which has guaranteed continuous existence of a "nation/أمّة" with a distinct identity on both lands for thousands of years, and both have the sociological potential to survive as independent nations in the present and the future. I've chosen the term sociological, and not political or economic; since society is the heart of any human endeavour; it's the most consistent element that keeps people together through time, social contracts are the basis of constitutions; a collection of unwritten agreements to build -together, regardless of primary differences- an organism called a society, which in turn is the seed of collective identity, as it evolves into a melting pot of cultures and traditions, and eventually, distinguishes people with their unique texture, by it -the society- being One, among many.

The targeting of Christians in the East is a direct premeditated blow to an integral component of the Near Eastern societies of the Levant, Egypt and Iraq; the Christians of these lands are the descendants of the disciples of Jesus Christ and represent the longest continuous existence of Christianity in the world. It's an aware attempt to stir never before seen -or long forgotten- feelings of animosity and disengagement between people in the Holy Land; which can extend to include both Iraq and Egypt in both the Islamic and Christian narratives. It's been brewing in Lebanon for 30 years with a hit and miss approach, but has never seized to be instigated. Lebanon too, despite its size and limited resources, has the historical and human potential of survival as a singular nation state, at least in theory, and the survival of Lebanon despite all odds in the past 50 years is an indication of the above mentioned long-term potential.

In his book "طبائع الإستبداد" The Nature of Despotism, Al Kawakibi argues that the only way to achieve political reform is to achieve religious reform; this came from a man who was a religious teacher by virtue of his education, and a nationalist philosopher by trade.

In the 100 years since Kawakibi, nationalism has mutated into sub-genres of identities which in the eyes of their advocates are called national identities; the 22 nations of the Arab League each have their own version of that mutated national identity, but the fact remained that multi-denominational societies like Iraq, Egypt, Lebanon and one can include Jordan, Syria and Palestine for the sake of scientific accuracy, have seldom had religious identity used as the primary means of self identification, -except for Lebanon due to its complex political composition- this diversity always complimented the pride of national affiliation to the land they're from, an Iraqi was always an Iraqi, so was an Egyptian, and certainly the Palestinian, even when he's faced with a counter identity called the Jewish state which has made a sudden but not surprising come-back in the Israeli political literature. When that national identity began to rattle under the feet of Iraqis, Egyptians or even the Sudanese with their imminent referendum of the cessation of the predominantly Christian south, Religion became the more concrete first line of defence -being part of a religious group- aka society, took over, and has become the means of finding distinction.

I'm not trying to reinvent the wheel here but this is merely an attempt to comprehend; Why is it, that Christians are the target of whomever is targeting them, and why now? I would answer the first question with the following analysis:

Some disillusioned ignorant Muslims see Christians as an extension to foreign invasion, many of these suicide bombers come from societies that do not have Christians to begin with, like the gulf states for example, so to them Christians are alien infidels by default, or they're an extension to the Western Crusade against Islam, and if the recruits come from multi religious societies, they're brain-washed into believing that redemption begins with the cleansing -both ethnic and physical- of the land of Islam from "The Other" with an eerie reminder to the Jewish term Goyim, using misinterpreted Muslim narratives to prove their point, including the expulsion the Jewish tribes from Arabia when Islam conquered Mecca in 630 AD, for example.

We're facing a sociological crisis, which can only be resolved with democracy, and that is the key to economic progression, even with the involvement of the public sector, social justice is the key for economic justice, and political justice in the shape of equal opportunity is the key to civic peace; for as long as there's a group of people that feels that it is discriminated against with the power of the law, or another group that believes that those who are of a different faith are destroying the Islamic identity of any given nation; any loop hole of this kind which allows the passage of bad elements, or as they're known in our genius media "The Few Rotten Apples"- to invade and feed hatred between compatriots, will have us fall and never rise from our own self burned aches; The Nature of Despotism -the human behaviour, not the book in this instance- so predicts.

In Jordan, the religious card isn't really viable, but rather the one based on the cardinal directions of Earth, a compass is all you need to stir tensions in Jordan, with the likes of the paper doll leaders of the Faisali-Wihdat incident who would ride any wave to achieve their 15 minutes of fame, which is another story for another day.

The enduring rule of thumb remains, that the Illusion of knowledge is far more dangerous than Ignorance itself.

The Incoherence of The Incoherence

2010-12-16T22:50:00.018+02:00

Disclaimer: This post reflects the sole opinions of the author, who's living in Amman, and can be found in the same house he's been living in since 1976, near Al Rasheed Police Station, in case someone would like him to have a cup of coffee with them.

I'm using the title of Averroes' book, as the title to this post due to the striking resemblance between the dialectic method of thought we've been using for the past 60 0dd years, in which we refer every collective achievement to a supreme entity called the Royal Court, to a point where it seems that some among us have reached a degree of devout faith that would have them swear by their unborn children, that like we are created for the sole purpose of God's worship, we're Jordanian for the sole purpose of service to, and by the grace of, the higher entity called the Royal Court.

I've been observing -not so silently- the circus Jordan has become in the past 10 years, from the sale of the people's collective properties to foreign investors, to the not so covert transformation the Jordanian Army has gone through from an army that fought and captured Jerusalem in 1948, to an army of mercenaries; a gun for hire in the Congo, Haiti and other God forsaken areas where poor members of the Armed Forces compete rabidly to be chosen among the select few who are sent to Cholera and HIV infested regions to guard diamond mines owned by ethnic-cleansing war criminals in the jungles of Africa and/or the Caribbean, to the childishly too enthusiastic calls for youth participation in the parliamentary elections through the X-Factor style campaign called "سمّعنا صوتك", which has gone with the wind after the disillusioned people -young and old- went ahead with their polished voices/votes and well kept ID cards with the electorate district stamped on them, and participated in their constitutional right in the building of the Democratic Jordan, which can be stripped off at will, as it is stated in our constitution; section 3, of Article 34.

I'm a kind of person who calls a spade a spade, I did when I was a representative of the government through posts on this very blog during the past 4 years, and now that I'm relieved -really relieved- from that moral burden, I shall be even more candid, and more straight to the point. We are a bunch of hypocrites, all of us, in varying degrees, including myself, and we would waive our collective rights at the sight, smell or sound of a hint of personal gain, it's the dogma of being Jordanian.

Jordan is not a nation-state, whether we like it or not, our existence is a mere coincidence of history, we're surviving as a proxy nation through foreign aid, much of which is embezzled, and our long-term survival has long been questioned, but we're contributing towards that end with our selfish and foolish policies, the ones that do not look beyond the noses of whomever decides them, as long as they secure instant personal financial or political gain, and where everything is open to negotiating, from public property to sovereignty.

I cannot make the comparison with Egypt or Iraq for example, as both -despite the dire state they're in- both in the political and economic meaning of the word, both are eaten with the rust of financial, political and social corruption, but both are Nations, they've existed for millennia and passed through the hands of all kinds of rulers; fair and folly, and have always risen from their own aches. Jordan isn't a nation -in the anthropological meaning of the term-, it is the southern part of the Levant; and its people is part of the genetic and social mosaic of that region; it was, and will go back to that geopolitical state, sooner or later, the Political entity of Jordan was created under the premise of being the spearhead to the liberation of Syria from the Ottomans in the early 1920s, that project was aborted right there and then, with the implementation of Sykes-Picot.

We're all Syrian; Historically, Ethnically and Culturally, and our Jordanianism is a source of pride. In my case; when my grandparents sought refuge from being massacred in Palestine, this land was their saviour and shelter, but my Jordan has become a one-stop shop, not the Jordan my forefathers, on both sides of my family across both banks of the Jordan lived, fought, and died in and for.

The people is the source of all authorities, it is so stipulated in the constitution's article 24, it's either that, or it's not anything, the people in Jordan is a source for funds, we're the helpless child on a beggar's shoulder with which charity and compassion is appealed, an audience, co-signers and/or garantuers to corruption, a group of extras without which, no overt or covert theft on the grandest scales would be possible, we're all guilty of conspiring against each other, and we're the first to be tried and executed, and the "few good men" always come out unscaved, chubbier, and more sun-kissed by the day.

The elite of the Jordanian society –which theoretically should be made of the middle class and should represent the engine of the social and economic movement of the society- has grown beyond that role both socially and economically- and has endeavoured into a marriage of money and power with the blessing of the powers that be. As this relationship matured through the past few years beyond any stoppable force, it became alien to its original roots of private interest-free public service; and with that unnatural evolution, it re-shaped itself into several interconnecting bubbles, more like the Olympic rings of private interests, each bubble works independently but will protect the existence of all the other bubbles, as any disturbance to one would disturb the rest, while those outside all these bubbles; and make up the backbone of the society, have no control over anything, so they just go about earning their daily bread, literally, because that's where their sole interest lies.

The most recent example of the above "Rapprochement" was the "payback" the government received through the record-setting vote of confidence from the parliament, which in fact was a cross section of the kind of relationship the legislative and executive authorities have, which defies even the imagination of one of the most sarcastic novelists of the 20th century; George Bernard Shaw, when he so eloquently noted that "A government that robs Peter to pay Paul can always depend on the support of Paul".

Jordan is becoming a failed state, with the emergence of increasingly powerful parallel ruling families, we all think it, few dare say it, and the closing time is soon, unless God -or whomever is looking out for children, trees and animals- graces us with mercy, and we've all found it convenient to act in a Don Quixote style of schizophrenic madness and take it out on each other through wolves in sheep skin pointless perceptions called ethnic or tribal backgrounds, fighting amongst ourselves in vanity, conceit and foolish egotism, while in fact, we all -except the chosen few- are the losers.

God Save us All.

ريت المنايا اللي تجي يا سلامة

2010-12-08T01:05:00.009+02:00

حينَ كانَ الأردنُ بريئاً، وكانت الأرض مِلكاً للفقراء، لا إقطاعياتٍ للشركاتِ، ولا مالاً سائِباً يتقاسمُهُ أصحابُ الدولةِ والمعالي والعطوفةِ والسعادة -إلى آخر الألقاب الزائفة- قُطّاعٍ الطرقِ المحترمين، يًنهَبُ ويُباعُ بِليل، كُنّـا

تهنئة من الأعماق

2010-11-10T14:33:00.007+02:00

أنيس وبدر والعائلة، توم سوير وصديقه هاااك والمجرم إنجنجو ، السيدة ملعقة والدكتور نعمان والأبناء شرشور وفرفور وزعبور والعم رحمون والأبناء سنان وبنان ولالا، الأصدقاء غرندايزر وفيغا وساسوكي، أبناء العم سندباد وعلي بابا والعم علاء الدين وياسمينة، سبع المدهش وعقيلته رومي الجميلة، واللاعب كمال نسيم واللاعب رياض واللاعب دبّوس يهنؤون الأخ والعم والصديق العزيز

حميدو شامل

بمناسبة فوزه في الإنتخابات النيابية بهدفين نظيفين ويتمنون له رحلة سعيدة وبالرفاه والبنين وإنا لله وإنا إليه راجعون، وبهذه المناسبة، يهدي كل من عدنان ولينا والطفل عبسي الأغنية التالية لجميع الفائزين وحظاً أوفر للذين لم يحالفهم الحظ في السحوبات القادمة

Beirut

2010-04-14T11:38:00.000+03:00

Some cities have an aura of warmth; an ancient prayer that echos against their walls as time passes, possessing you as it repossesses its reign over your sense of being, as you become an extra in their big show of eternal pre-existence.

I just got back from Beirut, or Beyrouth as she's known to her offspring, and despite my overt confession of the superiority of Amman to all other cities, despite her intellectual drought and barren lineage, Beirut takes over you, with her ancient post modern charm and subtle madness. There was a fresh juice vendor outside where I stayed in Hamra, with his humble cart and incredible resemblance to Iraq's Tariq Aziz, and for the few mornings I was there, he got me used to a cool cup of fresh orange juice, and despite our short lived acquaintance; I got a sense of his noble poverty, one of pride, without prejudice.

Cities have souls, and they remain young and playful like two lovers exchanging glances across a room full of strangers, even if their faces show signs of aging; Beirut has a mysterious charm, one I don't long for, but whenever I experience, I miss, like a love I've not yet experienced but know of its hypnotic effect.

The Mental Trips of Sinbad

2010-03-15T03:10:00.001+02:00

Human experience is like an ancient work of mosaic; small pieces of colored rock, which on their own have no value whatsoever other than their colorful identity, but when they're conjoined to one another, they create a lasting work of art called our lives. The small pieces of rock come to life with their simple representation of human trace, a bloodstain of a one time existence, an assertion of being.

Sometimes, the simplest, most obvious realization of existence comes through a mirror; an actual one or one which reflects within the human mind, and sometimes, we need to see our own reflection to truly believe that we're right there, and that despite our dissolve and submergence in our oceans of perceived realities, we really do leave a trace of our humanity behind, a heartbeat of sorts that echoes like a reflection off a mirror within our chests and beyond to tell us we're alive, the most important part in this process is to hear your own echo, and see your own reflection, before seeking to be heard and seen.

Deus Vult

2010-01-07T23:55:00.000+02:00

In July of the year 1187, the holy city of Jerusalem was about to be recaptured from the crusaders, ending an 88 year occupation of the city, and heralding the collapse of foreign occupation of the Levant, and Jerusalem in particular, for the following 700 years.

I've been reading about the siege of Jerusalem by Saladin, prior to its liberation in October of 1187, and among what I came across, was the chronicles of a crusader squire (arms bearer) called Ernoul, in which he describes the scene in the last days of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, as it lay besieged by Saladin, days before the battle for it began, resulting in its subsequent surrender and liberation.

In the chronicles, Ernoul declared that "…Our Lord did not deign to hear the prayers or noise that was made in the city. For the stench of adultery, of disgusting extravagance and of sin against nature would not let their prayers rise to God."

Eight hundred and twenty three years later, and as history tends to repeat itself in words as in actions, Jerusalem is occupied again, and Ernoul's account of the reasons for crusader defeat and downfall, seems to be fit to repeat, as he speaks in French, from beyond his grave -wherever that may be- describing the reasons for his one time conquerors' defeat and downfall.

إِنَّ اللهَ لا يُغَيِّـرُ مَا بِقَومٍ حَتَّىٰ يُغَيِّـرُوا مَا بِـِأنفُسِهم وَإِذَا أَرَادَ اللهُ بِقَومٍ سُوءًا فَلا مَرَدَّ لَهُ وَمَا لَهُم مِّن دُونِهِ مِن وَالٍ

"Allah changeth not the condition of a folk until they (first) change that which is in their hearts; and if Allah willeth misfortune for a folk there is none that can repel it, nor have they a defender beside Him"

Emilia

2009-10-22T19:57:00.000+03:00

About a month ago, I visited an acquaintance who was staying in a London hospital for a medical procedure, and as I was leaving, I decided to check out the children's ward, out of sheer curiosity.

I was able to go as far as the playroom, which had a large window looking into the hall, where I stood to watch kids at play, despite the curious looks from the nurse across from me. A little girl with thinning blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes was combing the hair of a doll, an amazing irony of sorts. The little girl looked at me, smiled and waved before hiding behind her doll, I smiled and waved back at her, she came out of the playroom, grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, where her mother sat in the corner smiling and telling me that Emilia seems to have liked me, despite my puzzlement of the reason!

I visited Emilia every few days, I had imaginary tea with her using her little tea set, her eyes would shine every time I reached into my pocket and brought out candy or lollipops, and when I promised her to get her a nice present if she behaves and takes her medicine like she's supposed to, her smile filled the room as she nodded in a sincere manner reassuring me of her commitment to our little agreement, sometimes I would stay late at work and she'd already be asleep by the time I got there; she always slept hugging a brown teddy bear with a pink bow tie.

Emilia had been in remission from cancer for the past few months. Last Sunday, she suddenly fell into a coma, I saw her last Tuesday, and she looked as if she was taking a nap, with her brown teddy bear smiling at her side.

Emilia left this earth yesterday aged 5, and for the short time I knew her, I knew an angel who passed my way; smiled, waved, and grabbed my hand into heaven.

F

2009-10-06T22:24:00.000+03:00

There are moments in one's life, when the perceived self reliance and independence that drives you into moving forward and upwards is tested with a sudden and extreme state of cluelessness, one that wakes up the little boy in you; the one who's lost in a big market with teary eyes in search for the ultimate reassurance; a mother's face and touch.

Today, I had that very same overwhelming feeling, and despite the vanity of the reason, the instinctive search for that reassurance ignited a weird and bitter kind of sadness, at myself, and at she whose reassuring voice -due to the physical and geographical impossibility of a more intimate kind- caused a big lump in my throat, as I acted like the big boy I should be, and as I sought shelter in her warmth, despite the fair London weather.

I miss her, despite her proverbial proximity. And tonight, I need her reassuring smile, gaze and touch, rather than her reassuring sad velvet voice; the one that speaks volumes of her unimaginable love, care and affection to her only son.

A day away from her, is a lifetime away from Heaven.

I love you.

Underneath The Lemon Tree..

2009-09-09T21:56:00.000+03:00

One of the wonders of the human mind, is its capability to explore the behavioural discourse of emotions, an attempt to understand one's own self, and in doing so, removing the proverbial blindfold over one's mind, and pursuing greater understanding of our place in this infinite universe.

There are two seemingly independent emotions: Sadness, and Anger, yet both are probably created from the same seed, but their path of growth takes them in separate directions. You see, Sadness; is a reaction of the soul to an exterior action; from someone or something that is perceived to be superior; a loved one who's been granted that superior status in our emotions to other people who have less influence over our emotional structure, like passers by outside our door, or; something that holds high regard in our hearts and minds: a job, a material possession, in which case it is transformed as it matures into a 3rd emotion; disappointment, and makes its own path of emotional discourse.

Anger on the other hand, is a reaction to something that's perceived to be inferior. The behavioural discourse of anger is a physical or verbal show of force, an attempt to assert our own superior status against another in an argument, or to shield our feeling of inferiority through a Don Quixote fashioned exercise of force, a subconscious attempt to substitute our genuine feeling of defeat; both collective, and individual, An attempt to convince ourselves and our surroundings of the virtue of this choice of reactionist emotion, in acheiving a mini satisfaction which gives us the illusion of victory in this man eat man world.

