loose leaf

إلى بنات رواد

2012-02-18T15:20:00.003-08:00

على طائرة، من بيروت إلى عمان، خلال عودتي من تسلم جائزة "اتيل عدنان" للكاتبات المسرحيات العربيات، وقد أختير نصي "حقيبة حمراء: في غرفة الحقائب المفقودة" كأفضل نص لسنة ٢٠١١، و بعد تسلمي للجائزة المادية و المعنوية، من سيدة المسرح نضال الأشقر في مسرح المدينة، وبعد إختيار نصي من قبل لجنة تحكيم عربية وسويدية، الذين وافقوا بالإجماع .... أعود.
علي أن أشعر بالفرح، ولكنني كالآتي من جنازة ... ما سر هذي الكأبة؟
"شو ناقصني"؟
نهار اليوم التالي، يوم السبت: بعد نوم بضع ساعات، حان موعد أن أفيق. عندي ورشة بعد ساعتين "صوتي حياتي" ... لكن، الطقس في الخارج ثلوج ...
رسالة من "بلقيس" ملكة سبأ" تسأل فيها: "في اليوم ورشة"؟
نظرت من الشباك: الطقس ينذر بعاصفة، وأنا منهكة، وصلت في أخر الليل .. ما العمل.... بعد التشاور مع زميلي في التيسير، فادي سكيكر، قررنا أن نؤجل الورشة ... ولكن بعد ساعتين من التقلب بالفراش و من وأحلام مزعجة عن فشلي في تيسير ورشة، قمت ... وق توقف الثلج عن السقوط .. وندمت ... كان علي الاصرار، بالرغم من الطقس و التعب ...
ولكن، ربما في "التاخيره خيره."
وثم، وبعد قهوة الصباح، وصلتني الأفكار التي أعربتن عنها في جسلة النقاش مع كفاح ... وها أنا ... في الجواب، وها هو المفتاح لكأبتي: انني قد شعرت انني خذلتكم.

عزيزاتي، بنات رواد
اكتب لكن، وكان علي أن اكتب من زمان ... كم أنا فخوه بكن ... وكم آسف عن ما قصرته في حقكن ، و عن عدم وقوفي في الدفاع عنكن في ذاك اليوم، الذي أعربتن به عن أنفسكن "أدام الشباب" ..
نعم، كان عدد المشاركات كثيراً، ولم نستطيع التركيز على هذا المشهد أو ذاك - فبدا ما قدمناه في يومنا الأخير "إرتجال" ... أضعنا الوقت في التدريب على البداية، ولكننا لم نتدرب على النهاية و"الفريز" ... ولكن، وكما قلت ... فالمسرح -بالنسبة لي- ليس الهدف بل الوسيله، لنسمع صوتنا. ولذلك وجدت نفسي أريد أن نتكلم وأن نتعلم بدل أن نصنع عرضاً جاهزاً بلا عمق ولا إحساس. كما تعلمون، فلم تكن درساتي في التمثيل ولا الاخراج، ولكن بعلوم النفس والانسان .... ولذلك ملت أكثر إلى أن نستغل وقتنا سوياً في طرح التسأولات، وفي الحديث عما يعنينا ....
المسرح: وسيلة لا هدف
أعرف أن ذاك اليوم كان صعب عليكن - بسب ردود الفعل السلبية من الشباب، وكان أصعب علي أن أرى الحزن والنكسة على وجوه بعضكن ... كم لمت نفسي ... فأنا لم أجهزكن بما فيه الكفاية (من ناحية تمثيل) ولم نعطي كل مشهد حقة، من ناحية تطوير. انني أوافق أن العدد الكبير من المشاركات في الورشة لم يكن الخيار الأنسب، حيث اننا لم نستطيع ان نعطي الوقت الكافي لكل منكن. عندما اعلنا عن الورشة، كان من المقرر ألا يتجاوز عدد المشاركات ال ١٢ - وإن طارت ١٥. ولكنني عندما علمت أن هناك عدد أكبر يريد المشاركة، ما هان علي أنه أقول "لأ".