Although, and since one is exploring human behaviour, and trying to reach one's own peace, Sadness is a more positive emotion, despite its negative discourse, as it's directed within, unlike anger which is an outward emotion directed towards others, and seeks satisfaction in vengeance. Sadness lends delicacy to emotions, as it cleanses the soul from its perceived wrongs as it involves a feeling of guilt, a correction mechanism of the soul, an instinctive attempt to make it more susceptible to good, more accepting and forgiving, and ultimately, more patient, and in doing so, reaching an inner satisfaction that's felt but not desplayed, as it results in getting closer to the soul's original nature of rejecting injustice, abuse and offence; against one's self and others, which is, at the end; the ultimite wisdom of all.

"الحكمة ضالة المؤمن فحيث وجدها فهو أحق بها"

حديث شريف

Ya Msa7arni

2009-08-28T21:41:00.001+03:00

There's a msa7arati who passes by our neighbourhood every night, I've noticed him a few years ago as he began this annual tradition of reminder of the immanent dawn; his subtle call for the dormant to seek God in those moments of temporal obscurity, before the thin thread of light crosses paths with darkness as it sweeps it away like spilled milk on dark marble.

He passes by every single night, almost at the same time, as if his choreographed appearance was part of a play that's been showing for decades; he's grown aware of the art of timing, and the importance of being in the right place at the right time, a philosophical exercise of movement and intellect, a predestined commitment of sorts.

Sometimes, it takes a passing drummer to wake up our numb conscience, the one that became comfortable with its idle existence and stationary presence; That passing drummer who's set out on a journey of awakening, wakes up more that bodies and minds. Sometimes; he wakes up souls that have been lying in slumber for millennia, unaware of their potential, not in the material world of gain and loss, but in the world of the unearthly pleasures of contentment; giving, and forgiving.

The msa7arati still passes by every night, but this year; I'm already awake and seeking God's guidence, as he makes his way to tomorrow.

Ramadan Kareem.

On Greater Israel, Politics, and Ideology

2009-07-24T15:49:00.000+03:00

"Jabotinksy was not wrong, Mr. President. He is relevant today more than any other time in our nation's history." source.

The above statement, was made by the speaker of the Israeli Parliament, Likud party member Reuven Rivlin, on Tuesday, in response to Peres' remark about Ze'ev Jabotinsky's dream of establishing a Jewish state on both banks of the river Jordan being "too big".

Revisionsit Zionism is more alive today, than it's ever been, and the current Israeli leadership, is ideologically influenced by Jabotinsky's doctrine of the inevitability of the creation of a Jewish state on both banks of the Jordan. Netanyahu's Father, Benzion Netanyahu, was Jabotinsky's secretary, he's still his son's top "unofficial" adviser, and the source of his right wing ideology, while the ideology of the Likud -of which the prime minister of Israel is the leader- is an extension of the ideology of Herut, despite their later divorce in the aftermath of the Wye River agreements of 1998.

The current Knesset includes more right wing zionist zealots than ever before, with the distribution of seats among Likud: 27, Yisrael Beitenu, which is led by currant Foreign Minister, and former nightclub bouncer Avigdor Lieberman and holds 15 seats, Shas: 11, United Torah Judaism aka Yehudut HaTora: 5, and The National Union, which is a coalition of smaller right wing parties and movements including Moledet, Hatikva which is headed by non other than Aryeh Eldad the guy who brought forward the proposal for considering Jordan as the Palestinian state, which passed with the support of 53 members, including Labour Party ministers Ehud Barak, Benjamin Ben-Eliezer, and Yitzhak Herzog in its preliminary reading. The bill is set to go before the Knesset's foreign affairs and defense committee. The other 2 factions are Eretz Yisrael Shelanu, and Tkuma, and between them they hold 4 seats. source. So to sum it up, 62 seats out of the 120 seat legislature and representative of the will of the Israeli people, are held by parties openly or covertly advocating either a forced transfer of Palestinians to Jordan, or to a more extremest degree, the including of the land east of the river Jordan in the Jewish state, according to ideological/religious beliefs.

We'd be stupid, if we ever believe that the peace treaty we have with Israel is our guarantee of peace, and that it forever sealed Israel's ambitions of expansionism to the east, we'd also be stupid if we believe for one second that the sudden recurrence -inside Jordan and outside- of the idea of transfer/substitute homeland/extension to the land of Israel is a coincidence or a mere seasonal flu like symptom. We've been celebrating national occasions and holding hollow consumerist cultural festivals for the past couple of months while statements regarding our very existence have been flying off the scale, what's weird though, is that Shimon Peres himself expressed what should've been a Jordanian response, made by the highest possible Jordanian official, in public, rather than the shallow textbook replies we've heard from the government, when we had the 9th president of Israel, say that: "The Palestinian problem is to be solved with the Palestinians on Palestinian land and not at the expense of any other party" source, and I suggest you read through the comments made on the Ha'aretz website in response to this statement, to get an idea of the average Israeli stance on the matter.

Furthermore, we've suddenly discovered that there are Arab citizens of Israel, who'd like to visit their relatives in Jordan, and 15 years after the peace treaty, we've decided to make it easier for them to do so by waiving the visa requirement from All Israeli passport holders, Arabs and Jews, those who don't mind an Independent Jordan, and those who want it to be part of Greater Israel. The recent "rumors" about the planned purchase of lands in Jordan by organizations and people active in the Jewish settlement movement, not to mention the barring of entry to an Israeli who planned to hold a Jewish prayer somewhere in Jordan add an interesting twist to the whole relations with Israel matter.

Israel's political map is constantly evolving, and is constantly taking a right turn with its political ideology while looking East for its next move; Right wing Israeli political parties are having a field day with the average Israeli electorate, despite the traditionally leftest domination of the Israeli political scene for decades, fiercely marketing among them the zionist patriotic package of the existential necessity for the realization of the dreams and plans of the founding fathers who brought the ancient dream of a Jewish homeland into reality, by telling them that if the Israel of the future is to survive, Jabotinsky has to be revived beyond his grave, and his "vision" has to find believers, and executors. This power hungry marketing is particularly successful amongst the community of former Soviet Union immigrants, who are seeking assertion of their Jewish identity through right wing zionist ideology. What's important for us though, is to be mindful of the fact that like any cancer cell in the body, it becomes more aggressive if it found little or no resistance from the body's immune system. Common sense tells us that if the immune system is weak and oblivious to the planned and immanent spread, while the body is feeding its narcissism in exterior by posing in a Hercules-like posture in front of a mirror, it will find itself fighting a losing battle within its corners; one which would end sooner than one could imagine, or indeed expects.

The statement made by the speaker of the Knesset, about Jabotinsky being more relevant today than any time before in Israel's history, is worthy of a collective Jordanian pause, ponder and parry, away from the Hercules-like posture we make, and enjoy looking at in the mirror.

On Collective Free Will, or Lack Thereof

2009-07-20T15:15:00.000+03:00

Nas of the Black Iris of Jordan has posed a question on his blog about whether we ‎Jordanians decide our fates, and I'm glad to answer that question with a simple No. ‎

We've gotten used to the idea of passive participation in society, out of fear of ‎‎"Authority" or mere indifference to what goes around us, and the former can and in ‎many cases did lead to the latter. But why are we passive? We've grown accustomed to ‎the tribal idea of the collective father figure who decides what's best for us, and we oblige ‎out of "loyalty". The father figure was reincarnated in the government, which ‎decides what the tribe/people's best interest is and acts accordingly. ‎

Society is a living organism, this is what French sociologist Emile ‎Durkheim suggests, and he explains that the relationship between the elements of ‎any society; Family, Law..etc, are examined as they interact with each other as well as ‎other elements to achieve social needs, which eventually function into the stability and ‎survival of the society, much like any living organism, including humans.‎

The problem with our society is that despite it being a living organism in the ‎anthropological meaning of the argument, it actually lacks the tools of free interaction ‎with other elements; And if we want to call things by their names, I'd explain that our ‎freedoms are deficient; people have the right to protest, but their protest has to be ‎licensed, or else their exercise of their right to protest would be deemed illegal, and the most recent example of this was the protest which took place outside ‎the ministry of Agriculture a few weeks ago. On the other side of the coin, The ‎Parliament; the supposed representative of the will of the people isn't representing the ‎people anymore, I'm not even sure it ever did, at least in the past 10 years or so, besides ‎the way it's elected in the first place, and we've all seen the latest episodes of the war of ‎attrition between the parliament and the press, two of the most important pillars of any ‎country's social conscience. ‎

Now the buck should stop at the members of the civil society, NGOs and other ‎institutions in the broader social scene, but those, as the black iris observed, are based on ‎a select group of people, who end up patronising the rest of the society with their elitist ‎approach to social activism. And in many cases, the members of those NGOs and civil ‎society institutions are in one way or another connected to non civil society institutions, ‎which voids their attempt to balance the scale of social interaction between the ‎government and the rest of the society from its point.‎

Whether we accept it or not, ours is a pastoral society, The Pastor -in his many forms- ‎directs us towards our best interest and we gladly follow, we've had attempts to grow up, ‎but we haven't figured out a way to do it yet, out of frustration from our failure or our tribal ‎loyalty to the pastor, and until both the pastor and the flock understand that they both ‎belong to the very same farm; bearing in mind George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”; Until we ‎establish that All are equal, and that some aren’t more equal than others, our control of our ‎fates will be deficient, as will our control of our country’s fate.‎

On a different note, today marks the 40th anniversary of the Moon Landing, and to celebrate the ‎occasion, here's a song for you.

On The Culture, in Agriculture!

2009-07-06T14:01:00.000+03:00

I've written before, that some among us have the characteristics of schizophrenic behaviour, and then, I was referring to the media.

Today, I'm actually wondering if this schizophrenic behaviour, is more common than I had already believed. I'm aware of the state's responsibility to keep "civil peace", with all the authoritarian toned rhetoric this statement entails, but facing unarmed protesters with wooden sticks reflects the very much alive martial law mentality, a patronizing and condescending belief in the ultimate virtue of the state against a "hidden ill willed enemy" among us, with a predetermined intention of confronting peaceful protests with force.

There has to be an enlightened approach to dealing with people's protests, the constant use of batons and tear gas here and there is a sign of weakness. People have the right to protest, and almost all the time theirs are peaceful protests until the police interferes. Bashing people's heads and faces is a childish defence, people have rights, they're not sheep, even if some believe and behave like they are. An enlightened approach to "security" has to be taken, away from the rusty old culture of rooting fear in people's hearts, and making an example of some, so that the rest wouldn't do the same.

We all care about Jordan; and I dare to say that those protesters outside the ministry of Agriculture care about Jordan more than many of us do, as their motives aren't driven by a government salary, a high ranking order or a promise of promotion, they are citizens who have decided to make their voice heard, and face the proverbial music on behalf of 5 million other Jordanians, who refuse to chip in and fund the Israeli economy, and in more ways than one, finance the killing of Palestinians, as they finance the killing of our own Agriculture.

The official nonchalant conduct regarding this matter though, makes me think that there's more to this than meets the eye, and if we dig out the names of the "importers", I'm pretty sure we'd be very much disappointed but not at all surprised.

Jordan: A Continuous Learning Experience

2009-06-20T01:49:00.000+03:00

In Arabic grammar, there are certain types of grammatical idioms which explain the nature of that idiom in terms of its position within the sentence. One interesting idiom is "الإسم المنقوص" which roughly means the Imperfect/Deficient/Defective noun.

In Jordan, we love to provide first hand educational experiences; and in this case, we have many examples of the above mentioned idiom. These include, but are not limited to the following words and their practical uses: Parliament, Press, Privileges, Political Parties, Professionalism, and Public interest.

In political theory, there are Three estates in a modern nation, the 4th of course is the Press, which is independent, and plays the role of watchdog over the other three. In Jordan, however, we've managed to create an interconnected and interdependent system that guarantees success and failure at the same time, an ingenious evolution from conventional political thought.

The 4th estate is at the throat of the 2nd, the 2nd is at the throat of the 4th but none the less enjoying the privileges bestowed upon it by the 1st to facilitate the smooth passage of favourable legislation and the prevention of the "evil eye of envy". Some among the 4th are enjoying the "privileges" bestowed upon them by either some among the 1st, or some among the 2nd, or if they're lucky both, and the wheel keeps turning and providing valuable lessons to citizens and tourists alike, The 3rd of course is independent, so let's leave it at that.

Jordan: Think Big.

Jordan's Electronic Media: Free Speech or Tool for National Schism

2009-06-12T23:31:00.000+03:00

I've been reading the ongoing duels between those who call for a "Jordan for Jordanians", and those who oppose that theory based on their understanding of the Jordanian national identity, and it all seems normal considering these conversations were always made, albeit behind closed doors or in lowered voices.

My problem isn't with the arguments themselves, as it's a healthy phenomenon, when made in good faith, which is also relative, depending on who's judging, but I tend to see a pattern of facilitation and ease of access, from Jordan's electronic media, for these quarrels to be hosted on their platforms, followed by another facilitation of commenting, to a degree we're not used to, considering the relatively low freedom of speech threshold on those same websites, where the word "نعتذر" is the most popular "substitute" comment.

I'm wondering why these quarrels are allowed to be published on what are considered Jordan's mainstream electronic media, namely ammoun and rum, both have published Nahid Hattar's latest intellectual excursion, as well as his earlier mental trips, and both allowed all sorts of colorful comments to be published, including those which carry explicit or implicit ethnic slurs. One has so far published a reply to Hattar's latest article, and again the comments were allowed, and took the shape of attacking the writer -regardless of whether one agrees with him or not- by attacking his background, taking him -and us all- back to September 1970's events, and preparing us -subconsciously- to a similar classification, that might lead to worse, if it's not stopped, what's interesting though, is that Hattar's reply to the comments made on his article on ammoun, was disallowed from comments itself; A schizophrenic exercise of the freedom to "reply".

I'm baffled by these websites and I'm questioning their innocence and that of their editors -or those behind them- in their fully aware intent of feeding tensions between Jordanians, I'm also baffled by the total paralysis of the onetime strong grip of official censorship. I know we're well into the 21st century, and that censorship is a trace of the distant past -or so we're told-, but being selective in what to censor, and what to allow, whether by accident or by choice, is something that needs to be addressed by those who are in charge, in the government, in the -so called- parliament, and in the media, online and off, certainly when it comes to the publication and/or circulation of material that abuses the right of expression and enervates national unity.

Any reform has to begin with addressing national identity first, once and for all, those who oppose the diversity of the Jordanian national identity, have to accept it; or choose another one that feeds their chauvinistic ambitions, and those who don't accept the Jordanian national identity to be their primary, also have to accept it; or choose another one, and that choice is available and possible, courtesy of the PNA. We're a people that has become one family, in the literal meaning of the word, even if some among us try to exercise their "ethnic purity" in the Nazi fashion, we're not "ethnically pure", none of us is, and our purity lies in our diversity, that's how Jordan was created, and that's how it should stay, for the sake of our children; All of them.

Update: it seems that I spoke too soon, as both articles in ammoun were removed, the one in rum is still there though, the quarrels remain, and the aim behind publishing the articles in the first place, was achieved.

On The Wisdom of Pain

2009-06-10T12:49:00.000+03:00

It's strange how when one is sick, you can literally feel yourself out of your body, it becomes a foreign entity even to you, you have no control over what aches when, and with every breath you take, your physical pain compliments an ancient pain you feel every once in a while.

You look in the mirror and see a stranger who carries traits of familiarity, not someone you are, but someone you know, and the mirror becomes your window on that world within your own eyes; you try to interpret that gaze but your attempts fail as the physical pain distracts you into giving it all your attention, a self-made conspiracy against yourself.

They say sickness is a blessing as it washes away sins, a reward for patience over malady, a predetermined gift for being ungrateful, and God's mercy is so great it even rewards you with a soft punishment within you, one that makes you pause and think, lest you forget that your worst enemy is within yourself. Don't let your enemy free.

On The Palestine in Mind (BAPD)

2009-05-15T12:14:00.000+03:00

This is my first Blog about Palestine Day post, and as I honor it, I honor the memory of past generations of my family: those who lived and died in Palestine, and those who despite leaving it forever physically; never really did, nor did she leave them.

My Palestine is a promised land; to me, not to those who claim it by divine intervention or historic precedence proven with systemic ethnic cleansing, it's a promise I bear in my blood cells, in my genes, despite the time and space between us, the borders and soldiers that separate us, and despite her forced estrangement from her offspring. But like all mothers, she instinctively recognizes her children; from their gaze, their smile, and their ancient pride, even if they never saw her face; the one made to wear a hundred and one masks of foreign identities, to hide her angelic beauty.

I've always felt, even believed in a romantic mythological way, that my father's family, like all families upon their forced mass exodus from Palestine, had their collective baptism in the Jordan as they crossed East, an accidental but none the less willed blessing from a God whose compassion and wisdom surpasses our own comprehension and understanding, He blessed them in their time of misery, and in their patient hope of eventual return, promising them inner peace; a peace I saw in the eyes of my grandparents, as they grew older, wiser, and more patient.

My Palestine never was a political game of affinity, but rather a loyalty of blood, like mine to Jordan, as the blood that runs through me is like the River Jordan, running through one land. I never saw myself as one or the other, I'm both, and they unite in me, like they do in millions, and any chauvinistic attempt to separate me from myself, from one side or the other, is an attempt to kill me, as I'll never split in two, even if some among us have split personalities, making foes of family, and warriors of windmills, chasing shadows of imaginary enemies that only exist within them, neither side belongs to them, nor they to either.

As I mark this day of displacement, I honor people who died in their fight to prevent the replacement of peace with peril, and right with might; young and old: Palestinians, Jordanians, Arabs, Muslims and Christians, who believed that this Holy Land is where the heart should lay, where the head should rest; Forever. And where their lives began as they ended, surrounded by angels in flight and prophets in worship, confirming that Palestine is not a relic of a distant past; but a Future as certain as sunrise after darkness and sunshine after rain, and declaring with heavenly praise, that the noun "Palestinian"; will never refer to an extinct existence, but one as constant and enduring as time itself.

And as I mark this day of displacement, I remember those who witnessed it, and lived it until they passed: the little girl who was old enough to be my grandmother, and her rock; my grandfather. And for them both, and with them, their Palestine and mine; I recite a prayer.

On The Hidden Laws of Probable Outcome

2009-03-27T16:23:00.000+03:00

Sometimes, I tend to see life as a train ride, you travel across valleys and plains, stopping at stations along the way, meeting new people, strangers who might become friends, and friends who might have become strangers.

What amazes me most, is how strangers become acquaintances, and how acquaintances become strangers; a philosophical loop, that explores the edges of human behaviour, and defies even the simplest rational discourse of reason, but that's one of the wonders of humanity, to say the least.

When you're somewhere you've never been before, it's like people living there were imaginary until you got there, they didn't exist to you until you really felt their existence, until you saw them with your own eyes, heard them with your own ears, even smelled and touched their surroundings with your own nose and hands, even if you knew of their actual existence through other -non imaginary- people to you. But until that moment of time, when the imaginary crosses paths with the actual, and through it, the stranger crosses the thin line to becoming familiar, until that rendez-vous of realities, the two independent worlds of existence are nothing but possible interpretations of actual being, with the influence of imagination, which shapes them the way we please, rather than the way they really are.

London, to me was an imaginary place, until I went there, Paris was as well, until I stood on top of the Eiffel tower, and strolled along the river Seine, and listened to that beautiful French music coming out of those small cafés. Even Amman has an imaginary side, as it's full of strangers, who despite their apparent familiarity are nothing but imaginary passers by, alongside my train ride, as they go in the opposite direction, to their own "somewhere yet unknown".

The interesting twist is that, even if this rendez-vous of realities turns out to be just a short stop at a foreign station along the train ride to somewhere yet unknown; life goes on, and that process of transformation: from stranger to acquaintance to stranger again, that round trip, would in turn become closer to an act of imagination, as time passes, even if it was very real -according to all the laws of physics- due to its short lifespan, and the striking example of this, is the life of a butterfly, which has a lasting effect on everything and everyone in its surrounding, but not a long enough life to prove its one-time existence, it's a corollary relationship of the purest form.

The train ride of life marches on though, taking you somewhere else, to make other strangers who still don't exist to you, possibly the most familiar people in your coming life; the one still unknown to you, to the point of it being as imaginary as that passing butterfly. Those, my friends; are the hidden laws of probable outcome; and we all, live by them.

My -that- Jordan

2009-03-12T12:14:00.000+02:00

My way of celebrating Jordan hasn't changed much since I posted about it on the first Blog about Jordan Day last year, but this year, I'm wondering why Jordan seems to age much faster than it should, as signs of early dementia are creeping into the collective psyche.

See Jordan, isn't a cabinet position, and loyalty to Jordan, shouldn't be measured by how many government positions are held by a clan, a city, or a cardinal direction. Jordan isn't a farm, not a principality, it's not a bank or an ATM machine, not a supermarket, not a postcard, it's not a hotel, and it certainly isn't a never ending chain of intellectual experiments, I'll leave the corresponding examples to each category to your board game leisurely pleasure.

I'm still seeing those children celebrating the opening of new shiny schools on the edge of the desert with state of the art internet connections and brand new computers, but with no running water in their own homes; and yet, their minds and hearts only belong to that desert, and her secrets. I still see the little girl in a small village combing her hair into pigtails and walking to school every day, and in her sleep dreams of living in the distant utopia called Amman; and in the morning, lilies bloom in her path as it's blessed with her daily pilgrimage, and her eyes brighten up at the sight of the flag waving over her school. I still see people in transit, their belonging is subject to the fashionable -yet failed- rules of the market, and despite their apparent -elaborate- physical existence, those are invisible to Jordan, as it is to them, despite their same elaborate physical existence on its soil.

My Jordan isn't that of hesitance or denial, it's not the hollow skeleton of modernity or pragmatism, it's one that knows the value of belonging: to its past, to its present, and to its future. And those -contrary to the modern interpretations of old theories- aren't subject to special prices or two for one offers, as nature teaches us that the highest of all trees, is that with the deepest roots, and roots; go in every direction, without looking in a compass.

As it's a celebration of Jordan, I bring you a rare recording of a musical play made in 1977 about the Jordan I know, it's called Birjas; the play and lyrics are by Haider Mahmoud, and the music is by the Lebanese composer Zaki Nasif, with the incorporation of Jordanian folkloric songs and tunes, some of you might recognize a piece among them, or maybe more, Enjoy.

On The Arrogance in Ignorance

2009-02-20T20:39:00.000+02:00

"Turning from the attributes of God to the actions of God, where he delineates his view of creation, Ibn Rushd in his Tahafut al-Tahafut clearly deals with the charge against the philosophers' doctrine on the eternity of the physical universe in his polemic against al-Ghazzali.

Ghazzali perceived that the philosophers had misunderstood the relationship between God and the world, especially since the Qur’an is clear on divine creation. Ghazzali, sustaining the Asharite emphasis on divine power, questioned why God, being the ultimate agent, could not simply create the world ex nihilo and then destroy it in some future point in time? Why did there need to be some obstacle to explain a delay in God’s creative action? In response to this, Ghazzali offered a number of lengthy proofs to challenge the philosopher’s assertions.

Ibn Rushd, merely replied that the "Eternal" works differently than the "Temporal". As humans, we can willfully decide to perform some action and then wait a period of time before completing it. For God, on the other hand, there can be no gap between decision and action; for what differentiates one time from another in God’s mind?

Also, what physical limits can restrict God from acting? Ibn Rushd, in the first discussion, writes about how Ghazzali confused the definition of eternal and human will, making them univocal. For humans, the will is the faculty to choose between two options, and it is desire that compels the will to choose. For God, however, this definition of will is meaningless. God cannot have desire because that would entail change within the eternal when the object of desire was fulfilled. Furthermore, the creation of the world is not simply the choice between two equal alternatives, but a choice of existence or non-existence.

Finally, if all the conditions for action were fulfilled, there would not be any reason for God not to act. God, therefore, being omniscient and omnipotent would have known from the eternal past what he had planned to create, and without limit to his power, there would be no condition to stop the creation from occurring."

This discussion, took place a thousand years ago, in Cordoba, in Arabic, and under the rule of Islam; not the one of negative stereotypes of the 21st century, but that of the virtue of seeking knowledge and enlightenment, even about the nature of God.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The title is not directed at Them Then, but at Us Now.

Jordan and Palestine in The Early 1900s

2009-02-15T15:17:00.000+02:00

I've had some photographs taken in Jordan and Palestine in the early 1900s sitting in a file on my pc for a while, and I've thought of printing them and framing them to hang them at home in Amman, which I will, but I also wanted to hang them on my blog's wall.

The photos were taken in the period between 1900 and 1912 and include photographs of Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Haifa, Nablus, Amman, Jarash, Petra and probably Hebron. You can see the Dome of the Rock, with its dome still made of wood, before it was covered with lead, and later with gold.

Enjoy.

p.s: Try watching it in full screen and in high quality, it's a much nicer mental trip.

إشتقنالك

2009-02-07T15:05:00.000+02:00

On Hope in Change

2009-01-23T00:51:00.000+02:00

The ripple effect of Obama's rise to power is still taking its effect on people around the world, certainly in parts of the world where as one blogger put it, the legacy of the administration of he whose name we shall not mention caused much destitution and pain in the past 8 years.

There's a flare of light within us all, that seeks betterment, to ourselves -in its basic selfish form- and to those in our immediate sphere of existence, and beyond, since their betterment; or its reactions, would reach us in its eventuality, as the idea of 6 degrees of separation suggests.

There's a mysterious power that charges our souls into looking forward to change, even if that change is someone else's; it neither belongs to us nor do we affect it, but the mere feeling of hope in the possibilities of change transcends time and place, and is passed on around the world to be picked up by people whose need for change might even be more acute than that of those causing it.

The hope in change is an underpinning sentiment in human behaviour; people's lives and their fates are often driven by the hope in change, as Hope and Change go hand in hand when the disappointment in the monotony of the present suffocates our free will, even if our free will is tamed willingly under the rules of each and every one's own social contract with the rest of society. And often, Change is what we fear, as the Arab proverb suggests: What -or who- you know is better than what you don't know, a damning thought for repression and surrender to the present tense however frustrating, while Time in turn, in its basic physical state, never seizes to change.

This conclusion is reached as a result of the taming of Hope, the shrinking of the collective outlook of the future due to continuous disappointments in the perceived Hope with every dawning Change in our history, for the better part of the last Millennium. What remains in the end though, is the raw feeling of Hope in Change, anywhere and to anyone; as it sets an example to those among us who are either suspicious, pessimistic, or unwilling to believe in its inevitability, bearing in mind that Change; in its collective form, is only possible when Change in its individual form is achieved.

Um Hasan

2009-01-14T21:30:00.000+02:00

When I was young, there was a lady who used to visit us often, she sometimes baby-sat me and a cousin, she told us stories about her days in a distant place called Gaza, she used to have tears in her eyes every time she mentioned Gaza, as the only good memories of her whole life were between the G and the A of Gaza.

I always wondered why Um Hasan's son; Hasan never showed up, but as I grew older I understood that there was no Hasan, as Um Hasan didn't have any family, the only family she had was my extended family, she felt safe among us, she played the role of the mother to the adults, and grandmother to the children.

Um Hasan was illiterate, but she never told me she were, she helped me with my homework, making me recite poems I had to memorize while she looked in the book as if she was making sure I didn't make mistakes, she couldn't dial the phone as she couldn't read the numbers, but she could tell you the phone numbers of all my aunts and uncles by heart.

Um Hasan never lived to see Gaza "liberated", she never saw it occupied again, and again, She never saw Gaza abandoned again, and again, and probably would've died again and again if she did.

I haven't thought of Um Hasan for more than 10 years, as she passed away in the early 1990s, but today, and without permission, she passed by with her cigarette smoke filling the air, and her stories of beautiful Gaza came to mind. Sometimes, our minds pinch us into remembering people who have had a role in our lives, I recited a prayer for Um Hasan, it was probably the first time anyone thought of her since her passing, how ungrateful we are sometimes.

Um Hasan's name was Jameeleh, and as I remember the smiling face of that Gazan angel, I remember a bruised beauty of sorts, time bruises us like nothing else. But tonight, Um Hasan's face looks like a full moon, to me; the little boy who used to run away every time she tried to kiss me, lighting the cloudy London night, and jumpstarting my numb conscious as my sanity hangs by a thread.

Mi Gaza Es Su Gaza

2009-01-05T22:08:00.000+02:00

I've been pondering the recent events for a while, and as the plane crossed the Palestinian coast as it left Amman on her way to London today, I looked out the window to the far distance, trying to defy my eyesight into reaching the far southern tip of the coast, where people's souls are taking a special stairway to heaven, not the Led Zeppelin song, but one with no closed border crossings or besieged neighbourhoods.

I'm not a fan of pointless blogging, that's probably why I don't blog alot, as I know that when I don't have anything to say, I don't say anything, but I had to think about that stairway to heaven in the distant horizon today, I could swear I saw a band of angels on a cloud, they probably were there to carry the souls of the fallen children onto their homes beneath the walls of the Throne of God, that's where they belong, safe like they never were, or any human will ever be. I saw a little girl with brown hair combed in a pigtail lying in her blood on TV today, she's probably looking at the face of God now, no higher honour can make up for her murder.

They're the living, and we're the dead, Gaza in Arabic means a needle stick, a name synonymous with pain, and pain is the only constant found in Gaza today, but bodily pain can heal, the pain of conscious on the other hand is terminal.

Gaza has a stairway to heaven, I saw it today.

On Days Past

2008-12-11T00:43:00.000+02:00

Bil Zamanat, I used to enjoy walking around Jabal El Weibdeh, which to those not familiar with Amman, is one of the oldest neighbourhoods of the city. I had a very good reason to do so besides the beautiful old houses and narrow winding roads, as a certain blonde was living there, so every summer evening of that July was spent walking around Weibdeh with that tall girl, talking about anything; it didn't really matter what was said as being there and then was the point.

This sudden recollection came as I prepare for another pilgrimage to Amman, the place I miss more when I'm in than when I'm away from; much like the line of ancient Arabic poetry with the same sentiment:

يمـوتُ الهــوى منــّي إذا ما لقـيتُها

ويحيا إذا فارقتـُـها فيعــودُ

But I'm not going to dwell on this as this post is supposed to be as "sunny" as the mid-summer days in Weibdeh, the whole neighbourhood felt like home, even if home was a few miles away, every window in every house felt familiar as if I had actually lived there and looked through it every morning, or roamed around it in my slumber as I walked around it in my sobriety, there was a distinct scent of jasmine, and that scent still runs through me like the blood through my veins, I never smelled anything as beautiful, it was probably the scent of Love, as every emotion has a scent, the same overwhelming love I felt, and now am nostalgic to. Love ages like wine, or cheese if you prefer, it acquires more taste, more interpretations, as one grows older, but one thing remains the same; the memory of days past.

p.s: I saved the world today.

Evolution

2008-11-26T22:31:00.000+02:00

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

And Soon Comes This

The Audacity of Hope: A Reflection

2008-11-06T19:11:00.000+02:00

There's a certain Audacity in Hope, which by the way is a great title of a book by a certain senator named Barack Obama, who just won a certain presidential election. It's the instinctive unwavering adamance in the rectitude of one's discourse in life, through trial and error; conquering one's own prejudice and bigotry before rising above others' antipathy and discouragement. This hope burns within us all, and sometimes it reaches the point of near extinguishment as it fades into subconscious hibernation, only to be woken up again as if it had never faded.

These are the moments of human conquest; they flood us all as we share a moment of overwhelming joy, a joy willed but not expected; not because it's not worthy of fulfilment but because human nature sometimes tends to believe..but doubt, so as if one or the other decides to prove us wrong as it proves us right, we're not shaken into a cocoon of apprehension and malice, as only those who believe that it's either their way..or no way, only those who are intoxicated with the illusion of their own righteousness and the corruption of their opposition, only those..are left behind as humanity moves ahead.

There's a mysterious allurement in Hope, a promise of collective return, oblivious to the rules of time and place, it crosses all boundaries, physical and intellectual, as it penetrates the hardest of walls reaching the heaviest of hearts, uniting people as it offers redemption from grudge and grievance, promising consolidation and acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of difference as a factor of diversity not one of division, it expects acceptance with dignity as it reciprocates both, uniting humans all over the world for a moment in time undeterred by their divided reality, and holding them together with that transparent thread that holds us all: Hope; in Peace, Love and Freedom. And a better, brighter Tomorrow for all humans; in Palestine, in Iraq, in Lebanon, and in all the cities and villages of this planet.

Yes We Can.

معه وبه إنا ماضون

2008-11-01T13:25:00.000+02:00

Today is my 33rd Birthday, and besides the holiday observed around the globe to celebrate it, as it falls on a Saturday, I've decided to share with you one of the greatest reminders of my childhood, as I've had to recite this song all the time when I was in pre school, since I share a certain connection with it.

Some of you might know it, most of you might not, so for the former it will be an interesting blast from the past, and for the latter it will be an interesting introduction, or so I hope.

Enjoy.

The Obamaization of History

2008-10-30T23:18:00.000+03:00

This is the point of view of a non American observer of American politics, and there sure is a lot to see these days, but what makes this election special; both for Americans and non Americans is the possibilities it promises, those remain promises and are not in any way certainties.

But with a man with so many complications; his father was a Muslim Kenyan , his mother was a white Christian American, he has a Muslim middle name but he himself is a Christian, he was accused of having attending a Madrasa or a Muslim religious school when he lived with his mother and step-father in Indonesia, despite the fact that the term Madrasa in the religious aspect of the word has a mental reference to the extremist schools in Afghanistan, and not the mainstream modern Islamic societies, and as a result, his patriotism was, and is questioned like no one's patriotism was ever questioned before, and still, he's the strongest contender to the presidency.

Obama isn't just another candidate, it certainly doesn't seem to be the case from this side of the world, and his election -if it happens- would void the Anti-American sentiment from its premise, as the mere election of a black man, with a Muslim middle name, is a clear proof of the virtue of American democracy, it see's beyond colour, name and creed -or so it would seem- despite the fact that history will always remember the fierce attacks made against him during the presidential campaign.

If he loses, on the other hand, and no matter how fair and accurate that loss is, the world will have more cause for an excuse -no matter how unfair and biased that might be- to the vice of American democracy as it didn't tolerate the election of an unconventional presidential candidate, and again the negative campaign against him would add oil on the already burning fire of doubt, and with it the rift of misrepresentation and misunderstanding would widen, with Obama becoming an embodiment of the idea of the clash of civilizations as it returns to the center stage, with all the demagogues around the world having a victory parade.

I hope Obama wins, for the sake of Ambition, and all that it stands for, The Ambition of people all around the world, and certainly my own, although I have nothing to do with US politics, but the election of Obama would have a domino effect, or a butterfly effect for the sake of a softer portrayal, I hope he wins, not because I think he's the awaited Messiah as the cynics on the opposite side of the fence describe his campaign, or because I think he'll achieve what the previous 20 presidents failed, or overlooked, but because he represents Ambition, the triumph of hard work, and the overcoming of all the odds.

On The Convenience in Ignorance

2008-10-15T12:55:00.000+03:00

They say that the illusion of knowledge is far more dangerous than ignorance itself.

See here's the thing: An Arab isn't necessarily a Muslim. Furthermore; a Muslim isn't necessarily an Arab, but yet again one could be both..or either, or in this case, Neither!

Here's another thing: One could be an Arab and a Muslim, or either..and be a Decent Family Man. Moreover, one could also be both, either or neither, and not be a decent family man.

Try to figure that out with your paranoid little brains!

On The Selfishness in Giving

2008-09-22T22:05:00.000+03:00

They say that the gates of Hell are locked in Ramadan, and that Angels roam the skies and earth delivering God's mercy and His blessings. What brings my sanity that already hangs by a thread to the brink is how some among us use this "season" to promote their "Good doing" when they're shown eating with the poor or delivering groceries to a poor family with flashing cameras and fake smiles of compassion all around.