أرجوكم أن تغفروا لي، فكان علي أن أقول هذا أمام المجموعة وأمام الشباب.
أود أن تعرفوا انني فخورة بكن وبجرأتكن. أعلم أنه ليس من السهل أن نتحدث عن أمورنا الخصوصية أمام العالم، وخاصة عندما يكون هناك جو مشحون ... ولكن هذه الخطوات مهمة ... اعلموا انكن لم تتحدثن بأي شيء "عيب" - إن كان عن العادة الشهرية أو ظهور الملامح الانثوية - هذا ليس بشيء لا يعلمه الشباب، أو أي انسان ... لا حياء في الدين و أمور الحياه. هل تعتقدن أن الشباب لم يتحدثوا عن الأمور الجسدية أو حتى عن الجنس؟ طبعا تحدثوا .... ولكنكم كنتم اجرء - وهذا لا عيب فيه.
ليس من السهل أن تتحدث المرأة، ولكنها إن لم تتحدث فستضل دائماً مقيدة ....
إن لم تكن عندنا الجرأة لكي نقف وألا نخجل من الحديث عن عوالمنا، فلن نكون احرارا. أكيد، سوف ينتقدنا بعض الناس، ولكن - وإن لم نقل شيء "غلط" فلماذا ننتكس أو نخاف.
قرأت التأملات، وبالطبع لم أعرف من قال ما، ولكن أحداكم قالت أنها شعرت أن الورشة وضعتها في حالة تنويم مغناطيسي، وأن أخر لقاء كان الصحوة ....
أود أن أقول: أننا دوما في حالة تنويم مغناطيسي، وهذا الذي يجعلنا نرضى بالقمع ... نفيق أحياناً، وعندها نرى شيئاً جديد، هذا الشيء ليس دائماً سهلاً ... في معظم الأحيان هو صعب، لأن المجتمع الذكوري الذي نعيش فيه يريدنا أن نبقا نائمين وخائفين ....
لن يعطينا المجتمع حريتنا على طبق من ذهب، وإن اردنا أن نأخذ حقوقنا، فعلينا أن نتعب، وأن نجازف، وأن نأخذ الأنتقدات كدافع لأن نكون أحسن وأقوى - لا أن نجعلها تغلقنا، وتحبطنا.
أنا أعلم انني أعيش في عالم مختلف عن واقعكن.... ولكنني في الوقت نفسه اتفهم حياتكن .... مما عرفته عنكم، فأنتم "رائدات" - فتيات على أدراج النسوة، تردن العلم وتطوير النفس والعطاء ... إن لا، فلن تكونوا في رواد .... وإن لا، فلن تكونوا قد تجرأتم على قول ما في سركم .... هذا أمرٌ يجب أن تفخروا به، لا أن تيئسوا بعد البوح به.
نعم، ضيعنا وقت على الدخلات، ولم نعمل على تكنيك الفريز؛ ولكن هذا لم يكن - بالنسبة لي- بأهمية أن نعبر عن نفسنا وأن نسأل أنفسنا عما يقيدنا وما يدور فينا كبنات، واناث، و نساء.
في الورش القادمة، سوف نركز على أن يكون هناك توازن أكثر في الحديث عن الذكورة كما عن الأنوثة. وفي لقائنا القادم، سوف تعملون مع الميسر الذكر، وأنا سوف اشتغل مع الذكور ... هذا مهم، كما قلتم في ردود أفعالكم.
أصواتكم مسموعة ... لا تكتموها.
شكراً لكم على كل ما قدمتم ... أنتم بارعات جريئات جميلات، في أنوثاتكم وذكورتكم ... كمثل الرسمة الدائريه، التي فيها الأبيض به السواد، والسواد به الأبيض،
شكراً على صراحتكم التي ستفتح الطريق لمن سيأتي بعدكم.
اتطلع إلى لقائنا القادم ... و"عنا حديث كمان" ولكن الوقت قد حان، لكي أخلد إلى النوم.
سلام
لانا

Pack Unpack

2012-02-12T09:23:00.000-08:00

Pack, unpack, and pack again
"How many times have you done this?"
More than I can count on my hands.

Through the window, I see a cat.
It jumps from Dumpster to Dumpster.
It owns nothing; no need for movers or a "For Sale" ad.
Its kittens - it carries with its mouth, to where it's safe...
And look at the birds; they don't even move their nestlings,
Just set them in a makeshift nest, until they can fly...
Not I

Pack, unpack, and pack again
I keep getting better at this, my hands move like a machine,
Wrapping breakables in newspapers and embroidered linens.
When I unwrap them again, what year will it be?
Will the ink have stained the cloth ... will I care?
Will I take a moment to read about today?
What would have changed?

Pack, unpack, and pack again
I put things away that I have not used in years
Things I never used, thing I forgot I had,
Things that are not even mine ...
Inherited from my mother or father,
From the golden days of the family house,
When they entertained guests.

Pack, unpack, and pack again
Silverware, glass and copper
I should probably give it away
But it's pretty,
And it might be worth something one day ...
Perhaps it already is
I'll polish it and try to sell it ...
Too much to think about now-
Next time....

Pack, unpack, and pack again
What would I take if I had to flee,
What would I save if there's a fire,
Will I even remember what was once there,
Would I be relieved when it's gone?
What would I take if I only had a camel to carry things,
If I lived in a tent, if I lived without one?

Up in the mountain, where I spent my forty days,
I only carried a backpack with two changes of clothes,
One for working the garden, one for wandering the woods;
I carried two books I never read,
A pipe and things to write on - those I used.
It was plenty ... I missed nothing.

Pack, unpack, and pack again
To be free of attachment
I thought I was there,
But looking at the boxes
It just doesn't look like it ...

الاغتراب

2011-12-31T16:57:00.000-08:00

غريب أنا هنا، وما به غريب، أم به؟
غرابة - الغريبه .... وهي أكله محلية - أو هي أنثى الغريب، المؤنث: غير صلب و غير شديد ... إسهاب
غريب أنا هنا، أم انني غريب الأطوار ... ؟
لا ما لا ... سجال.
تغرب الشمس في الغرب .... هناك، حيث الأمور ليست على ما هي عليه
هنا - هناك
الغراب يطير (وإن كان عكسمها أصح) ... مسكين، له سمعة لا شأناً لنا بها ...
ما عمل هذا السواد ليستحق ذا
النور والظلام ... واحد إثنان،
والفجر يلقي بأول خيال
على حجر لونه الظلام
حجبه صوت يقص ذروة السكون ...
اه ... لو صوت أم كلثوم ...
يا حرام - سلبوا الشمس من سماع الرنين
عاشق يغني لها ...
هناك، حيث الغناء ....لا هنا .... غريب ...
غريب أنا هنا، وكيف لا أكون غريباً،
وأنا بعيد عنه - وإن كان معي، دائماً بنفسي، فإنني لست معه واحداً - إثنان،
جسدٌ والروح هنا زائرة، منبعها السماء
أمنا الأرض ... الرب والربة، معاً يرقصان
في لا مكان، و في كل بقعةٍ وكل سطر ...
الغربه ... أين هي .... وأين لا هي - حيث لا توجد، حيث لا يشعر بها الكيان- حيث الاثنان
واحداً .... في الجبال العالية
حيث الأشجار وتحت النجوم وفي وادي القمر، هلال
هنا، الآن، أينما كان من كان،
موجود، وإن انصت الفؤاد
في السكون ...
في السكون المتمرد على الضوضاء
في سكون صمت الأعماق
في السكينة التي تضيء السماء
وتحملها الريح حيث يكون الإثنان - واحداً
ها هنا.