Ya 3ammi good doesn't need promotion, nor is it a fan of publicity, and if we were to put our selfishness aside for a while -the selfishness of giving on Live Television and the colored pages of newspapers- and think about the dignity of those people who's poverty is hidden with their solid pride and unwavering dignity, we'd be closer to God, Who's mercy is delivered without promotion, and salvation is bestowed without publicity.

Ramadan Kareem.

On the Olympics, Success, and National Pride

2008-08-18T11:28:00.000+03:00

Ya Akhi why do we participate in the greatest sporting competition if we're not really planning to win anything? I can understand the degree of professionalism athletes have worldwide, but that's really the point, being a professional athlete is the road to winning in any competition, certainly the Olympic games, and it's not like you find out 20 minutes before it starts, you've got 4 freaken years to prepare! See the Olympic games are politics wearing shorts, raising national flags and playing national anthems, it's a show of force, albeit soft.

Maybe it's not fair to blame the athletes themselves, as they're just the executors, but failure is a domino effect, so is success, we're just used to failure, as we give it a fatalistic attribute, rather than the product of our mentality. Zimbabwe, one of the poorest most failed states in the world has already won 4 medals.

One last note, notice how the leading countries in the Madel count are all "nation states", national pride is the driving force for success, in politics, sports and everything in between, and it's not an achievement to waltz down the track with the flag at the opening ceremony if that's the only thing you do, once every 4 years.

Saudade

2008-07-30T16:11:00.000+03:00

Remember Eve? She still comes to mind, less often than before, but as certain memories are triggered with scent, sound or season, Eve's memory is triggered by all Three, and today all three got together and flooded me like a sudden Tsunami, and swept me off to a distant time and place, funny how time catches up with you sometimes, even if you try to evade its border patrol! So today I was an illegal alien in the land of Eve, I wondered around and visited the Forbidden City, strolled in the narrow streets of Time, and watched people walk by, as time and place froze for a fraction of a second.

Eve is somewhere else though, and her scent is complimenting the season that sounds with birdsong wherever she goes, and where lilies bloom as she walks by. I'm still spellbound by her charm/curse, even after I've taken the antidote and thought I was healed, but some illnesses are persistent, they invade you and refuse to withdraw their forces even if you declare resistance; both armed and passive, whichever you decide to wage first.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand! "To Qwaider and Maioush"

2008-07-10T20:19:00.000+03:00

It wouldn't be appropriate to pass the chance and blog about Qwaider and Maioush's union, especially since both are very active bloggers, and certainly made the blogosphere somewhere to look forward to visiting, even if people like me are occasional visitors, and not as dedicated to the blogo-cause as they are.

It's only fair to dedicate a post to Qwaider and Maioush, who initiated both the Blog About Jordan Day, and Blog About Palestine Day, so today is my Blog About Qwaider and Maioush Day, aka "BAQMD".

I've already mentioned that I'm not a very committed blogger, but part of my incentive to blog was the brainstorming process I go through as I browse around Qwaider Planet and Qwaider's blog, where it feels like a candy store, one post is a movie review and the next is a deep philosophical dual of sorts, quite an intriguing trip to say the least, and although I don't really know Qwaider, his blog was quite an eye opener for many interesting topics, the subtle -and not so subtle- sense of humor was always something to look forward to.

Maioush is another story, see despite the serious intelligent arguments she makes in her blog, you could always feel an underlying sense of mischief, she engages you in deep thought while she quietly ties your shoe laces together and runs and hides muffling her laugh, her blog title probably says it all: "Dance like no one is watching, Blog like no one is reading".

So today, I raise a virtual toast for the future Mr. and Mrs. Qwaider, and wish them happiness both online and off, and may their internet connection last till the end of time, as they renew it together as they renew their love to each other, to their families, and to everyone they love. Amen.

Yalla, Dance like no one is watching!

An Overdue Stroll With My Grandfather

2008-04-24T22:33:00.000+03:00

I've never really noticed these dates, as they passed year after year, but today a thought went through me like it never did before, as I watched a program about the 60th anniversary of the Nakba, I suddenly remembered both my paternal grandparents, who passed away in the early 1990s, I've never really been interested in knowing their stories, how they lived before 1948, weird enough though, I knew their story after '48, and how my grandfather, walked with his small family away from Haifa on one summer day in 1948, and never went back. I know that my father was born on the beach and had his first bath in the Mediterranean, and I know that he carried his infant brother as they left their home.

I've never really sat and thought about the man who was my grandfather, but now it's only appropriate to remember the man, who despite all the troubles he lived, maintained a mysterious kind of patience, he never complained. I was in my teens when he passed away, and I wasn't really interested in asking him the questions I wanted to be answered now, How was it..having an ancestral homeland? what was it like to lose the house you were born in?

I remember my grandmother, that green-eyed woman, who despite her reaching her mid 80s, looked like a little girl, with her innocent smile, she used to comb her hair into two pigtails, and although the long dark nights made it grey, she remained the beautiful girl who lived on Mount Carmel, over looking the wide open sea, despite the time and space between them.

One of the most enduring things I remember about my grandfather was his gaze; he had that amazing gaze, one of determination..I was always amazed how this old man managed to walk for hours every day, even days before he passed away, he liked his strolls, and I was stupid enough to never walk with him even once, but he always brought me sandwiches on his way back, falafel tasted different when my grandfather brought it, it might have been blessed by God through the fingertips of that dark old man, with a white beard, and a white head-dress, I always wondered why he was dark, but later I knew that he loved to be in the sun, he was a man of open space, never liked the indoors.

I never got to say goodbye to my grandfather..I wish I did, and today, as I haphazardly mark an occasion of displacement, I remember the beautiful green eyes of Thuraya, that little girl who happened to be old enough to be my grandmother, and her Rock; Mahmoud, the kind old man, to whom both I recite a prayer, and ask for their forgiveness.

US Citizen Charged with Espionage for Israel

2008-04-23T19:36:00.000+03:00

So Apparently, they're not quite content with them being Top Cat, the only state in history to be above every law, void from criticism and blame, they had to go a step further, and spy on their lifeline, The Financial Times reported today that a former US army engineer was charged with supplying nuclear and other military secrets to Israel.

The newspaper goes on saying that Ben-Ami Kadish, a US citizen, was charged with providing an Israeli diplomat with documents from the army’s weapons research centre at Dover, New Jersey, where he worked as a mechanical engineer between 1979 and 1985. The unnamed diplomat was said to have photographed the documents in the basement of Mr Kadish’s New Jersey home. They were said to include information on nuclear weaponry, the US F-15 fighter jet and the Patriot missile defence system, the Israeli diplomat is said to be the same one who was in contact with Jonathan Polard in 1986, so they didn't even bother establishing a new point of contact, the guy is already experienced!

Beautiful! it really is a great friendship based on respect and commitment to common values, see in normal circumstances that would constitute a diplomatic crisis, but then again these aren't normal circumstances, they can flip you the finger and still claim their strategic alliance with you! ya3ni not only do I get the finest of the fine in weaponry, financial aid, and political pimping, but I also want some more, and I'm gonna get it while you look away! You would think, that if someone did that very same thing on behalf of..lets say Equatorial Guinea, the government there would be toppled!

On another note, Israel agreed to compensate the family of a British film-maker an Israeli soldier shot dead in Gaza 5 years ago..but wait, that's not all, the payment will be made on the condition that the British Government, acting on behalf of his family, agrees to close the case and not request that the soldiers involved in the incident be extradited.

Now that's what I call true commitment to arrogance, but besides the right of existence and all that nonsense, I really wonder when the conclusion of Israel being an expensive liability is going to be reached.

On Solitude

2008-04-13T01:16:00.000+03:00

Sometimes, we like to be alone, even if we're the bubbliest most sociable people in the world, solitude becomes a necessity at times, it's a self cleansing system of sorts, one's mind recharges with deep thought, and deep thought is only reached in solitude, it's quite amazing how a mental action is best executed with a physical action.

You reach great decisions in solitude, if you think a little bit about your own greatest decisions you'll be surprised to find that those most probably were taken after a day or night of solitude. Your senses are fine tuned to your own thoughts when you give all your attention to you, even if the decision is to seize your solitude; proposing to someone or accepting a proposal.

You're at your most transparent state when in solitude, so any mental attempt to play a game of strategy is void of its purpose, all the roles you play around people are removed from their element like you remove a coat when you reach home; the intellect, the considerate..etc, all the social "masks" are taken off, and you're left with the real you, the one only you know, with all your flaws, all your vices, the ones you always make sure to hide when not alone.

Its funny how when you're in love, you tend to want to be alone, away from people, and with one thought, about one person. Solitude becomes your destination, you intentionally go through that mental trip, and when you reach that certain "Nirvana", you willfully decide that your solitude is a pilgrimage for your love, a proof of your devotion, it's not a coincidence that we have only one heart and one mind! Longing too is an act of solitude, when you miss, your surroundings seize, you can't feel the people around, your soul is somewhere else, with someone else.

lovers don't finally meet somewhere, they're in each other all along.

On Egypt

2008-04-10T01:42:00.000+03:00

I've been reading some of the posts made about the events in Egypt in the past few days, and I have to admit that I'm impressed, people have had enough of whatever they've been fed -or not fed- for the past two decades, the corruption is reaching epic proportions, and it's very clear that people's life is getting harder by the minute. Now I don't mean for this to be a stereotype, but Egyptians are known for their patience, and for them to lose their ancient patience and declare mini-revolutions is a sign of change, a kind of change "suave" dictatorships is not used to.

Many times I find myself envious of Egyptians for their love of their land, their music, the lyrics all drip of an amazing kind of simple love, I sometimes want those songs to be for Jordan, instead of the noisy nonsense we're forced to call patriotic songs. Patriotism is Love, the deeper your love, the easier you express it, and the genius of the Egyptians makes their expression of love the simplest, most sincere of all expressions, Egypt is the woman who gets younger and more beautiful with every sunrise over the Nile.

One important lesson to us all, the suave among us and the not so suave; never take the patience of people for granted, and never underestimate the power of hunger. Moreover; change is in the air.

منقاطع ما منقاطع

2008-03-30T01:27:00.000+03:00

Bil Zamanat, I wrote about a musical play called "ملوك الطوائف" by The Rahbanis, the play included a scene where all the kings of the fragmented city kingdoms of Al-Andalus meet to discuss the impending danger of King Alfonso VI of Castile's ambitious expansion, this piece was based on what was probably the first ever Arab Summit, in the 11th century, so to celebrate the current Arab summit, I found this extremely appropriate!

Enjoy!

On Culture, Stereotypes and Misconceptions.

2008-03-21T00:36:00.000+02:00

I've always been fascinated by culture and how it affects people's perceptions of others, the way one perceives their own identity has a great effect on the way they see others, there's a subconscious hierarchy that grows slowly in the collective mindset of people around the world in terms of where they see their culture in the pyramid of world cultures, and almost always people tend to put themselves on top of the pyramid, based on what is perceived to be theirs or their ancestors' greatest achievement whether it's religious, or technological, or any other criteria, and that makes it superior to other cultures, even if this superiority is based on a benign factor, or so we convince ourselves.

I'm drawing a line between the terms culture and tradition, as although they're intertwined to a great deal, tradition usually has more of an ethnic character, whereas culture is usually more of a progressive refinement of people through historical events, conquests, the spread of faiths, commerce. All aspects of human interaction contribute to the creation of culture, and before settling..the storm of culture-building acquires and sheds many aspects of the life of people as it takes the shape of Identity; language, Faith and even tolerance or ethnocentricity.

I'm a great fan of the late Edward Said, and his books on the thought of culture and its effect on people are a great read, one notion in his book "Covering Islam" explains that the way western journalists, who tend not to know the languages, or much about the culture of the places they report from, rely on slanted academic studies for their understanding of the Islamic world, and allow it to color almost everything they write. As a result, reporting from Islamic countries is not only shallow, but often filled with insults and ethnic slurs, Islam is represented by news gatherers, experts, and policy makers. with emphasis on violence, anti-American rhetoric, and resistance to modernization, which really belie the fact that there is not a single monolithic Islam but many Islams and that what news organizations perpetuate is an undifferentiated form of cultural stereotyping - as if it were sufficient to say about the Dutch that they all wear wooden shoes!

Now, I'm again drawing parallels between culture and tradition, Islam in Malaysia is the Islam in Senegal, in the cultural identity meaning of the term, but you will definitely find different traditional practices surrounding religious practice that are completely alien to the core of the faith itself, which only proves the diversity of the believers, the compatibility of the faith with traditions, no matter how diverse, but doesn't necessarily mean the condoning of traditional practices within the faith, one reoccurring example is the practice of female circumcision in Africa, which is not condoned by Islam, and practiced by Muslim and non Muslim populations of sub-Saharan Africa.

Another impressive academic is Azmi Bishara, who in his explanation of the notion of clash of civilizations argues that The issue at hand is not one of dialogue or conflict between Christianity and Islam, since neither religion is uniform and there are many versions of both. Christians in Jordan or Syria are different from those in Poland or Latin America, and both are different from American Protestants. Islam also changes from rural to urban areas, across social classes and over time. which according to these facts voids the inevitability of a clash of civilizations as predicted and even advocated by its main theorists Samuel Huntington and Bernard Lewis, and robs them from their prophecies of an Armageddon, where God stands with the Good against the Evil, which brings to mind the famous statement: "you're either with us, or with the terrorists" in turn based on the teachings of the neo-conservative think tanks, a clear cut black and white world, void from shades and colors. What is most worrying though is that a third color is taking prominence; Red.

One last thought: Both Said and Bishara are Christian Arabs, speaking about Islam in the first person's narrative, which only proves the virtue of the notion of cultural identity, against the notion of religious and ethnic separation advocated by antagonists both in the East and in the West.

My -very subtle- Jordan..

2008-03-12T11:42:00.000+02:00

Today, according to the blogo-calendar, is the Blog about Jordan day, and besides the haphazard celebration on a haphazard date, the thoughts in this post are anything but haphazard, they've been brewing in my mind for a while, and today is certainly an occasion to express them.

I know that we're not perfect, no society is, no nation is completely immune from social injustices or economic hardships, so I won't sing praise in the fashion of festive speech making and the art of celebration. Today I give credit to those who wake up every morning and go make a living, the farmers and the teachers, the simple people who make an honest living..as little as they make, a little girl who wakes up with the sun and combs her hair into pigtails before walking to school, and in the evening, she finishes her homework, recites a short prayer she learned as she surrenders to sleep to dream of becoming a doctor or a lawyer, and live in the distant utopia called Amman.

The Jordan I'm proud of transcends the big buildings with glass facades and the Wi-Fi enabled cafés of West Amman, it's the Jordan of people who are patient, content with what they have, the ones who insist on giving their children the good education they deserve, even if that meant taking bread away from their own mouths, the people who have all the hope.. and all the patience in the world, Those are the Jordan of tomorrow, the ones who will bring Jordan forward, ethically..more than anything, as God knows we're in need for a dose of ethics, we seem to think that the dissolving of ethics is a natural result of modernity, when in fact it's a natural cause for our own dissolve..into the unknown.

Today, I'm celebrating the children living on the edges of the Jordanian desert, who probably have internet access in the white washed schools of their remote villages, but have no running water in their homes, the mothers who weave traditional dresses to feed their families, the same dresses the ladies of the velvet society wear at gala dinners at The Dunes. I'm celebrating the waiters who work evenings to pay for their university studies. The Jordan I'm proud of is one hidden in hearts, and the hearts are of people who know what Love truly means, they don't have to express it, as actions speak louder than words, and with every breath they take, their love is proven; to themselves, to each other, and to those who care to look into their eyes, it's a soft determination, coated with hope and content, and the warmth of hearts feeds it as it grows, slowly..but surely.

Painting by Jordanian artist Muhanna Al-Durra.

مُحَمـَّد

2008-03-05T21:11:00.000+02:00

مَّا كَانَ مُحَمَّدٌ أَبَا أَحَدٍ مِّن رِّجَالِكُمْ وَلَكِن رَّسُولَ اللهِ وَخَاتَمَ النَّبِيِّينَ وَكَانَ اللهُ بِكُلِّ شَيْءٍ عَلِيمًا ۞ يَا أَيُّهَا الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا اذْكُرُوا

اللهَ ذِكْرًا كَثِيرًا ۞ وَسَبِّحُوهُ بُكْرَةً وَأَصِيلاً ۞ هُوَ الَّذِي يُصَلِّي عَلَيْكُمْ وَمَلائِكَتُهُ لِيُخْرِجَكُم مِّنَ الظُّلُمَاتِ إِلَى النُّورِ وَكَانَ بِالْمُؤْمِنِينَ رَحِيمًا ۞ تَحِيَّتُهُمْ يَوْمَ يَلْقَوْنَهُ سَلامٌ وَأَعَدَّ لَهُمْ أَجْرًا كَرِيمًا

Muhammad is not the father of any man among you, but (he is) the Messenger of God, and the Seal of the Prophets: and God has full knowledge of all things ۞ O ye who believe; Celebrate the praises of God, and do this often ۞ and glorify Him morning and evening ۞ He it is Who sends blessings on you, as do His angels, that He may bring you out from the depths of Darkness into Light: and He is Full of Mercy to the Believers ۞Their salutation on the Day they meet Him will be "Peace"; and He has prepared for them a generous Reward

الأحزاب 40-44

The Allies 40-44.

Nostalgia...

2008-02-10T00:18:00.000+02:00

There's a warm fluffy feeling that invades us every once in a while, a feeling that deletes all the mind games, all the strategies and tactics. a very simple feeling, one that removes all barriers and goes to the core, a simple feeling of longing..to certain pasts, times and places, the underlying genius of this feeling is that it sheds all the "makeup" from the past tense, and looks at people's faces with the eyes of a child, without any judgement or prior impressions, odd..since those faces are of the past, it's in our instinct to refer to our judgements and impressions, as our minds fold them away in the archives of the subconscious.

It is probably an attempt to hold a retrial for those pasts, a re-examination of events that might have led to the indictment of someone, and then found them guilty, and yet..our minds still review those judgements every once in a while, it would never allow an unfair trial, especially if the accused held..or maybe still holds a key to our hearts.

The process of this retrial is a long one, but it begins with the detailed recollection of the good, and the overlooking of the bad in the past under examination, we long for the scent of that rose we once held, but we willingly overlook the wound her thorns caused, we miss those times, they were good times, we might even remember details we thought we forgot, but our minds never let go of any good memories, it might store them somewhere safe, away from our daily thoughts, but when we ask for the file of a certain period in our past, with the intention to remember the good..we even surprise ourselves with the amount of good memories we have about something..or someone we -at one point- found guilty.

Nostalgia, a retrial of our pasts, amazingly, the retrial takes less than a second, all it takes is the memory of a smile to find those who were guilty..innocent again, an un-announced pardon to people who might not even be seeking one, but at least we were true to our own promise of justice.

I have set free many prisoners, and they're running free in the prison called my mind.

On Love..Or Thereabouts

2008-02-01T22:02:00.000+02:00

Sometimes, we take a Leap of Faith, with all the unguarded wisdom that accompanies that jump into the unknown, and the foolishness in the act itself, as only fools jump into the dark.

There's a huge difference between infatuation, and love. The latter is a long process of actions and reactions, of trial and error, it's the process of aging of emotions, they "taste" better with time, like wine, or cheese if you prefer. The heart has its secrets, and those aren't revealed -even to the keeper of the heart- as they're secrets not meant for translation. Infatuation, on the other hand, is a strike of lightning, we get struck for a few seconds, and are filled with that electric energy that hypnotizes us, and takes us away from reality, but that hypnosis is short lived, not because it's a foreign virus and must be fought off, but because it's a natural reaction; we are all captivated by beauty: physical and intellectual, it's an act of instinctive natural selection, that goes back to the premise of the survival of the fittest, we want to be with beauty, it gives us the defence we need, the reassurance of continuity and survival.

Love, is a world of its own, it engages all senses, from sight to intellect, even scent has its share, people who are in love can distinguish their partners' scents, as their genes become familiar to each other, it is a process of unification with another human, a conscious decision that engages even the unconscious, reaching the point of telepathy, the familiarity reaches even their souls, and when souls become familiar, the un-earthly wonders of Love are revealed, not to the world, but to those two people, whose world begins with each other's presence, and ends with their parting..however temporary.

We all are infatuated with someone sometimes, but being in Love happens less often, those who consult their souls are even luckier in their leaps of faith, the soul has its own radar, it detects the hidden attractions, and sends an encrypted report to the heart, which reacts with the symptoms of labour, a birth of sorts..and keeps you awake in beautiful pain..when the world is fast asleep.

When I'm with you, we stay up all night. When you're not here, I can't go to sleep. Praise God for the two insominas..and the difference between them.

On The Levantine Identity

2008-01-27T22:16:00.000+02:00

I've always been passionate about my greater identity, in the cultural sense, as well as in ancestral heritage, and ever since I lived with a number of Greeks back in college, my own cultural identity developed in the feeling that although I'm Jordanian, with blood ties to the Northern Palestinian coast, I really have great affinity with the culture and heritage of the region known as The Levant, which is the land East of the Mediterranean, South of Turkey, and North of the Arabian Peninsula, of which Jordan and Palestine are part.

I'm keeping my distance from the ideas of Antoun Saadeh, the founder of the Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party, although I agree with the idea of the "Oneness" of the Levantine People, in the cultural sense, politics, more often than usual creates misrepresentations and misunderstandings between people, interests clash, geography changes and identities change with it, but in reality, people remain the people.

Back in college I used to really enjoy the collective feeling of comradery the "Mediterranean" people had, and amazingly it was the first time I felt part of that club, as I was introduced to the family of Mediterraneans by our far neighbours the Greeks, They sang our songs, our tunes, ate our foods, and most importantly shared our hot tempers, so when the short fuse burned, the British would sit in the corner while Greeks and Arabs battled with shrieking shouts and hand gestures in the classroom, or on the dance floor for that matter! back then, my Eastern Mediterranean identity matured in the feeling that I really belonged to that region, I identified with the music, the culture, even the physical features, it hit a nerve somewhere in me, a previously unknown passion for the sounds of eastern tunes, and although I couldn't understand the words, I could feel the pain, or joy in the music, just like I felt..and understood to the bones, the joy or pain in the sounds from Lebanon, or Syria, or Jordan.

Speaking of Jordan, we have a couple of rising stars in our corner of the Levant, Macadi Nahhas is reviving the Levantine heritage with her velvet voice, and reintroducing us to the songs our own forefathers might have sung along the Palestinian coast, and the wheat fields of Mo'ab, bringing back the Jordanian representation in the world of civilized arts. I also came across another daughter of the Levant, her name is Lena Chamamyan, a Syrian of Armenian descent, she has brought me back to that very strange feeling of belonging. There are many other examples of genius, particularly in Lebanon, Rudy Dagher comes to mind..among many others.

Amazing how one's identity crystallizes when looking from outside, what is even more amazing is that the land keeps bearing greats, from Philip The Arab, to Gibran, and all those who came between them, and after them, what is a shame though is the state of fragmentation the land East of the Mediterranean lives, people fighting amongst themselves for a lost pride, a pride that is buried deeper and deeper with the daily flow of blood in two corners of the Levant; Lebanon and Palestine, amazing how time changes destinies, we can only pray and hope that this land, this doorway to civilization sees peace again, This land had much to offer, from the Alphabets to Love, as Qais roamed the edges of the Syrian Desert declaring his Love to Laila, and if it was given the chance, it would teach the world new love stories, of life, of pride and of joy.

On Mental Thirst

2008-01-24T18:31:00.000+02:00

Sometimes, one's mind becomes thirsty, a kind of thirst never before felt or experienced; you roam around aimlessly trying to find that unknown quencher of your mental thirst, you prescribe your own medicines for your emerging malady and try them all, you go about your days and nights in an "auto pilot" mode, almost mechanically functioning around your daily duties.

You find small islands of distractions..and you entertain the idea of co-existence with that chronic thirst, but with every audible assertion of your continuity called a heartbeat, your mind's longing for that unknown grows, it is fed with the instinctive power of discovery embedded in your genes, your eyes capture pictures of the faces..and places around, your ears capture sounds, they scan the space around you for a sign of familiarity..strange how you seek familiarity in something not known.

Mental thirst might be an inner estrangement, when you question your own list of checks and balances, an attempt to overhaul your being, upgrade your system of comprehension, it is as close to winter hibernation as the human race can come, staying still..in anticipation of change, and change is the only constant.

You know, that when the paths cross, finally..when time and place conspire with you, against you to bring you, and your mind quencher together, when you find it..or it finds you, when that last leaf finally falls off that tree, you know that your instinct was right, your mental thirst was justified, and the discovery was worth the wait.

On Things..And How They Seem

2008-01-14T13:15:00.000+02:00

I've been away for a while, and I thank all those who checked on me, but one thing I admit..is that I'm not much of a blogger, probably a seasonal one, depending on the season in mind, rather than in setting.

One of the things I've been contemplating for a while is the way things..and sometimes people seem to be -that can be both negative and positive- and the way they really are. There's a certain wisdom in discovery, and discovery sometimes reaches surprising results..much like the surprise Columbus found when he thought he reached India when in fact he reached the new world; accidents can change destinies, or at least alter our perception of something we thought is cemented in our mind to be something else.

I might be talking in riddles, but that's probably the point; obscurity sometimes seems to be fascinating, or frustrating...depending on the journey, but within its walls..when you look closely..if you take the time to look closely..lies the clearest of all messages.

I'm in a Calendar!

2007-12-04T22:34:00.000+02:00

Well..not that kind of Calendar, maybe next year..but returnig to this one, around six or seven months ago..I came across something called The One Million Masterpiece project, which is basically one large image of a million drawings made by people around the world online, so being the Global Citizen I am, I went ahead and drew the flag of Jordan.

Yesterday, I got an email telling me that my drawing was chosen among 1800 drawings to be made into a 2008 calendar, they made up themes for each month, and the theme for March is United Nations, and yours truely secured Jordan's representation in the visual UN, with one afternoon in the office doodle.

Congratulations.

p.s: I've pointed out the drawing's position in red for your comfort.

Thirty Six..

2007-11-28T19:15:00.000+02:00

خلاكَ الذم يا وصفي رماحي غيرُ مسنونة

ودربُ الحُر يا وصفي كَدربِك غيرُ مأمونة

A Recap of Sorts

2007-11-19T15:52:00.000+02:00

So I've been abstaining from blogging for almost a month, and today..I decided to break the silence and speak..actually type, about the things I saw and heard in the past month or so.

First of all, I turned 32, one day before the 90th anniversary of the Balfour Declaration "Happy Anniversary", 28 days before the 60th anniversary of the partition of Palestine, again..Happy Anniversary, and 19 days before the Parliamentary Elections in Jordan..Bon Appetite and a very Merry 50JDs, or more..depending on shatartak.

Tayeb, The weather in London has been extremely bad, raining all the time..so Gene Kelly would've really relished the opportunity to really..Sing in The Rain, if it wasn't for his current disposition.

The other day, I watched a BBC documentary, -one of the signs of a healthy media- on the orphans in an Eastern European country, the programme was very disturbing, yet..to me, it was a real journey within, a journey within the human soul...or there lack of, the children were left for days, without human interaction or attention, as if their destitution and solitude weren't enough, leading them to literal insanity and short lives. Man can be a beast, I almost felt guilty watching them, and have no idea how their "care-takers" could look the reporter in the eye and claim that those children were in good care, Lying is one thing, but lying and believing it takes practice!

Hyde Park is nice these days..it always is, but this time of the year has its magic, the trees are changing their coats and preparing for the mascarade of autumn, some are red, some yellow, others are bright orange, The ever brave squirrels still venture around the green pastures, and a certain one looked at me the other day as if he knew me, but despite my vigorous attempt at recalling his acquaintance..it didn't ring a bell..or crack a nut for that matter, I might have been a squirrel in a past lifetime, or he/she was a human, who knows..we both might have been something else altogether!

I dreamt of Eve the other night, she visited me in my slumber, a more intimate setting than sobriety, she looked nice..as always, she smelt nice..as always; who knew one could dream of scents! She held my hand, and my temperature rose by 1.7 degrees or so, the best fever you can ever get is the one you get from a sublime world.

Published Confessions!

2007-10-26T22:25:00.000+02:00

The Confessions of this Vegetarian Shark are now on Paper, thanks to the marvel of self publishing, nothing beats a book with your name on it!

you can find it here: http://www.lulu.com/content/1353756 AND http://www.lulu.com/content/1355623

Check it out, review it, rank it, toss it around..and if you have some extra cash...buy it! and yes..spread the word..lets see if this thing really works!

The Return From Within

2007-10-21T22:32:00.000+03:00

I have to start this post by apologizing to everyone who came..knocked and found no answer, as I've been "Internet-less" by choice for more than a month.

I've been to Amman, and when a lover meets his loved one, the whole world seizes to exist..this is probably an extremely lame comment you might think, and I might agree..to an extent, but sometimes..you tend to want to be alone with a city, a whole city..with all her details corresponding with your own details; she notices the new grey hairs you didn't have when you left her and went West, and you notice..yet again, her drought, the very same drought you thought you knew before you left, the very same drought you wanted not to find when you went back; the drought of souls is even more painful than that of minds, minds can be revived, souls..are as delicate as the strings of a harp, and the sound they make is either tender like a choir of angels or they never give more than a hollow vibration into space..an empty hiss.

There's a book called طبائع الإستبداد "The Manners of Dictatorship" by an enlightened Arab called Abdul Rahman Al Kawakibi, and if I could borrow the title..and a little bit more, I'd describe Amman as a ruthless dictator, one losing her charisma, her appeal, her tender smile, and yet..her subjects remain loyal and drunken with her love, even when her only remaining appeal is her name, even if she is made to wear a million masks upon another million masks, even if her soul is barren..her people are in transit, looking and feeling like strangers..to her, and to their own selves.

She remains the Queen, and now that she's left..East, as I left West, she is missed, and her smile; the one I didn't find when I went to see her, endures.

يمـوتُ الهــوى منــّي إذا ما لقـيتُها

ويحيا إذا فارقتـُـها فيعــودُ

On Emotional Literacy

2007-08-26T22:46:00.000+03:00

I've recently grown more aware of the learned aspect of emotional conduct, the one you tend to pick up as you grow older, or is put within you as a child by emotionally literate parents.

I've always been amazed by the effect of Good, but good isn't just a nice trait of character, Being nice to people is something taught, and I don't mean respect..for respect can be forced, but your own voluntary genuine feeling of compassion towards people is one of the greatest heights of Emotional Literacy, your smile in the face of people in the morning, your humility and tenderness towards children, the compassion and patience you give to the most vulnerable; children, older people, the less fortunate..the sick and weak, is learned..and taught.

Your awareness of the importance of making others happy, and your deliberate intent to make a difference, taking a minute to put a smile on someone's face..whether that someone is close or a stranger is a great sign of emotional literacy, for you reach the calculated conclusion of the importance of human interaction..positive interaction can create miracles, it might even be a healing force, it also makes you feel good..as you provide a proverbial breath of fresh air to someone who might be gasping for it, Emotional Philanthropy is the highest degree of human conduct.

Never underestimate the power of kindness, a smile..a lending hand, can go a long way, it charges the soul with a mysterious charge..one probably blessed by angels, for kindness is a divine attribute, it probably smells like lilac and tastes like cotton candy, your execution of an act of kindness is an extension to the compassion of God towards His Creation.

I have enormous respect for people who work in Humanitarian aid and charities, those people are the most emotionally literate Humans..their minds are set up in a totally different way than ours, they wake up in the morning, they make someone's life a little bit better, and go back to being unnoticed only to do it all over again and again without seeking recognition or reward other than the recognition and reward from within, those people teach me..and us all a lesson every time we run across them, and by doing so..our own emotional literacy is enriched and complimented.

Music in My Head

2007-08-17T14:17:00.000+03:00

So here's the deal: I'm a very music oriented creature, I like listening to music..when I'm working, when I'm walking, when I'm in the shower..yes I know its weird but what can you do!

So during one of my unintentional moments of contemplation, I've reached the conclusion that most of the Arabic songs that I like..express defeat and anguish for the most part. I sat up straight so that the blood would have a smooth sail into my brains and hence get my thoughts in order, and I realized that most Arabic songs, the most "romantic" ones..express a feeling of pain for the loss of love..hmmm, why? you might ask..well, I think that we -Arabs- enjoy heartache, it's a genetic feature embedded in our DNA, our culture is one expressive of consecutive heartaches..both collective and individual, the stories of Qais and Laila, is an example of the individual, the story of Da7es wal Ghabra2 is one of the most renowned collective traditions of heartache, let alone the tragedies both we and our forefathers lived, from the loss of Al-Andalus to the invasion of Iraq.

So coming back to the present day..some of us aren't good to our hearts, some of us are intentional manipulators of others' hearts, it makes us feel better when we can decide if someone is happy or sad, some of us aren't even able to decide whether we want to be happy or sad, others are always victims, whether they really are or not. It is an embedded code in our genes..and it's reflected in our music, 7abeebi absar shoo malo..tarakni wo ra7..ma banam el leil...etc.

These lyrics sink in the deep corners of our minds, and we keep them in our psychological archives until our real lives cross the path of similarity with those hidden lyrics..and when they do, and instead of having emotional intelligence, we resort to the very silly game of emotional manipulation..we punish our loved ones..so we become the ones who leave..physically or mentally, for a short while or for good, and by doing so we create a stupid romantic tragedy where we become the heroes, and where the soundtrack is always on standby to be played, or; we are the one's who get the short end of the stick and are left..again with the soundtrack ready to be played, and by creating that romantic tragedy we convince ourselves of the virtue of pain, even if we really have no idea why we liked the person we left to begin with, or why we left them, the pain of loss cleanses us, even if loss wasn't that tragic, or was our fault..one way or another.

We enjoy heartache, and we like emotional deprivation, it makes us feel good, it makes us innocent..even if we really aren't, it proves us true to our hidden personalities, the personality of the emotionally oppressed, which might be part of a series of other kinds of oppression; political, social..etc, or the personality of the emotional dictator, which might be the only way we can really be "in control"..funny enough though, both alternate roles as days go by and neither is aware of the other's existence, but they both feed our collective feelings of defeat.

"يوميات واحد مش فاضي "فيكشن

2007-08-14T19:45:00.000+03:00

الساعة ستة ونص الصبح: بتقوم من النوم غصبن عنك عشان تروح عالشغل غصبن عنك

الساعة ستة ونص وتلت دقايق: بترجع تنام خمس دقايق بتصحى بعدها بتلت ارباع الساعة زي المجنون اللي طلعلو الجن الأزرق وبتنط بالشاور (لإنك بتحب النضافة) ولإنو المي بتصحي القرود، بتحلق وبتلبس اللي عالحبل وبوجهك عالدوام

الساعة تسعة وعشرة بتفوت عالشغل زحف عشان ما حدا يعرف إنك متأخر (زي كل

يوم) بس (زي كل يوم) بيشوفوك

عالكاميرا وبيخبّروا عنك وبيخصموا من راتبك وإنته زي السطل مفكر حالك ذيب

الساعة طنعش بتبلش معدتك تتظاهر لإنك (زي كل يوم) ما بتفطر ببيتكم فبتصير تدور بالجوارير على أي إشي تسلي فيه حنكك، بتلاقي حبة شكلاطة بس لإنك جنتلمان (زي ما قلنا القصة فيكشن) بتعطيها لزميلتك اللي بتشبه فلونة، بس اللي ما بتعرفو حضرة جنابك هو إنو زميلتك فلونة بتحكي إنك بتشبه عبسي فهيك بتطلعوا خالصين

الساعة وحدة بتهرّ من الجوع و بيزغللو عيونك وبتصير تتفلّت عشان تطلع تتسمم

الساعة وحدة ونص بترجع عالدوام (طبعاً زحف زي الصبح) و كأنه أبو زيد خالك لإنك ضحكت على المجتمع الدولي وطلعت أكلت..مش بس هيك..وشربت كوكتيل كمان

الساعة وحدة ونص و خمسة بتصفرن وبتوقع عالأرض وبيحملوك عالمستشفى وبتطلع متسمم من الشاورما اللي تسممتها

الساعة تلاتة وتلت بييجي مسؤول يزورك وبيصوروه بالتلفزيون وهو بيطمّن على

حضرة جنابك و إنته منسدح بالتخت

الساعة ستة ونص بييجي مديرك وزملاءك يزوروك وبيبشرك مديرك إنهم قرروا يزيدوا راتبك ويرَفعوك ويعطوك إجازة أسبوع نقاهة

الساعة سبعة بييجوا أهلك زي المصاريع بعد ما شافتك جارتكم

عالتلفزيون وفضحت سماك بالحارة لإنك كنت توبلس ومادين منك برابيش

الساعة سبعة ونص بيسمحلك الدكتور تروّح مع أهلك وبيعطيك دوا للتسمم

الساعة تمنية بتطلع مرة تانية عالتلفزيون والمسؤول عم بيزورك..وبيقرروا إنك طلعت مش متسمم و إنما معك مرض مزمن و إنته ما معك خبر...مبروك

A Haphazard Post On a Not So Haphazard Deal

2007-08-08T13:42:00.000+03:00

In Jordan, the IAF is claiming fraud in the recent municipal elections, their protest is based on their claim that the military -which have all the right to vote- were ordered to vote against the IAF candidates, something I see extremely offensive in the case of it being either true or false, for the simple reason being that the military is an ultra-local politics institution, their role has never been to side with one party or the other, their role has been, and should continue to be the protector of the Constitution, they should never be drawn into any political quarrel between any two sides, certainly not one between a government and a political party.