Today's headlines: A rant

2011-10-11T11:38:00.000-07:00

I wake up to sound of stupid tunes blasting outside my window.
It's not an ice cream van-it's much louder and it comes around more frequently.
If you've been to Jordan you know this phenomenon.
It's not a riddle, but a pick-up truck selling cylinders filled with gas.
I wonder about the driver, listening to the same tune all day.
He's probably used to it, but it must be messing up his brain.
I get out of bed, cursing.
But he's only trying to make a living.
The cost of gas keeps rising.

I drive into traffic and try to block the honking.
I stop to fill up gas
After driving off, I realize, "the guy at the pump just ripped me off."
I curse again.
He's probably underpaid.

Last night they said the temperature today will be dropping
"expected rain showers, god willing"
Today, it's hot, and the plants on the balcony are covered with dust
No water in the tank to clean them up
I don't know who to curse.

I check my email to find forwards and junk,
A message from someone who thinks I'm their secretary
And a warning of Face Book hacking ...
I teach myself script formatting, but it doesn't support Arabic text

I'm tired of cursing.
I check the BBC:

Opium production is rising in Afghanistan
New Zealand's oil spill - an environmental disaster
Occupy Wall streets spreads across America, with democrats trying to claim it.

In egypt, clashes between the Coptic Christians and the military
A minister resigns .... peace struggles to be maintained.

China urges Syria to reform, faster
Russia does the same.
Reform faster?
It's all relative at the end of the day
And what matters is public opinion.

More people are dying
but there are more pressing issues
Theorizing, featuring and analyzing.

"The country is for sale."

US supports Yemen's dictator against his people,
It backs Libya's rebels against theirs
"We need to protect our interests"
Eight years later, Iraq is still burning.

An Iranian actress faces 90 lashes.
Tunisian fanatics attack their TV station for airing Persepolis.

"We will not rest till all women are veiled!"

UK's nuclear program gets an OK
"You're as stupid as the countries you've established"
Let's nuc-the world before the fall of capitalism, before they take over
The Islamists or the ultra Orthodox Jews,
One and the same
Awaiting the Messiah, Al-Mahdi al muntathar
A man dressed as a woman, an undercover suicide bomber.

The fall is on the horizon
But it's not the apocalypse
It's a new era .... and it will be beautiful
If only we survive it
But regardless
The moon will continue to wax and wane,
and the sun will shine just the same.

L;-

A bridge in Skansen & a lesson from Reindeer

2011-09-26T13:39:00.000-07:00

In his book, "Sweden: the Secret Life" Colin Moon states:
"Swedish women sometimes sound like they are have a breathing complaint, when they agree, they breathe in and say 'jahhhh' .... They are not about to pass out in an asthma attack. They are just participating in the conversation." p.32
There is some truth to this fact, but it does not always come in agreement- it seems, and
It's not only the women who do it, though it is less common for men.
Collin gives no explanation to this phenomenon
But today, I think I know its root
(a non-scientific explanation)

In Skansan
We arrive fifteen minutes before the Museum closes,
"You can't walk into the houses," says the boy in the booth, "but can stay in the park till 7.30"
I remember yesterday at Sturekatten: five minutes before closing, and look what happened when I stayed ...
I go in along with two friends.

Up a hill, we meet a couple of windmills; on the side, a labyrinth.
My friends had never walked one before, so
We walk it- but only one way ...
We take a short cut coming out, and
No angry bolt of lightening strikes us.

Rules can sometimes be broken, and
"You don't always have to do it the way it's been done before"

We emerge and wander off, each on their own, naturally
And there I find myself .... sitting on a stone on the edge of the road, writing ...
Behind me, a canopy of trees and ponds; two bridges, maybe three
No one is here but me

The sky is cloudy and I do not have an umbrella
I've left my flip camera at home
My phone is running out of battery
Nothing to film with or record
No one is watching

When no one is there .... who do you perform to?

I balance on one foot
There is still no one in sight ....
This time, I do not stop myself from dancing
Even if someone sees me,
they'll probably think I'm part of the entertainment,
"there's always something happening in Skansen."

How much one worries "what will people think!?"
But most often, they are not even aware of one-of you-of me.
Jantelagen

I do not know how much time has passed,
but the sun is setting, and I have taken my time in crossing
Things are clear
I emerge from the forest and a Peacock traipses up the road - it passes me by-fearless,
I'm just another duck on the street.
If this scene was in an Arab country, the bird would be scramming
Plucked feathers is likely!
I am no self-hater, but only say what I see .....

I head up North to see the houses of the Sámi
I pass Reindeer ....
"Did you know" the sign on the wooden fence tells me,
"Reindeer are the only species in which both sexes carry antlers"
Now that's a lesson in Gender Equality!

I pass the animals, and find myself in a garden with a statue of my friend Linneaus
He holds a flower in his hand, and a leaf from a tree
Someone has placed a purple lavender-like flower between his thumb and finger
It does not smell, I leave it there

I walk out of the park - but not the way I came
I fall into another park, with a white Swan arching its neck into the water
An old man with a camera stands-by for the perfect shot
I see the reflection of lights in the pond,
I gasp 'Jahhhh'
This has been recurring for two days ...
Where is it coming from?
Why ofcourse .....
It is passed down, from the people who came here long ago
Around a corner, down a hill, they were taken by the beauty - the majesty of nature
They inhaled to take it in ... They gasped ...
But with time, people forgot why it was done
And it just slipped in conversation.
jahhhhhh
Du tysta, Du glädjerika sköna!
No wonder Swedenborg lived here!