Political wisdom is what characterized Jordan throughout its history, a country which despite the political turmoils around, has managed to survive, as one stable unit, but throughout, the relationship between the government and the Muslim brotherhood was cordial to say the least, simply because the idea of banning their activities would make them more popular, their overt existence would basically relieve the political system from an underground movement similar to those in other surrounding countries. And again, political wisdom saw the influence religion has on people, and that a political system which legitimacy is based on the direct lineage to the prophet would never ban a political party bearing the title of Islam, provided their activity is coherent with the diversity of the society, both religiously and socially.

I'm bringing back the example of the late King Hussein, when he was put in the position of suspending all political activities in the aftermath of the coup attempt in 1957, as despite the banning of political parties, the Muslim brotherhood kept working through its social arm, under the eyes and ears of the government, and their leaders were close to the various symbols of authority, they spoke with wisdom, and they heard wisdom in return, both sides shared the common goal of a better Jordan, no personal interest was more important than that of the survival of the country and the welfare of its people.

Now, I have a problem with the political wisdom of the IAF; their amateur conduct in the political arena made them less popular, despite the general feeling of sympathy ordinary Jordanians have for the Muslim brotherhood, again because of its close proximity to the general public in the social sense . Their secretary general is a hawkish persona from what I've seen and heard, his sharp criticism of the government is a sign of limelight/popularity seeking weakness in the simple diagnosis, the elders of the movement never used the kind of rhetoric this man uses whenever he speaks of the government, there was always a line not to be crossed, this line has unfortunately been severed.

On the other side, the political wisdom of the government might have failed to reach the expected maturity in dealing with such a hawkish leadership. As the government is just that..a government, it has the underlying responsibility to play the role of the adult or the parent to all citizens, I'm not trying to suggest the cliche idea of the immature people vs the mature authority, but people usually expect the role of a parent from the authority, even if that feeling is subliminal and denied, keeping in mind the general perception of the virtue of whomever stands against authority.

Political wisdom dictates rational conduct in the relationship between the government and the IAF, The historical examples of how the late King Hussein brought people who in many cases conspired against him, and the way he reasoned with them..face to face, are examples of the use of the adult/rational parent to all citizens type of conduct. Even troublesome teenagers should be tolerated and dealt with in a rational manner, or else they'd rebel and cause more headaches to the whole household.

La Luna..La Luna

2007-07-29T14:07:00.000+03:00

One of my most favorite pastimes, is to endlessly stare at the moon, a pointless activity to some extent, but observation of the cosmos is a very subtle way to obtain certain doses of wisdom, and like the high and low tides, humans are affected by the moon, or so I'd like to believe, besides the folkloric tales of vampires and werewolves.

This gem in the ancient sky is probably the only thing that literally unites humans, for each human, from the beginning of time, till this earth and its moon are taken off the proverbial stage, every single human..has stared at the moon for some time, at some point in their lives, and that thought in itself is a witness to the greatness of the Creator, who shows us a sign of His Eternity every single night, it is up to us mortals to seize that moment of direct contact with Heaven.

Adam might have looked up to the moon on the first night of his and Eve's life on earth, as they both explored their new world, Alexander The Great might have stared up one night as he reveled in his conquests, Moses might have done the same as he contemplated on his imminent encounter with the Pharaoh, Jesus probably sat on the outskirts of Jerusalem one night and looked up to the full moon seeking God's peace and guidance, Muhammad might have crossed the night sky with his sight, gazing at the moon from the cave of "Hira" on the very night Gabriel came onto him to announce his prophecy. Cleopatra might have had one of her milk baths under the moonlight, Elissar surely thought of the people she left behind in Tyre, when she saw their shining faces in the reflection of the moon in the calm waters of the Mediterranean..as she sailed west to Carthage, Averroes, Aristotle, all stared on a clear night into the light in the sky, thinking, meditating, praying, seeing someone's face in the silver lining of a full moon.

Poets, lovers, warriors, sinners and saints were all captivated for a fraction of a second by that silent lantern as it rose in a mid summer night, as it lit the nights of Ancient Greece, Babylon, Pheonicia, Cordoba, Jerusalem, and The ancient Mayan Kingdom, and as it did..each human, travelled in time..to their past, or their future, staring into the eyes of their loved ones, their unborn descendants, as they stared into the moon.

Tonight, look up to the moon, and think that you're looking at something all humanity saw as you are now, your own great grandchildren might sit one fine night under its light in the deep future and steal a moment of innocent intimacy with their loved ones. This thought..is enough to make you feel immortal, for a fraction of a second, Tonight..look up to the moon and speak to prophets, visionaries, artists and lovers, and tonight..look up to the moon and speak to your unborn children, and theirs, for one night..they just might look up to the moon and speak to you.

On The Mystery of Souls

2007-07-23T23:45:00.000+03:00

Souls are supernatural entities, unearthly creations that lie between our ribs, they have their effect on our bodies, but never are burdening on our physical or mental weight, they're delicate light biengs, and their delicacy is only explained by their unexplainable, instinctive messages that make us like..or dislike someone minutes after we first meet them. First impressions last..that's what they say, but first impressions aren't actually decided by the heart or the mind, but by the soul, preceding any physical attributes' interference and subsequent manipulation of the other..the heart sometimes manipulates the mind, it tricks it into accepting the otherwise irrational decision to like..or dislike, and with age, the mind manipulates the heart into doing the same, the intellectual decision is more likely to be successful, in the earthly rule of the survival of the fittest.

Souls on the other hand aren't bound to any rules of logic, or gravity..they penetrate bodies and minds in a speed probably faster than that of light, searching for a certain code of familiarity in the deep corners of the "other's" soul, they interact independently, they talk..without actually doing so, touch, without actually touching, they might even travel without even doing so..or maybe they do, causing us to become more familiar, sometimes to the extent of telepathy, and foreseeing certain details to come; deja vu. Children are controlled by their souls, they like without rationale, they also hate without rationale, hence their instinctive innocence, and probably unearthly wisdom; a childish playfulness in our all grownup rule controlled world, we might actually be tricked into believing that we become wiser as we get older, when the fact of the matter might be the opposite; one of the mysteries of existence.

This interaction between souls, is probably the only rational explanation -although irrational in its discourse- for the noticing of physical details in someone, their scents, their pronunciation of certain words, the causes of a witty unconscious smirk, and the ways to generate it, all in their own right are subconscious attempts to synchronize the frequency between the body and the soul, an attempt of sorts to reach out..or in, and express agreement with one's soul, with its genius, its mysterious perceptions, and a way to show gratitude for its delicate Divine inspired guidance to the heart, and the mind.

Souls give their responsible guidance, when you're aware of their effect, once you reach the point of consciously consulting your soul, your soul would give you the wisest of all advice, one that comes from a place as mysterious as the entity giving it, souls are silk gowns on diamond manikins, treat them with the delicacy and care they deserve, they can lend a helping hand, if you tune to their infinite frequency.

Who knows..the ancient Silk Road just might be the highway of souls!

The Thin Thread of Sanity

2007-06-28T22:54:00.000+03:00

It was early evening..and the ancient sun was getting colder, as her journey across the western sky was about to end..giving way to serene darkness, and the last shy rays were teasing his face..causing him to close his eyes..not to dream, but to remain awake.

She still comes to mind..whenever light touches him. Light touches..invades without permission, often reaching the heart before the skin, and whenever light is gone, his being became possessed with a weird feeling of longing, a subdued one, he knew that night would always give way to light, and that it in turn would always give way to night..and in the short distance between the two, when the sky became washed in that distinct color of goodbye..whenever he witnessed that..his ever present sadness would mature..for he knew that the sky was expressing her own sadness..for parting with light, ironic..since that same sky would be literally glowing with that same color moments before light came back a few hours later. The color of a parting embrace..and a reuniting embrace..is the same, the only thing that sets them apart is the freshness in the air of the latter, the scent of a renewed promise, a promise that is both kept and broken every day.

He sat on the cliff, every evening..and watched the sunset, he saw the sky turn her bright blue color into a sad shade of purple..as she fought with the thought of losing light, he saw the songbirds stop their singing and return to their nests in an act of protest and solidarity with the sky that carries their wings on hers. He sat and saw off that purple color of goodbye..and witnessed the return of darkness..every single evening.

The sky still glees in that same color every dawning morning, forgiving and forgetting the earlier unwilling parting. But he remains a resident of those moments between light..and night, and his sanity..is slowly becoming purple.

On The Beauty of Arabic..

2007-06-25T18:31:00.000+03:00

The following is an excerpt from a poem by a man who preceded Romeo by a Thousand years, and he wasn't a fictional character, you can hear more of this poetry under "My Music", and Again, I thank Noura for introducing me to Ensemble Ibn Arabi, whose Music I'm hosting.

Who said The Desert of Arabia was barren??

نهـاري نـهارُ النـاسِ حتـى إذا بــدا
لــيَ الليــلُ هزّتنــي إليــكِ المضــاجعُ

أُقَََََََََََََََضّـي نَهـاري بالحديـثِ وبالمُـنى
ويجمعُنــي بالليّــلِ والـهمُّ جامِــعُ

لقَـد ثَبَتَــتْ فـي القَلــبِ مِنــكِ مَــودّةٌ
كما ثَبَتَــتْ فـي الراحَتيــنِ الأصابــعُ

وأنــتِ التـي صَيّــرتِ جســمي زُجــاجةً
تَنُـمُّ بمـا تحتويــهِ الأضــالعُ

فلا خيّــرَ فـي الدُنيـــا إذا لـمْ تُزَرْ بـها
ليلــى ولم يَجمَـعْ لنـا الشــملُ جامِــعُ

وأفرَحُ إنْ تُمْســي بِخيّــرٍ وإنْ يَـكُنْ
بِها الحَــدَثُ العــادي تُرِعنـي الروائِــعُ

وأعمَــدُ للأرضِ التــي من ورائِــكُمْ
لتُرجِعَنــي يوماً إليـكِ الرواجِــعُ

فيـا قلـبُ صَــبراً واعتــرافاً لِـما تَــرى
ويا حُبَّــها قَـعْ بالذي أنـتَ واقِــعُ

مجنــون ليلــى

On The Stranger You Miss

2007-06-23T07:57:00.000+03:00

Do you ever miss somebody you've never met? It's one of the most straight forward contradiction of terms, for missing suggests the loss of familiarity in the details of a person you already know, physical and/or intellectual. But there comes a time..once in a while..when you tend to miss a complete stranger, a certain trait of character, not long for it..but miss it -longing and missing have two different sets of behavioural routes- your mind starts drawing a very detailed Mosaic, slowly..like the detailed Arabesque decorations, or a silk Persian rug, small detailed and delicate masterpieces that take forever to create..configured and conjoined to the degree of interdependence, resulting in that one big complete work of art..a masterpiece of imaginary beauty.

I guess this parallels the idea of a blind person missing light, but then again some blind people never saw light, so their interpretation of it is completely oblivious to the actual thing, they effortlessly and so eloquently explain it as a feeling..probably warmth or softness, they might even convince you of their version of "light".

How do you explain the taste of vanilla ice cream if you've never had some? You make it up, but you also make sure your interpretation is so detailed that it gives you..the satisfaction otherwise not actually known, for you can fool people into believing you speak out of knowledge, but there's something somewhere within the corners of your subconscious that makes your imagination heightened to the degree of perfection, the greatest degree of satisfaction is the one you make up..since you control its intensity.

There's a sense of instinct in the act of missing, a bird which came into existence in a cage will always look for ways to escape..it's instinctive. Missing is also an instinct, but missing something you never experienced is one of the most intriguing adventures the human mind could embark upon, I'm a very deep believer in the power of the mind, its ability to rationalize, but I'm also fascinated with its limitations, the power of compensation can never make up for the real thing, but still, your mind learns to replace..and move on.

We all miss a stranger at one point, an imaginary friend, a custom made entity, decoded and only visible to us, he speaks only to us, listens only to us, gives us complete attention, always there, on time, any time, and yet..if we see an incarnation of that imaginary person somewhere, we wouldn't know him, for he's a stranger, and no stranger is a friend, strangely enough though, friends can..in turn..be strangers.

Eve..Encore Une Fois

2007-06-14T23:48:00.000+03:00

She's still looking into her crystal ball, as I write these lines once again, a heavenly ode is being sung by a choir of angels, with golden wings and little harps, their voices are purer than the water from melting glaciers..tiptoeing gently through a small brook, and their smiles shine like the sun in a mid-summer afternoon, children are flying kites..colorful kites, with glittering tails, running in a field of lilies shadowed by a green hill overlooking eternity.

Her smile isn't a smile of simple happiness, but that of someone who knows they're a source of great joy, comfort and content..she knows she's got that magic, the power to turn an ordinary dull day into one from the pages of novels, with those same golden winged angels in the background..she never leaves their sight.

Eve is that same mystic nomad, sitting in her tent, seeing me..seeing her, as I write these lines, and with every letter I write, Eve's heart draws nearer..by force of Gravity, nature intervenes to bring people together..people use their freedom foolishly sometimes.

The calmness in her eyes, with their narcotic..hypnotic effect makes even the most patient Buddhist monk in Tibet instantaneously withdrawn with enlightenment, the most sincere dervish drunk with ecstasy. Nirvana lies in her eyes. I'm still writing, and she's still watching, and in the time and space between us, with those golden winged angels, those children flying their kites, with the never ending sunshine..I remain.

منقاطع ما منقاطع

2007-06-08T20:34:00.000+03:00

One of the things I admire most about Lebanon, "ya Noura"..wil 7akee lal jamee3, is that despite everything..it has always been a place where culture, in general..and Arab culture in particular, found a place to illuminate and flourish..through literature, poetry, music, theatre and journalism.

I was in Beirut one time in 2003, and the play called "ملوك الطوائف" by منصور الرحباني was showing, and as I'm a sucker for anything that has to do with the keywords Andalusia, Poetry, Music and Rahbani..I just had to see it, el mohem..shoo bidkom bi 6ool el seereh, I went..and I never left.

Following is a piece from a scene where all the kings of the fragmented city kingdoms of Al-Andalus meet to discuss the impending danger of King Alfonso VI of Castile's ambitious expansion, this piece was based on what was probably the first ever Arab Summit, in the 11th century..but with one twist; it was portrayed in the form of Zajal..which might have been..and still is the case, whenever they hold a closed session. The play of course draws similarities between what happened then, and what's happening now, in a genius simple kind of cynicism.

So imagine with me if you will, a closed session of an Arab summit, and listen to the important discussions amongst the leaders.

Enjoy.

p.s: you can also find more from the play, as well as music from another Rahbani Play "Al Mutannabbi" (The last two pieces), on the left side..under "My Music".

أحزان صحراوية

2007-06-05T23:49:00.001+03:00

أحزان صحراوية

مِن زمــــــــانْ

مِن تجاويفِ كهوفِ الأزليّة

كانَ ينسابُ على مدِّ الصحارى العربيّة

ليَّـِناً كالحُــلمِ سِحريّاً شَجِيّا

كليــالي شهرزادْ

يتخطى قِمَمَ الكُثبانِ.. يجتازُ الوِهادْ

مِن زمـــانْ

شَرِبَتْ حسرةَ ذاكَ الصوتْ

حبّاتُ الرمـــــالْ

مَزَجَتـْـــهُ في حناياها

أعادَتهُ إليّــــا

ليِّناً كالحُلمِ سِحريّاً شَجيّــا

فكأَني.. قد تنفّسْتُ شُجونَهْ

وكأنُّ الصوتَ في طيّـــاتِ صَدري

رَجّـــَـعَ اليومَ حَنيـــــنَهْ

فَأَراهْ

بَدَويّاً.. خَطَّتِ الصِحراءُ لا جدوى خُطــــاهْ

مُوحِشاً.. يرقُبُ آثارَ الطُلـــول

مِن زمــــــــانْ

غيرَ أنـّي.. كُلّما استيقظَ في قلبي اشتياقْ

لمزيدٍ من تدانـي والتصاقْ

كُلّما ضَجَّ نِداءُ البَـوحِ

في أرجـــــاءِ ذاتي

كُلـّما بُوغِــتُّ أنـّي

أتناهى بانسرابِ اللحظات

كُلما أحسَستُ أنـّي

بعضُ دِفءِ الآخرين

خِلْتُني عُدْتُ أراه

بَدَويّاً.. خَطــّتِ الصحراءُ لا جدوى خُطاهْ

سارَ في عَينَيهِ وَهْجُ الشَمس

والرَمْلُ وعودٌ بِرِمــــــــالْ

ومدى الصحراءِ صَمتٌ

وعذاباتُ ارتحـــال

فَتَغنّـى.. وسَرى الصوتُ على مَدِّ الصحارى العربيةْ

مُوُدِعَاً في الرَمْلِ.. غَصّاتِ أغانيــــهِ الشَجيـّــةْ

1967

تيسير السبول

1973-1939

On Faith..Again

2007-05-30T02:11:00.000+03:00

I've been contemplating the issue of Faith, in its abstract form for a while, I've actually already written a post on it a while back, but I haven't quite made what runs through my mind on that issue quite clear.