The sun is gone
I reunite with my friend without much effort, three hours later
We sit outside the gates of Gamla Splan & toast a glass of red wine

I take the bus home, and as soon as I get off at my stop,
The rain drops start dropping
Perfect timing
Ten minutes later in my room ...
I drink pomegranate juice and eat olive tapenade
It's pouring outside
May it pour in Jordan.

L:-

1921

2011-09-25T13:57:00.001-07:00

MillesGarden: Enchantment
Trying to restrain the body from dancing too much, the voice from singing too loudly
To avoid suspicion
Poseidon looks out.

Sturekatten
Cats seated around a table drinking tea
An iron gate, a spiraling staircase, a hidden place .....

Akki sushi bar, no name to mark it on the street
There's only one available seat,
It's for me.

Meanwhile, a day in time
Palestine to be recognized
A satellite dissolves into pieces on impact
Syria en-suite de France,
While أنا مش كافر plays in an apartment, on the outskirts
The world economy is crumbling, as we eat chocolate dipped cookies
And in Côte d'Ivoire, children are being exploited in the cocoa industry
Everywhere in the world, those who work the land are deprived of what they grow
And most of what we buy involves people working under a level of Inhumane conditions
Just go out shopping - everything is on sale
Universal dysfunction
To produce, to consume - to dispose of, to throw away ...
Ikea is pretty, but not made to last
Using the flag but not paying its country's taxes, do they at least recycle?

Breaking news:
"Women given right to vote In Saudi Arabia"
25.9.2011 .... It is a historical day
In sweden, women got the right to vote in 1921 (with some restrictions)
"and that's pretty late for Europe" they say.

1921: Jordan became a"'state", a promise and a British Mandate

1921: Carl Jung, Carl Milles, Isadora Duncan, and Khalil Gibran
What were they doing September 29?

1921 to today ... A difference of 90 years
"But will it take us that long?"
-But is it long enough?
Things move faster these days,
Even "light" might not be the fastest, after all

Geography is changing, physics is evolving, and the mind is cleansed
Inside
Everything is made from glass, translucent:
Eyeballs and a dining table, a velvet pillow and on it a crown, a red slipper in the right size ....
Outside ....
Bronze sculptures, trees with purple flowers, and water fountains

It is autumn, and it is late ....
I sleep, and
Hathor awakens
A dream

Skål

L:-

Father's day and Women Driving in Saudi Arabia - a week later!

2011-06-07T07:03:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, Saudi women got behind their wheels and drove. It was also my father's birthday, as well as father's day in general. I had just come back from Algeria and Spain with many things to say .... I was writing faster than editing, and with so much going on, I scattered my words all over the place .... So I left them.

I had wanted to organize a demonstration with art-installations, showing support to Saudi women and their right for autonomy. I even wrote the announcement: where to be and what to do and why.
"You'd probably need to contact Saudi women here first" a friend advised, "to not get suspicious eyebrows." She told me I'd have to start the campaign by making a logo and clarifying a statement, and putting it out.
It sounded like a lot of work .... I thought for a minute: I had only 5 days to do this, and had just come back from Spain, with a play to rehearse and a book to edit and laundry to do ... weighing the options:
I am artist, and not cut out for organizing demonstrations.
We do what we can, in the way we can and the place ...

I follow up on news
On an internet site, a woman warns against the terrible consequences of letting women drive. In gist, she says:
"What women don't realize is that this is a trick, they will end up driving and having to do everything, instead of being driven and taken care of. It will make their lives more troublesome, burdened with having to do shores. Owning a car is as expensive as having a driver, so you won't be saving anyway!"

My father and I laugh about this together.
My father taught me how to drive, before I reached driving age. But I nonetheless had to take compulsory driving courses. So I spent them learning how to drive while smoking, eating, changing gears, talking to the instructor next to me and her boss in the back ... while parallel parking. Now, I'm a better driver than my father.
"A parent wants his children to be better than himself" he always said.
Today, my father likes it when I drive him to places.
We talk about everything .... from politics to dreams.

Cars and Dreams

In dreams, driving a car is a common motif. Sometimes the car is going too fast, sometimes too slow, sometimes not working, sometimes going uphill and sometimes down, sometimes it's a truck or bus or bicycle.
Is the car yours, is it a taxi, is it rented?
What the vehicle is is indeed very important, but perhaps the more important question is:
"Who is driving the car," said the caterpillar.
Who is in control of the vehicle?
Is it you? Is it someone else, are there several people taking turns, is it someone you know or someone you don't, is it the Grim Reaper?
No one driving at all?
How mysterious ....
Fog ... it's a hybrid between a person and a frog behind the wheel; or maybe it's your tenth grade English teacher?

The car is you, it is part of your consciousness, it is your vehicle, could be your body, your physical manifestation on the road of life. It is unique to the individual; its the mode of transport; it is also movement.
In the old times, people might have had more dreams about riding their horse, donkey, or camel .... camels ...
Camels are quite spiritual you know, but then, so are all animals.
They spend their time marveling in their god's creation. Oh, the birds .....

The birds, they sing .... early in the morning, in the suburbs of Amman , or on the shores of the Mediterranean ... they get so excited when the sun comes up. It happens every morning, but they sing like it's the first time, they never seem to take it for granted.

On the last Friday in Algeria, into the morning of Sabt, the first bird sings. it sings and sings on its own for a while, and then is silent. For an instant, it's as if no one heard it ... but then, from all sides, sounds start ... each one on its own, and then conversing.
More and more wake up.
The Sun is up. Open your eyes.

سبحان ربي الذي خلق
Subhaan rabiy-al-lathi khalaq

In Algeria, it was all green and lush. My eyes were washed.
In Amman, I had left my plants on the roof in the care of my father.
After two weeks when I came back, I found them blooming. He has green thumbs, it seems, my father. But he also gives them 2 times as much water as I do.
I must be drying the poor things up.
I do have a history ... Twice, in my life I have managed to kill cactus - out of negligence, too little water, and then too much, a shock of sun to dry them, or simply - my worst offense, forgetting to put them into soil - but I didn't have time!
I killed cactus, of thirst, but of the last batch, the two big cacti survived ... one of them is even flowering.