This is a time of extreme fragmentation of faith, denominations, sects..sub-sects, branches of sub-sects. and I'm talking across the board here, Sunnis..Shiites, and the sub-divisions among each, Catholic..Orthodox..Protestant..and the rest of denominations in Christianity, Hasidic Orthodox, Haredic Orthodox, Reformist..and the rest of those in Judaism, I'm aware of the existance of more examples, but I'm focusing this brain storm on the three great monotheistic religions, those which I'm affected by and affiliated with, by birth, history, geography and practically all aspects of life, one way or another.

We all share at least one thing in all of the above, the existence of a God, whom we all agree is The Creator of Heaven and Earth, Deliverer of Ultimate Justice, The Bestower of Mercy. Amazingly, His are blessings that are delivered to all humanity, it is us who manipulate and monopolize God's mercy, His blessings, His justice, we claim them to be ours, for us alone, and all those who seek Him in a different way are doomed, God wouldn't listen, He wouldn't answer, He's ours..and for you to be answered, you have to be one of us; by blood, or to a lesser degree of seperation, by choice, or..by force.

This of course is a very simplified version of a very versatile age old philosophical and theological debate, where blood drew more blood, and still does, but when you think of it, it actually goes down to that simplified premise; us being God's people..whether this is by divine decree..or so we think. Humans are selfish by nature, and there is no greater urge for selfishness than the urge of being The Righteous, the one whose side God will eventually defend and deliver to the promised land..in both this and the life hereafter. With this eventuality, we reach the point of a kind of collective selfishness, one that is unparalleled, a kind that reaches the point of chauvinistic predetermination of people's fates, condemnation of their lives, and afterlives.

I've been reading Ibn Khaldun's works on and off, and he argues..notice that I said argues, as arguments are the daughters of minds..and minds never perish..so anyway, he argues that when a society becomes a great civilization (and, presumably, the dominant culture in its region), its high point is followed by a period of decay. This means that the next cohesive group that conquers the diminished civilization is, by comparison, a group of barbarians. Once the barbarians solidify their control over the conquered society, they become attracted to its more refined aspects, such as literacy and arts, and either assimilate into or appropriate such cultural practices. Then, eventually, the former barbarians will be conquered by a new set of barbarians, who will repeat the process.

Almost 700 years after this analysis was made, it remains one of the most to the point diagnoses of human nature, the "other" is barbarian, in all aspects of life..social, religious..etc, an alien to civilization, enlightenment and righteousness, or what we perceive them to be.

I'm mixing oranges with apples here as I'm combining the social..non religious conduct of Man with that which is related to Faith. I know that Faith, or more to the point..Religion is a set of teachings which are supposed to result in the betterment of life, and eventually a reward of eternal bliss, this however differs with the difference in the teachings of each faith, but when you think of it in the social, anthropological sense, the thought of being civilized..groomed, as opposed to "barbarian", mirrors, or echoes..depending on your prefered medium of imagination, the idea of us..the righteous..against them; the infidels, the lost..the goyim.

We are selfish, in our manipulation of God, and despite our selfishness..among ourselves, He still saves a man from a Tsunami, a woman from an earthquake, and a child from an airplane crash..for the sole reason of Him being the supreme deliverer of Mercy, the same Mercy he bestows upon a new hatched chick when its mother gently feeds it, the same Mercy He inspires a mother elephant to move slowly so as she wouldn't crush her new born baby, that very same Mercy we are not capable of giving a fraction of to each other.

In these days of pitch black intellectual defiance and denial..among people..and between them, when we retreat to the point of having our backs against the wall..we can only look up, and seek His Infinite Mercy..the same Mercy he bestows upon ants, koala bears and whales.

Have a Good Night.

On The Stranger Within

2007-05-27T20:14:00.000+03:00

In each single one of us, lies a stranger, someone we don't recognize, we do not know, he steps in occasionally, says hello, sits and has coffee with us, we talk, but then we never introduce ourselves to each other. He makes decisions on our behalf sometimes, most of the times those are the one's we regret..simply because it wasn't us who made them, it was that stranger within, that which we don't know, and yet, we permit him to become us for a brief moment of time. Some people are very accommodating..they let him take over longer than he should, and as a result their lives are never normal again, or take longer to repair.

This stranger has all the time in the world, he has all the means, all the will, he knows you very well, he knows when you're vulnerable, when you're weak, he lends a shoulder, gives a hug, but in doing so..he doesn't save your life, he might even be doing the opposite.

That stranger steps aside..disappears, whenever you sit and ponder..on how you could have done something, or not have done it..regret is the awakening of you, the realization of that foreign being within you, who took control and made decisions.

Some people lose their reality, and become that stranger, hence the saying: "you've changed" which by the way is a nice song, I like the version by Eva Cassidy, check it out if you can.

I have my stranger too, and I'd like to think that I still haven't reached the point of him taking over me completely, he takes over me sometimes, and makes decisions, ones I regret, but thankfully they're not irrepairable. Strangers know when to stop, and what their limits are, and the more space you give them, they'd double it and move forward.

We all have strangers within, keep yours on a leash, because you can never lose them, or should I say they would never lose you.

One last note; strangers of the same kind also exist around you, the good thing about those is that you have the choice to lose them, even if they have all the intent not to lose you.

Happy 61st Birthday

2007-05-25T09:21:00.000+03:00

Today, I'm Thankful, to God for His blessings, and His guidance. Today, I'm thankful for King Abdullah I, for giving my grandparents refuge back in 1948, for giving my father, my uncles and aunts the chance to study..with honour, work..with honour, and make a decent living..with honour.

Today I'm Thankful for King Talal, for the constitution that made me first among equals, regardless of background, or faith. The rule to which we all seek refuge whenever we face malice.

Today, I'm Thankful for King Hussein, for making me proud to be Jordanian, for giving me the peace of mind in knowing that whatever happens, I will always have a home and a people to go back to, I'm Thankful for giving my grandparents the opportunity to have a peaceful long and happy life, for giving them the dignity in their life, and their death.

Today I'm thankful, for King Abdullah II, for giving me the hope of a better tomorrow, for the peace of mind, the ability to walk without the fear of an air strike, a sniper's bullet, or a car bomb. Today I'm thankful for the people of Jordan..my own; the tough, the kind, the noble, the generous, the shrewed and the brave.

Today, I'm thankful for being Jordanian. Today, I'm thankful for my parents..and theirs, and today, I recite a prayer for all those among us who have passed, and for those who are passing around us. May God's Mercy be upon them..and us all.

On Time

2007-05-21T13:03:00.000+03:00

I've noticed a couple of new grey hairs in my head, and I have to be a bit cocky and claim that they look cool..along with their predecessors! this of course is happening as spring is blooming around, interesting contrast..the rules of sunrise and sunset, time..makes its own decisions, but the idea of a certain slot of time assigned for each one of us to do whatever we like, or can..is quite intriguing. There's something weird about the thought of our "quick" appearance on this planet's proverbial film roll, some make a short appearance, some make a long one, some are in the background..in the corner of the screen, some are outside the shot, and yet have all the players in their hands as they move them like puppets.

Some people pass through our lives, and make a huge effect, parents..friends, an effect that might stay with us till the day we leave, others make an effect..one that is lost with the first wave that washes them..and their effect, and some just pass by our own time slot..as do we.

There's a tree outside my window, and so far, I've seen it lose its leaves, bloom with beautiful pink buds, get a green coat, then lose it..and now the pink buds are about to make way to the new green coat..as I watched from the same window..watching nature is an interesting way to contemplate over the thought of existence..a circle of life.

One's selfishness dissolves in minutes..when you realize that you're better off leaving something behind..for people to remember you by..a selfish thought in its core, yet in achieving it you achieve a selfless act, people would remember someone who affected their lives..affecting people's lives needs an act of giving..intellectual, or physical, an eternal fingerprint of a sort.

Time never pauses..and as we move ahead with it..we get closer to certain predestined dates..our first steps, our first day in school, our first..everything, and our last. There's a certain mystery about coming of age..an acquired sense of wisdom, a reservoir of memories..experiences, that is never filled, it is all summed up in the saying..you live, you learn!

Keep your eyes..and minds open.

On The Delicacy of Emotions

2007-05-12T00:11:00.000+03:00

At times, one feels transparent, like water..a see through entity, when the lightest breeze of air could penetrate your being..your bones, and reach the deepest most remote corner of your heart. when your voice becomes an echo of a distant forefather, or a distant great grandson, your eyes a capturer of memories..those of your own..and those of those walking around.

It rained today in London, and the rain washed the green landscapes, as it washed me..I deliberately walk in the rain sometimes..without an umbrella, it gives a feeling of renewal..a baptism of the soul, the water is not that of The River Jordan though, but none the less, it is one fresh from the wells of heaven, where angels and saints roam, and where eternal sunshine lies.

I saw on the news last night something about a cat adopting some chicks, they jumped on her head, poked her belly, as she laid there. Examples of Compassion never seize to amaze me, the hunter and the hunted, removing all rules of nature, renewing hope..despite everything..and proving that there is no Impossible.

I walked in the rain today, and as people hid from the divine shower..under umbrellas..coats, I embraced it..rain is a blessing, that's what they say..so why hide from a blessing?! there was a little girl holding a little umbrella..she had cute pigtails, and as she walked home from school, she skipped with happiness, children know when a blessing is being given. I kept walking, as darkness drew closer, the sky had this dark blue/purple color..The color of longing.

On Emotional Maturity

2007-04-30T15:43:00.000+03:00

As I read my favorite blogs, I've noticed the recurrence of a certain theme, relationships, mental attraction, and intellectual intimacy, very interesting subjects indeed.

I've once wrote that to me..intellectual seduction is one I admire, it shows beyond the obvious, there's nothing more "perfect" than being taken on a trip to the stars by someone, physical beauty is the first impression, but first impressions can change..with time, to the better..or worse..once the intellect kicks in.

No two people are alike, but people who can't read their own emotional chart are more proned to mis-reading other people, mixed signals are signs of emotional ineptitude, in its innocent form, and emotional manipulation, self gratification through control of someone's feelings..in its most sinister form, some might think that they're "having fun", people are entitled to have fun as much as they like..but there comes a time when commitment is a sign of responsibility, moral..and emotional, and hopefully by the time this happens..people would've reached "Emotional Maturity", not just the age seen by society to be right for commitment, otherwise, all the past childish "fun" would result in a very rude awakening to one's personality, causing lifelong problems, and sadly..more often than ever..very short lived happy marriages, or marriages..period.

When you know that you're capable of adding something to someone's life, when your life reaches the point of wanting to give rather than take, emotionally..intellectually, you probably are on the doorstep of emotional maturity, what I'm talking about here is the intangible aspect of commitment, the one only you..and that certain other would experience, intellectual intimacy. Minds interact away from the rules of nature..and society, they can literally be together while being physically a thousand miles apart..although it would very much help to be in the same room, as vision, sound and scent increase familiarity, it doesn't matter if that same room was shared with a thousand other people..minds tune to a certain wavelength..a shared station..the remaining stations of all humanity are turned off.

I like observing people..despite the famous related proverb, you tend to learn from people..if you're not selfish to the point of not looking beyond your own nose, another sign of emotional maturity.

Random Thoughts.

Epilogue

2007-04-27T14:50:00.000+03:00

He couldn't close his eyes to dream, he didn't need to..his whole life was a dream, he spent his waking hours watching the distant paradise as it slept like a baby in her cradle, the space between them vanished as the night grew older, he could see the lights of Andalusia, the lights which showed him the way through the darkness of estrangement, of body..and mind.

As dawn washed the hills with thin shades of divine light, he boarded the first boat to take him across this barrier, this carrier of longing for his land, where he belongs; every cell in his body identified with an identical grain of sand on the beaches of Almeria, every blink his eyes made identified with the flip of a bird's wings in the gardens of Granada, every beat his heart made sounded in the valleys and plains of Seville, this was a reunion witnessed by all creation..silently.

He reached the promised land, his promised land..where rivers of milk and honey flowed..he swiftly jumped off the boat and ran like a child into his awaiting mother's arms..his mother was called Andalusia, and she was waiting for him behind that rocky veil..Gibraltar, as it sheltered his tired body. He was looking around..reassuring himself through his drunken sobriety..he couldn't make sense of this feeling..it was as if all his past had been erased..he was born right there..as he stepped on the shore, he was a newborn child..coming home for the first time, everything he had said and done before his birth..rebirth, was deleted from his system..this was the beginning..beginning is an only child..it has no siblings.

As days went by, he walked in the tired streets of the "late" Cordoba, and saw the signs of old age on the faces of even the young people, the air wasn't the air that once filled his lungs, Cordoba..the idea..was a distant past, funny how your past catches up with you sometimes, how it drives you to a better future, it's even more intriguing how everything from your past changes and you..remain the same, or so you think.

He never found her, he never found his freedom as he never found the promise he had set out to find, but he was content with his fate, for at last, he had become victorious over his own continuous defeats of doubts, and despite the inexplicable state of mind he had reached, he was finally home, home wasn't the one he was hoping to find, freedom tasted different..freedom wasn't there to find him, but the enduring effect that old man had left on him, Metropolitan, Jaffar, and the scar she had left in his heart would keep him going..as he witnessed the new chapters of Cordovan epics being written; Esperanza.

Tangier

2007-04-17T22:21:00.000+03:00

Every time he won..he lost soon after, and every time he lost, the colorful Mosaic called his life became more fragile, as it became more detailed. The most beautiful objects in the world are the most fragile, his sadness over Cordoba, over her, over his lost identity..was complimented by the loss of a sudden friendship, sudden in its creation, sudden in its deep effect, and sudden in its loss.

Tangier was now close, and our friend could tell that his awaited liberation was near, he was missing her..he was missing the details of her face, she was Cordoba, and Cordoba was her, his quest for her..for the reconquest of his subsequent defeats was the redemption of all his past sins, he was a deep believer in the sacred geometry of chance, chance was by which he had met her, chance was the driver of his gain, his loss, and the force that got him to set on this journey.

The sea wind was carrying a familiar scent, a scent he grew up smelling, the orange orchards of distant villages laying beside the sea were the first signs of his nearness to home, nearness to her, those orange orchards carried ripe jewels, he could almost see them shining in the distance with their teasing color, he could tell...that from now on..home was within his grasp, she was home, the streets of Cordoba where she walked were the veins in his body, and the streams running through its valleys were his blood.

The ship lowered anchor as the sun was setting in the western sky, and north of here was Andalusia..a fresh breathe of northern air away. He walked the roads of Tangier, the markets were closing for the day and merchants were gathering their goods and heading home, the scent of eastern spices mixed with the smell of Andalusian jasmin, Tangier was the younger sister of Cordoba, they both have the same eyes, the same smile, and the same noble lineage, people spoke almost the same way as they did in Cordoba, speech sounded like music, distinct to the opposite banks of Gibraltar, that rock stood there..proud like a noble Andalusian woman, announcing the nearness of beauty, defending it from prying foreign eyes, it was the veil on Andalusia's face, behind it was the face of Arabia..Iberia, united in sound, united in blood, that defending veil on the face of Andalusia was staring at him from the short distance between them, and as he stood on the beach..his feet were being washed by waves coming from Gibraltar..even the sea knew that this was a son longing for his mother, those waves touched his feet gently..they were the fingertips of Andalusia, and she was embracing him privately..away from all humanity.

A Storm of Loyalty

2007-03-27T19:57:00.000+02:00

Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks, and our friend's mind reached her time after time, his eyes could look deep into hers as he looked into the night, he could smell her distinct rosy scent, fresh..it wakes up one's conscience, her brown hair cascading like a waterfall rushing down the highest mountains. She was the last thing on his mind before he surrendered to sleep each night, her face was the warmth of the sun that woke him up every morning, she was the intoxication in his sobriety, he was drunk in her mirth, the thought of her could make his heart reach his throat.

This trip was his pilgrimage, his past sins would be forgiven when he finds her, his soul would be washed by angels as she smiles at him, when she did..back in the days..he would literally feel that his life was complete, he would not need to eat or drink..the thought of her content was enough to break all rules of physics, he would become an ultra human, one who is powered by the most noble of all human emotions.

He was heading her way, from cities of obscurity, and palaces where the balconies look onto clouds, from longings inhabited by estranged tales of love, with a kind of joy and happiness never before imagined by the layers of sadness wrapped around his neck, he was like a poem not yet written.

One evening, as the seamen finished the day's work, the skipper gathered them and said he was feeling a storm in the air, he predicted it to hit them later at night, they lowered the sail, made sure all the ropes were properly tied, and waited for their enemy to charge, the rumbling of thunder announced the close invasion, lightning was like the distant shining of swords, the crew prepared for war, what war is this? man against nature, they knew it was an unwinnable battle, their strife was to survive, to remain standing, life is a strife against all kinds of elements, and this was one of life's tests, they sailed into their enemy's territory, as it forced into theirs, and with every minute, the wind became stronger, the ship became a kite, as it swayed right and left, the first attack of waves into the ship became stronger as the waves were getting higher, rain made it worse, water was surrounding them, it fell from above, came from beneath their feet, in a united charge of nature's powers.

The crew sought refuge in the ship's belly, on the lower deck, and as they sat there..they felt that the hands of Zeus and Neptune were bound together underneath them, water rose higher as the wind grew stronger, no one could tell what had happened next, except that few had made it out of the storm, the last thing our friend remembers was Jaffar's attempt to steer the ship out of the storm, he was the strongest among the crew, and the only possible match to its might, he had remained on deck throughout the night, by the first light of dawn, it became clear that Zeus and Neptune decided to conspire with their brother Pontus to bring Jaffar among them, Jaffar had managed to save the ship with his own demise.