Cactus ... they tell me my grandmother used to fix broken bones by wrapping two pieces of hot cacti on either side of the break. It apparently worked. They say she used to practice Arabic folk medicine ... None of my aunts learnt from her. Now it's gone.

How did I end up here ...... oh yes, the cactus.

Avocados and the Friday Prayer

2011-05-20T03:21:00.000-07:00

Farewell and hello

Premise: There are many different meanings to words. We can choose which ones to use.
Writer's Keys: * = Word meaning and/or my interpretations.

A cactus speaks
صبره تتكلم Sabrah tatakallam:

It's quiet. It's been an early morning. Hardly any traffic; only a march of some kind on the airport road. I wonder what they are marching about?
Might it be Ajloun's deforestation?
I would like to believe it was. This crime was the last straw for this nature creature. If my government and leadership allow this to happen, then I have lost faith in all of them.
Breathe.

It's quite today, I can even hear the birds singing. It's Friday. Our Fridays are the Sundays and Saturdays of the other two. For me, Fridays are the Saturdays of Grand and Lakeshore - at least it feels that way today. But here, there is no Farmer's Market, not like the one over there .... No Pretzel Croissants, fine cheeses, and samples of fruit-in season, organic, and local (the magic three). They tell me there's a market of sorts here, but I doubt I can just wander about undisturbed, tasting fruits and enjoying the scenery.
It's simple things that I miss: Getting eggs from the woman who keeps the chicken, picking up a little basket of no-pesticide strawberries-imperfect in their shape and not too sweet, trying to figure out how ripe to pick my avocados to last a whole week ... Avocados: A forbidden fruit.
Forbidden?
Because: They take too much water, they're planted in excess on the East Bank and are being exported to Europe; they are drying the river Jordan ... because there are people monopolizing land, getting all the profit, and tyrannizing the underdog .... Do you want to participate in that?
Oh but I yearn for an avocado ... sensual and so nutritious ... It looks like a belly pregnant with a seed. It tastes like butter. How easily it opens up, when it's ready. With a snip- a soft but quick stab, the seed comes out, like an egg. Bright green butter with a hint of yellow, on a bed of mixed greens, drizzled with some balsamic, olive oil, salt, and three strips of smoked salmon. Blue cheese to make it more decadent, some pecans, and possibly raisins or cranberry. And a glass of wine.
Local wine is good here. But we don't have pecans.

To Import or not to import, to grow here what grows here, or to grow things from abroad. To plant what we 'want' unaware of harming the ecosystem? Is it simply wrong to grow certain things in some places? Is the problem with the thing itself or is it a matter of excessive and unfriendly production practices? Is the problem with subsidization, greed, colonialism, occupation?
But it tastes so good.
Eat cactus.
They are tasty ... but how many of those can you have, and don't they give you constipation? What's their nutritional value- do they even have any?

I turn around and see the cacatus on the windowsill. It waves. There's a clan of them these cacti: Two adults, four teenagers, and four infants. They come from AlGhore Alshamali, near the Hjayajah(a tree that's 1,500 yrs old ... neglected, getting senile but gaining wisdom.) The clan has been sitting the sun, without soil, for over two weeks.
"Murderess."
It did rain, so they got a few drops, but no soil. I need to plant them, now.

Pots with dried up soil await underneath the sill. There's probably left-over roots of something that once lived here. Maybe it was the beets?
I don't have tools up here, so I dig with my hands. I take a few roots out. Dirt gets under my fingers. I dig holes. I plant. Ouch.
The problem with cactus is the thorns (its shield). The big thorns are not the culprits, you can see those and avoid them. Even if you find one inside your skin, you can easily locate it and remove it. You can even use a big thorn as the spot to hold the cactus up with. It's helpful. The thorns you should really be aware of are the ones you can't see. Like the needle of a fairy, so soft and small, they jump into your fingers like a child jumps into bed, covering itself with a blanket (your skin). They cuddle in, slowly but surely going deeper. Eventually, the skin pushes them out, but not before stinging for a few days.

A gift of thorns.

As I plant, I become aware of a soft voice ... it comes from the mosque on top of the hill. It's the Imam. I am confused. It's jum3a prayer, and I am supposed to hear a man screaming and raising hell - this has been the case for some time. This one sounds different, he comes from somewhere else. His voice is tender, it makes me listen. His tone lulls me. I only catch the tail end of his prayers:
May God bestow his blessings on all people of the past and present, and the people of the future. May blesings descend on the poor and the ill, the orphans, the blessed-young and old. Blessed are the believers*.

* WM: Believer (Mu'min). Not associated with any religion, it's someone who has something he/she believes in, having a belief, a concept of higher self - i.e. god. A belief ... the the most important of which is perhaps in "oneself". Finding god within = Finding god without. Neither one can truly exist without the other.

He recites surat al-fatiha, and my heart hears it as if for the first time. I sit to write it here .... I don't want to use the academic references, they are archaic and removed .... I google Al Fatiha to find an interpretation by Kabir Helminski, that speaks to me.

"In the name of God, the infinitely Compassionate and Merciful. Praise be to God, Lord of all the worlds. The Compassionate, the Merciful. Ruler on the Day of Reckoning. You alone do we worship, and You alone do we ask for help. Guide us on the straight path**, the path of those who have received your grace; not the path of those who have brought down wrath, nor of those who wander astray. Amen."