Sailing

2007-03-24T20:25:00.000+02:00

His comprehension of the politics of probability could not grasp the coincidence of fate he has just witnessed, he was on a ship in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, and before him stood a man who found freedom where he had lost it, Cordoba was the uniter..it was the divider, where dreams came true and where they were lost. and now..this man..this prisoner of inhumanity was eulogizing the lost moments of freedom he had found in non other than The Grand Library of Cordoba, where his own life rocketed before plunging back down.

Jaffar turned out to be a man of wisdom, despite his ill fate, he conquered his own estrangement of land, of humanity..he compensated it with knowledge, and what better place to seek freedom..intellectual liberation..than in Cordoba, he learned to read..in Arabic, as he read the masterpieces of minds past, he cherished the few hours of freedom he could have whenever his imprisoned world reached the shores of Andalusia, where beauty of face and place, complimented the beauty of mind, where people were masters..as they were servants of enlightenment.

For the remainder of the trip, Jaffar became the companion, the nights of our friend's days, they became each other's freedom from their respective captivities. Jaffar taught our friend about Africa, the vast plains of Zanzibar, its infinite landscape, where the sun meets the moon, and the sea meets heaven as they both carry the distant mountains like a mother carries her child.

Their sailing in each other's minds as they both sailed west gave them the will to reach their own destinations, Jaffar's freedom was within his reach as our friend revealed his identity as the keeper of the grand library, the knowledge within the books in Cordoba was within our friend's chest, and with every mind trip they took together, they reached the stars above..as they reached the plains of Zanzibar, the gardens of Andalusia and the endless fortunes of Metropolitan, both men became brothers of fate, they bonded in their separation, and their countless separations were diminishing with each passing hour on board this vessel of fate..of faith, the faith in tomorrow, when Jaffar is a free man, and our friend is re-united with his land, his soul and his dream..of finding her, and in doing so..finding himself.

Jaffar

2007-03-22T12:46:00.000+02:00

It was a hot day in Metropolitan, his longing for Cordoba matured under the midsummer afternoon sun, as he crossed the busy markets heading to the port, he couldn't bear this heavy feeling lying over his chest..he felt like an unfinished symphony, a bird shot down in flight, confused..disoriented. he has found success in the years past, but he was constantly misrepresented..misunderstood, it felt as if he spoke a different language, no one could understand him, nor could he understand.

He searched among the vessels..asking seaman after another whether any of them was heading to Andalusia, and with every "No" he heard, with every denying nod..he became more determined to reach her, even if he had to walk along the shores..following seagulls, until he reached Gibraltar. His heart skipped a beat when a man finally pointed at a white boat in the distance..it was heading to Tangier, he ran like he never ran before, he looked for the skipper, "Take me with you" he shouted, the skipper looked down from the boat at this man on the pier.."This is not a boat for leisure..I carry spices". our friend hurried up the ladder, and in one leap he was facing the skipper, in another quick move, he took out a bag of golden coins.."Take me as far as you can..and I shall give you two more of these", The skipper smiled; "What makes you think that I wouldn't take all your money and throw you in the middle of the sea?!", our friend grabbed the skipper by his shirt, "I would swim the rest of the distance".

The skipper maintained his calm as he fixed his wrinkled shirt..seamen are patient by nature, he grabbed our friend's hand and lead him to a small room below deck, "you sleep here..you rise at dawn..and you work for your meals".

The man became ecstatic with joy..his lifelong dream of returning home was coming true, he threw his small pouch in the corner and got himself ready to start working..he thought that the sooner he became part of the crew..the sooner he would arrive, he grabbed a mop..ran up to the ship's deck..and went on with cleaning his new found kingdom..he was always a philosopher of fate, he ruled a kingdom of books in Cordoba, then a kingdom of fortune in Metropolitan, and now he was the master of the mop, and his pride was greatest with this third reign, this ship was the carrier of his longings, this kingdom was different..it represented a promise, a realization of fate, bearing his heart, his dreams, his future and his past, it was heading west, where Cordoba is.

He was crossing the ship right and left..staring into the horizon..trying to unfold the distance like one unfolds a rug..wanting to see further than he could, and with every breathe he took, his estrangement became less painful, as his lungs realized that the air filling them was becoming more and more familiar.

On the evenings aboard the ship, he would have supper with the seamen, then take a corner on deck..lay his head and look up to the stars, he remembered the old man, and his lessons about the stars, "There are 88 star constellations, each month, a number of these constellations rise in the night sky", and as it was July, he knew that the 6 stars in the western sky where the stars that made up "Hercules", the bright one in the distance was the Northern star.

Few days have passed into the voyage, and still he couldn't get accustomed with the constrained life on board a small ship, the constant rocking of the ship made him uneasy..he couldn't sleep..as his thoughts took him on trips of time and space, and as the ship slowly sliced the sea, truth became more and more resident in his mind, he has finally done it..he has killed his defeat, conquered his fears..and he was now realizing the meaning of the victory he achieved over himself, he never thought that one day he would get over his expulsion from paradise, he never thought that one day..somehow, a hidden force would torpedo his being into heading in the direction of Cordoba once more, it was like The Forbidden City to him, he could never set foot there again, "the only certainty is that there is no certainty", he thought to himself as he went into a philosophical trance, nothing stays the same, kings can become peasants, peasants can become kings, the sea can turn into a desert, and foes can become friends..time makes its own decisions..and we are but players on the big board of life, we think we're successful, we think we're on top of the world, and then suddenly..we discover that we were sitting on the tip of an iceberg, below us are miles and miles of hidden truths..and the tip was melting under our own feet.

His chain of thought was broken by a fellow seaman..the shadow of a huge man of African descent stood above him, carrying a lantern, he kneeled then sat beside our friend. "I'm Jaffar" he said..our friend smiled and kept staring at the stars, Jaffar sat there, as their silence was only broken by the sound of the waves splashing against the ship, Jaffar took out an orange he had bought in the market by the bay before their departure, he pealed the skin off the orange, and presented half of it to our friend as he laid, feeling disrespectful..he sat up, took his half, thanking Jaffar, and for the next few minutes..they both ate their halves..contemplating their next moves.

"How long have you been a seaman?" our friend asked.."Twelve years and four months..ever since I was sold in Zanzibar, I was a boy". our friend sensed the pain in Jaffar's voice, his vessel for freedom was someone else's prison, his promise of victory was this man's betrayal of defeat. Jaffar started narrating his tragedy; "I was taken away from my family..sold as a slave, I've travelled the world, but in doing so, I was still a prisoner, I saw gold, silver, precious spices..but I was always the man to move it from one master to another, I could never own any of it." Jaffar had the body of a gladiator, but with every word he uttered in the broken Arabic he spoke, his tender heart as innocent as the baby elephants in Africa came undone, and with it, our friend's attention grew, he was taken by this gentle giant's ordeal.

"Have you been to Cordoba?" our friend asked, "Yes..a noble city of noble people" Jaffar exclaimed, "The only place where I felt free was in Cordoba" he went on.."I felt free as my mind felt free..I used to visit The Grand Library of Cordoba..until it was lost in a fire", our friend jumped on his feet like a possessed demon..Jaffar snapped up as well, thinking a rat had bitten our friend..they both stood there..facing each other..each not knowing what to do next..until Jaffar shouted asking if our friend was alright..bringing him back to reality, our friend sat down and held his head..trying to stop his mind from escaping through his fingers.

Esperanza

2007-03-17T23:46:00.000+02:00

On the Morning of his rebirth, he walked out the room..where he spent the previous night in contemplation over his existence..his purpose in life, the Sword which he had hung on the wall for years has finally poked his conscious, his soul was uneasy as he realized that the man he was, was nothing more than a pawn on a chess board, he walked to the fountain in his courtyard, and submerged his head..baptizing his soul in ice cold water, he declared a revolution..promising his past, his present and his future to return to his origins..the noble man who roamed the desert, lending a helpful hand to the destitute and the poor.

His exile was now even more foreign, as his inner estrangement was more than his bearing, he gasped for the air of Cordoba..no air is like the air of Cordoba, even his lungs knew that the air filling their corners was foreign, he couldn't let go of the memory, that old man had a very enduring gaze..his eyes were those of a man who had witnessed the beginning of time.

Our friend was full of mysteries yet to be unraveled, his golden past inscribed in poetry was a prologue to his future, this was the beginning, and the best was yet to come, he remembered a free soul he had sought back in Cordoba, she had the beauty of Ancient Queens, the grace of Greek goddesses..and all the pride of Andalusia. If perfection existed, she would've been the one to prove it, she could argue with men over religious rules, then have a philosophical duel with the greatest philosophers, and with one look from those deep brown eyes..she would turn the world around, she had Cordoba at her fingertips, and when she walked under the moonlight, one would think that the moon was actually under her spell, clouds would clear..and the full moon would light her path..as she walked by the Great Mosque of Cordoba, worshipers would be taken away from their prayers..but beauty isn't a distraction, it's a fortification of faith..a sign of the greatness of to whom prayers rise.

She knew the art of Andalusian singing, her velvet voice was heard miles away..people would sit in their gardens and listen as the wind carried the tunes from afar, even foes of Cordoba laid arms as her singing penetrated hearts..united humans for a fraction of time. Madness creates genius, or vice versa, but one thing was for sure, his sanity hanged by a thread as he sat there; an exile..a king, a man who had sold his golden past for a present of silver..and a future of sand, he spoke to no human for 3 days..Silence is like being in labour..Zacharias was ordered to abstain from speech when God promised him a son, The Virgin Mary was ordered to seek asylum in silence as she carried her noble son to her people.

He thought of her, and all the words in the world came to his mind, but none were actually spoken, thoughts travel faster than light, he wondered what had become of her, he packed..walked out of his gated paradise, and headed in the direction of Cordoba..where his soul had remained, in search of her, in search of truth..he never found any truth after he had left..everything was tainted in a shade of darkness, nothing paralleled the scent of cordovan jasmin, or the purity of the flowing streams of Andalusia, he sought his past..he wanted it, he wanted her..to be his future, his fuel was Esperanza..Hope.

The Sword

2007-03-13T02:31:00.000+02:00

Deep in the Arabian Desert, where sand storms wage their conquests over more sand..there lived a man; each day..he rides the wind on his White Arabian horse, and roams the desert in search for nourishment..water, and knowledge. He has grown up with the beasts of the desert..he has become a seasoned man..with the shrewd sunburned hawk eyes he has mastered the talent of character judgement..he could tell if a man was honest, brave, noble..or otherwise from the first few words he utters..his demeanor and his conduct.

One day, as he crossed the plains..he came upon an old man..exhausted and thirsty, and like the noble Arab he was..our friend hurried in the old man's direction..quenched his thirst..and shaded him with his own turban..he then took him to his tent, fed him, and left him to rest..the man slept for 3 days..only waking up to drink some water.

On the fourth day, the old man woke up..and looked around, he didn't recognize his setting, as he looked in the distance, he saw his rescuer outside..building a fire..it was almost dusk, and our friend was getting ready to fix the evening meal, the old man stood up..and walked in the direction of his host.."Thank you", the host looked up at the old man, he smiled and nodded..and gestured to the old man to have a seat beside him, he pointed at some shrubs..requesting the old man to pass them on..and without saying a word..he grilled the meat..turning it every once in a while..as the old man looked on..glancing at the host every few seconds..in an attempt to unlock the mystery within this loner..who saved his life..gave him shelter in the middle of nowhere.."Who is this man?" he thought to himself, he looked at the man's hands..rough, and full of old cuts, his eyes were glowing in the fire light, "Great Night" he said..pointing at the stars above..and trying to get the host to speak.."I've always liked the night..I'm an astrologer, I read the stars".

The host became intrigued with that last statement..he looked at the old man and in a deep husky voice said: "Are you really?" as he tore a piece of meat and presented it to the old man..he asked him to read him his fortune after dinner, the old man nodded as he battled with the meat..the last time he ate was almost a week ago.

Later that night, the two men sat before the fire, exchanging stories of their pasts, but the host kept to himself one detail..how he got there..and why he was living alone in the desert, the old man..in his fortune telling manner, started reading some signs aloud: "You are a man of Honor..you save the weak, you honor the old, and you respect the desert, he who doesn't respect the desert is doomed to be buried within its dunes.."

The host didn't react, he just sat there attentively..trying to decide whether this man was true to his claim of fortune telling or if he was just another con artist.

"You have fled your land..not in fear, but in disappointment" The host's eyes flashed with un-concealable astonishment at what he just heard, "You shall return from your estrangement..to your land..and you shall be King" He then went over to his pouch, and took out a sword, an ancient golden sword revealed itself, the sword was decorated with ancient Arabic poetry, about honor..battles and victory, as the man read the inscription, it seemed as if the ancient poet was resurrected and was talking to him..and no one else, the old man had his wish..he now has the host hooked with wonder as he slowly untangled his mysterious identity.."I come from Andalusia, Cordoba..the jewel of the west, I was once the keeper of the Great library in Cordoba, until that ominous night..when the flames ate the one thousand year old sanctuary of knowledge, ancient transcripts were lost, I was punished..imprisoned, and exiled out of Paradise for my sin". The host confessed.

The old man scratched his beard as he listened on to his host..he now knew that this was no ordinary coincidence, he himself was heading to Cordoba when his ways led him to the lost paths of the desert..he was heading to seek knowledge..enlightenment, and when he was lost..he was found by the keeper of the Great Library of Cordoba, "What strange fate?" he thought to himself, but he now knows that his destination was no more. The two men made a pact, the old man asked the host to promise him that once he became king, he would make him the Grand keeper of the library in his land, in return, the old man would teach him the signs of the sky, the mystery of the stars and the hidden secrets of asteroids, the host presented his hand in a sign of agreement, and the two shook hands and spent the rest of the night conversing about their past journeys.

During the following few weeks, the old man's side of the deal was being kept, he taught our friend the names of the stars, ancient myths about the cosmos, and the art of finding direction through star reading, he told him he needed to befriend the stars..and when they're confident of his loyal friendship, they themselves will reveal more secrets, these are not taught..they're gained.

The host informed the old man of the books he used to keep, he told him of a book that discussed philosophy; "The mind is the road to salvation, people are blind not by their loss of sight, but their loss of insight", books that discussed the beauty of heaven, "Cordoba was heaven on earth..you could smell the blooming jasmine as its branches dangled from the walls of people's homes, as musicians recited songs of love and longing in the distance, where the sons of foreign kings came to seek knowledge..they learned Arabic, and spoke in the distinct cordovan dialect..they saw it as a privilege."

A few days later, the old man asked the host's permission to head on his way..thanking him for his generosity, hospitality and his nobility, reminding him of his promise..the host hugged the old man, confirmed his promise, and saw the old man off on the outskirts of the desert before returning to his world among the sands..he examined the sword the old man had given him..reciting the ancient poetry on it..before concealing it within his prized belongings..a book, an old piece of cloth belonging to his father, and now..the sword.

Years passed, and our friend has now found a new home in a new metropolitan on the edge of Arabia, a growing land..where the now exiles of the lost Andalusian cities have found home, the jasmin, the fountains and the libraries are now stories of the past, tales for books, they've been lost..forever. When man becomes arrogant, he loses his pride.

Our friend progressed in his life, reaching new heights as days passed, he now owned a grand palace on the highest hill overlooking metropolitan, his palace was reminiscent of Andalusia, the scent of jasmine saturated the air, as the sound of flowing water from the several fountains presented a relaxing effect, servants crossed the corners of the palace..you could almost hear Korsakov's "Shehrazade" playing in the background, as the man sat and pondered at his fortunes, he remembered the old man.."That man was right..I must find him, and keep the promise I made". he summoned his advisers and told them to seek an old man..a fortune teller, he gave them a description of the old man..and ordered them to find him.

A week had passed before word came that the old man he sought had passed away a few years before, as he crossed the desert, a group of thugs had attacked him..he was defenceless, and he was killed, The man wept as he heard the news, "The old man gave me his sword, his prized sword, and I left him to his fate, I wish I hadn't accepted that sword, I wish I never met that old man", he walked into his room and closed the door behind, the sword was hanging on the wall, he removed it and read the inscription once again:

كفى بك داءً أن ترى الموت شافيا وحسب المنايا أن يكنّ أمانيا
تمنيتََََََها لمّا تمنيتَ أن ترى صديقاً فأعيا أو عدوّاً مُدجيا

A man's sword..is his mind, his fortune teller, his golden future inscribed in poetry, his use of the sword is optional, defending himself is one option, and as one defends himself with this particular sword, its magical powers are revealed, it fights with you..for you. There comes a time when you have to pass the sword on , it is the responsibility of the next owner to decide what they do with it..some choose to use it, some choose to hang it on the wall..but swords are not made to be hung on walls, neither are minds.

On The Wisdom of Silence

2007-03-08T22:55:00.000+02:00

There's a certain charm in Silence, maybe stemmed from the idea of self restraint..Patience, replacing self expression from the outwards..to the inwards..Silence is an act of inner self expression, a dialogue within..the most honest dialogue is the one within, it might be as peaceful as a mass prayer in unison, or as brutal as a war..no war is more brutal than the war that rages within one's chest.

I'm captivated by Silence, it radiates with Mystery..it penetrates walls, sometimes silence can be louder than all the physical noises around us..we co-habitate with those as they become part of the background of our life paintings, but Silence..has its allurement, a certain promise of betterment.

Silence begets Wisdom, as it engages the mind in a series of observations..turning into a series of contemplations, it's an embedded cleansing system, Silence washes the soul; reaching the point of soul cleansing is a long journey, unearthly..as you engage ultra-human powers in the process of unintentional meditation, deep breathes are often expressions of deep thought, they result in an instantaneous physical comfort, they're also signs of soul cleansing..deep long breathes only take place when one is silent, you've just had one..you were silent.

I get into these philosophical moods, and every once in a while, I walk into my "lighthouse", and look out..and almost always, what I see is a flash of an idea, un-photographable, un-recordable, but describable in an unearthly manner, it's soft..hence comforting, light..hence comforting, and silent..hence comforting.

Silence gives a feeling of Eternity..an Immortality of Thoughts.