** WM:
اهدنا الصراط المستقيم Ihdina alSirat alMustaqeem (Guide us on the right path).
Ihdina: Huda: Grant us, give us, lead us to, make us see (the light.) Hadiyah: gift. Hudu': calm, quiet, tranquil, peaceful.
Al-Siraat: the road, the path, what one reaches when they walk towards a point.
AlMustaqeem: a line, most direct, straight, correct. Mustaqeen - Qaam: stood up, rose up, Qiyamah: the day we are born again (day of judgement).

What is the right path?
"It is the straight clear line, without إعوجاج: deviation, crookedness, distortions, (like a curvy road) - ibn Kuthayr
"The way to Paradise" Ibn Abbas
"The pilgrimage" Al-Qurtubi
"It is a darkness, in which people seek, according to their own light" Anonymous, Muntada alTawheed.

It is past three. The day has not even started yet. I am yet to drink the zamzam. I suppose it starts with the intention ... انما الأعمال بالنيات Inama al a3maal bilnyyat.

The cactus interrupts me asking for water, to welcome it into new soil.

Saabra
** Guide me, gently, to the path which brings me into the embrace of the light. Lead me to it by inspiration, open my eyes that I may see most clearly - the way, the path, my path ... البصر Albasar.

When the world is falling apart: Reclaiming the Tea Party

2011-04-12T14:09:00.000-07:00

When the world is falling apart:
Nuclear waste is polluting the air and water, when governments are still insisting on building nuclear plants in their cancer plagued war-torn countries ... when leaders are killing their people, and people are killing each other, when there is no end in sight ... when the planets are at hard angles in the sky, the wind is throwing rocks at cars, and everything seems foreboding ... when you sit puzzled, not knowing what decisions to make or un-make, "oppressed by bonds that could easily be broken" (IChing, #47), when you're taking yourself too seriously ... when you should be doing a million and two other things ... you sit and write a silly blog under a pseudonym.

Reclaiming the Tea Party
(Setting: Alice @ the Doctor's office)

It angers me that they took the name Tea Party
It's from Alice in Wonderland, and that's my favorite book. I don't want to associate it with them.
My Tea Party is a bunch of loony toons sitting around a table with cups and saucers, drinking invisible tea ...
Put this way, I guess the name might actually be appropriate....
No, Carroll's tea party cannot be stolen by these right-necks, or is it wings? BBQ?
No thanks, I don't eat chicken.
Anyway, sure the mad hatter is mad, and the mouse is equally nuts,
but at least they have a sense of humor
Of course, it could be argued that Palin has it too,
She had people cracking up in the debates, they even made a bingo game after her....
But no, Alice's bunch are at least lovable.
Besides, tea party stealing Carroll's concept is no different than the Nazis stealing the swastika.
It's no different than the Christians 'appropriating' the cross, the Muslims the crescent moon, or the Jews the star ....
They took the tale and used it for their own benefit ... they're giving it a bad name.... the thieves!

"You're blowing things out of proportion Alice, and you might get yourself in trouble. Is it that time of month again?"

Dr Alice

A letter: Interfaith marriage and crime

2011-04-07T06:05:00.000-07:00

Where do I get my inspiration?
Different places and times: Sometimes it's from personal experiences and events, sometimes it's from stories I hear or read, with a bit of pepper and salt. Sometimes it comes from nature, dreams, and news reports. Sometimes inspiration just comes, from a place unknown to me. Usually, it's a combination of all those things.

Below is a paragraph from my latest performance, "In the Lost and Found", followed by the letter that inspired it. (I apologize for taking so long to publish it Leila.) The letter is set against the reality that in Jordan, as in several Arab countries, a woman cannot transfer her citizenship to her husband (while the man of course can).

"They tell me I will lose my inheritance if I marry a non Muslim. He has to convert, otherwise the marriage is false, the kids are bastards, and the wife is an apostate, her "blood is permitted" - with no punishment to the killer. I am obliged to give my husband my religion, but I cannot give him my citizenship." L;- (In the Lost and Found, March,2011)

Letter from Anonymous

I don't think my story is unique, it happens to many people, but I want to share it with you, because you said this blog is open to women's stories, and I want to purge mine, and start a new page.

I am a young Muslim woman and I am in love with a Christian. The norm in situations like ours is that he has to convert, other wise my parents will disown me. And even if they don't, it's not even allowed-legally, as I would be considered an apostate - a sinner. But his family feels the same way. They do not want him to change his religion, they also think their way is right.

Could both ways be right? Aren't all ways right? People say that the parents have to be from the same religion so as not to confuse the children. But can't they expose their children to both ways and have them choose? Shouldn't religion be based on belief? And what about the talk that "The People of the Book" are all mu'mineen (believers) because they worship the one and only God ... So what's the problem if they intermarry and do not change their religion?

My situation would have been different if he was the Muslim and I was the Christian. I could stay on my religion and marry him because the children will be Muslim anyway, according to the law. But this still does not necessarily make the girl's family accept her. I know several girls from Christian families who had to fight to be allowed to marry a Muslim. Some of them jeopardized their relationship with their family, some were outcast. I also know a couple of Christian girls who married Muslims and their parents accepted their choice and supported them.
But in my case, this is not possible. He has to convert; otherwise we cannot be together. I think there is an Aya about this, but I don't know it.

I cannot really force him to do it, I cannot force him to choose between me and his family. I know he loves me, but he also loves his mother. it's even harder for them, because they are a minority. Maybe we should run away together and live in a place where this is not an issue, but where can we go? Neither one of us has a second nationality.

I'm angry and I am confused.
Should I be upset with him? If he loved me enough, wouldn't he fight the whole world to be with me? But what if he does convert and things don't work out between us. These things do happen. Then what? He will be totally alone. Why don't his parents understand and let him just convert by name? But Islam does not recommend converting just for marriage, he should be convinced. But what if one is not convinced? And so what if a husband or wife are not convinced of their partner's religion? Can't we still love each other? Why do we all have to be the same?

Maybe it's my fault for loving him, I should have just stopped myself from the beginning, but I couldn't. Love does not know religion, it only knows the heart, and when it beats and you feel your soul has found its mate, reason is no longer part of the equation. I could not stop myself from loving him. I hoped that maybe we will fall out of love and things will solve themselves. But we didn't, and they didn't. Maybe we got more attached to each other because we knew our love was forbidden .... who knows. What matters is, we cannot be together.

My parents kept nagging me to get married. I argued with them about it for many years (7 years to be exact), but I'm getting older, and I really want to have a family and raise children. Last week, a distant cousin came and asked for my hand in marriage. I accepted. He seems like a good man, and he is taking me to Canada, he lives there. I will go, and being so far, I might forget that I am living with only half a heart.

I feel like I am betraying both men, I hope I can forgive myself one day.
Thank you for publishing my story

Sincerely
Anonymous (Leila)

Excerpts from my response to Anonymous, I won't bore you with all of it

Dear Anonymous, aka Leila

.... I believe the verse used to explain the rules of interfaith marriage is:
"Do not marry polytheistic women until they believe .... Nor marry your girls to polytheists until they believe."
(Qur'an 2:221). The word used in this verse is 'mushrikeen' which translates as Polytheist; however, some translations of the Quran interpret the word as 'unbeliever' ... but not to dwell on al-ta'weel...
It is important to note that there is an exception to this rule: Muslim men may marry a pious/chaste Christian or Jew, because they are 'People of the Book' and thus are not polytheistic. The children of such marriages are inevitably born and raised as Muslims. However, there is no exception for the woman. She is simply not allowed. I think the rationale is that because the head of the household is the man, he might prevent his children from following their mother's religion. Another explanation is that since a woman follows the leadership of her husband, and he is not Muslim, she should not follow his command. This of course assumes that the woman is under the authority of the man, and it also negates the possibility of relationships based on pluralism and acceptance ....

Three days ago Juliano Mer Khamees was shot outside the theatre he founded in Jenin. Juliano was an actor and activist, his mother was Jewish and his father was a Christian Palestinian. He fought for Palestinian rights. Haaretz says he was killed by Palestinian militants, the Arab media I skimmed through did not mention the identity of his killers. Whomever did this is a criminal. Why do I say this here, because I think it's relevant. Will I explain now? No, this blog is long enough as it is.

L:-

International Woman's Day

2011-03-10T11:37:00.000-08:00

My interview published on the UWC network:

"Driving down to the Dead Sea on a Friday in March, traffic is congested. At the sign that points to the mineral hot spring, cars are parked at either side of the highway. Bare-chested young men are crossing the road in their bathing suits, three guys are covered with Dead Sea mud smoking cigarettes, while a group of boys dance Debka by a food vendor. The atmosphere is joyous, heralding the approaching spring. But something is missing - there are no females in sight. Where are all the women? I look around and try to find signs of women. I finally glimpse one, she is wearing a black Abaya, hair fully covered, hiding by a pick-up truck. Driving through villages and towns outside of Amman is not much different - it would make one think that there were no women, but I know better. They are inside the walls of their houses, where they belong, deprived of the sun's rays and the breeze....

To read full article, visit
http://www.uwc.org/what_we_do/news/international_womens_day_lana_nasser.aspx

To Amman by plane

2011-02-23T12:20:00.000-08:00

I do not leave the same way I came....

By boat, I arrived to Nweiba 27 days ago; a Bedouin named Farraj took me Southward, to the city of Gold.
Today I leave the city heading to Sharm Al Sheikh - also southbound, but this time, it's to board a plane. The cab driver is Egyptian, I do not know his name.

I was supposed to leave two days ago, but "the fast boat Maritime is not running anymore" said the unfriendly man behind the counter at the Nuweiba port. Great! I hopped back on the bike, wrapped my arms around Apollo and headed back home to Assala, with a smile on my face. "اجت منهم مش مني" but knowing I have to be back sooner or later, I booked a flight for the next day. The next morning, while brushing my teeth before heading out the door, I got a call: "The flight to Amman has been cancelled, not enough people to operate a plane." Toothpaste dripped down my chin. I did not smile, I laughed out loud, "You'd think I'm not meant to leave this place!"

The universe gifted me with two extra days guilt-free, I spent them in leisure, watching the moon rise and wane. Last night, it rose above a sea that looked completely still, casting a thick beam on a glass surface. Aphrodite's waves of the past two days had subsided, so she stood calmly at the seashore, washing her feet with the foam, squatting down to pee in the Sea, washing her vagina with salt water.

Today .... I stop by Mashraba to say goodbye to the boys, for the third time. But like the boy who cried wolf, we don't take the farewell too seriously, thinking we'll be rolling together later in the evening.

The Taxi driver arrives exactly on time. He shakes my hand with crusty fingers; he smiles revealing a bad set of teeth. He carries my backpack and places it gently in the trunk, asking me "where are you from?" He is originally from Cairo, but has been in Dahab for 20 years.

"How is the situation like in Jordan" he asks. I begin telling him about how our King has changed the Government, but he interrupts me "But do the people want the government to change or the King." Long pause. "The people are asking for reform," I say, "teachers are on strike because they want the right to form a Union, some tribes and political figures are calling for changing Jordan to a constitutional monarchy."

My mind drifts back .... I think of the debates I used to have with my previous boss in San Francisco, he was a proponent of constitutional monarchies, but I was against. "What are the options we have" I would tell him "it's either the brotherhood or the tribes." He'd call me an anti-democratic royalist. "People would beat each other up for a few years, but then they will settle down and have a true democracy." he would say. But I was not convinced, "Democracy per se, does not work in the Middle East, it does not work ... look at Iraq, look at Hamas ... this is our democracy." I had little faith in the people then, I preferred a benevolent dictatorship, but now ....

The taxi driver interrupts my thoughts. "Are people as oppressed in your country as they are here?" he asks. "We face similar problems," I say, "corruption, stealing, and an unjust distribution of wealth, but at least our citizens are treated with more respect- to some degree." He tells me about the tyranny of the police, and adds:

"The police are now on strike, they want a raise in pay... They don't have a drop of decency- they have been abusing us for all these years, and now want to reap the harvest. The people who started the revolution are the same people the police were beating up and throwing in jails. They're polite now, the police. Before, when we passed through the check points to Sharm, they'd ask for a carton of cigarettes, a 100 pounds, sandwiche, whatever ... like bandits. True, they did not get paid well enough and need to make a living, but we need to make a living too."

The driver takes an alternate road to Sharm, he drives through Wadi Gnai between the mountains in a narrow winding road. It's more scenic and shorter in distance. "We'll take the Jadeed road to Sharm, because this way we avoid the main checkpoint" he says. "The Bedouins are now in control of the Sinai. They are squatted next to the police with their weapons and drugs. No military presence is allowed in the Sinai, this is a problem. The armed forces are good, they are kind to the people, but the Bedouins here are like mafias. They say they are at the checkpoints to protect the Southern Sinai from the Bedouins of Al-Areesh, but that' nonsense. There are no Arayesh here. They just want to take control of Sinai and get the Egyptians out. They do not want any Egyptian to drive a taxi, they give us a hard time at the crossings before letting us pass. But I believe that God is great, and that things will turn to the better."

We pass through the Wadi Gnei check point, which is entirely manned by Sinai police. I think of my trip up to Mt Moses two weeks back, and the Bedouins squatting at the crossing to St. Catherine's. I think of my first blog in the Sinai, talking about the Bedouins of the South and those of al-Areesh. There are many versions to the truth, but the 'truth' seems less interesting than the here-say of the people. I wonder to myself: since there is no government or official police, and since the Bedouins are at the borders and they control the hasheeh, why has it been so dry in the city, you'd think everyone would be getting high!

The Taxi driver and I continue our drive to Sharm in silence. I arrive and board the plane for a 50 minute air-trip. We're served juice and a muffin upon boarding, with hardly any time to clear it before landing. Thankfully, the Arabic culture of 'feeding' has surpassed the Western hunger for capital and starving people to death in the airline industry.

This journey to the Sinai has ended, but the stories continue to pour....

FTS

Sinai's Aphrodite

2011-02-17T11:29:00.000-08:00

The news recedes into the background
I've been sitting with my back to the Sea
The moon has snuck up on me
A day and it will be complete
signaling return from Sinai by Sea.

The tide is low
I step onto the rocks and reef
I walk on water
The sea foam carries the moans of Aphrodite
Making love til dawn
she is still climaxing.

FTS

A carpenter named Mahmood

2011-02-13T13:55:00.000-08:00

"The Brotherhood won't rule Egypt," he says, "The Coptics were already here when the Muslims came, there are Christians and Churches, ma yinfa3sh ... The next leadership will come from the youth."

He is a carpenter from al-Mansoura . His wife is from Marg in Cairo. They live in Assala, a sha3bi neighborhood, poor and under-serviced.

Assala: Unpaved roads, no side walks, open manholes; houses with tin roofs held down by junk: tables, strollers, chairs and rocks. All houses seem to have satellite dishes, except for one. Its roof is made of pressed sugar cane mixed in with paper, and rolled out into sheets. The early winter rain has left the roof sagging, with moss for decoration.
In Assala, many people leave their doors open; sitting on their sills, they are on the road. Children play barefoot on the streets, and the goats chew on flowers and litter.

On the way to the carpenter's house, we pass a corner store. It is a window, opening into a room of a house. Shelves line the walls; they carry dusty boxes of packaged food. The window sill is smoothed out by the many bodies that have reclined against it.
A customer is eating his chips while chatting to Abu Mina, the shop owner. The latter passes him the communal cup of water. A large tin cup, it sits there for anyone to drink. Abu Mina's family it sitting in the other room, the window is open there too. They are eating dinner. He goes back and forth between them and the store. A short commute.

We reach a blue gate, a sign hangs on the gate, with "Abu Ali's Carpentry" and a phone number underneath. This is the right place, but the gate is closed. An old man calls to us from across the road.. Wearing thick classes and holding a stick, he sits on a step propped up against the wall. He tells us to sit. This is Abu Ali's father. He walks in with us when his son returns.

The house is simple and clean. We take our shoes off and sit cross legged in the living room. The walls are made of cement, painted with a fading blue, with pen markings scribbled in various places. The room is square and all the rooms open into it: two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom tucked away somewhere.
The room is sparse: A rug, a mattress underneath a pile of blankets, and a small TV on a side table. At the back end of the room, a child's bicycle is hooked in the ceiling. It belongs to Hajar the carpenter's daughter, she's four.

The TV is turned to the News. Abu Ali gives us an update on world affairs.
"The Egyptian people recognize that they've only removed the 'head', and they still have to deal with the rest of the body. The West thinks of Arabs as either terrorists or extremists, but the people are neither, it's the governments. Egyptians are simple people, they function on instinct (fitra), they have no problem with Muslims, Christians or Jews, the government instigates the strife. It benefits from it. After the attacks against Churches in Alexandria, the people started to wake up. We've been walking like mules for over thirty years, it's time to say Khalaas."

Abu Ali switches to another news channel. The piled blanket next to him on the mattress moves. We don't ask, but he answers. "This is my son Ali, he is mentally and physically retarded, cannot walk. We spent 6,000 pounds on him last year. There is no help from the government, no medical coverage or breaks."

Abu Ali's wife comes in with tea, she carries Ali in her arms and goes to the other room. I see his deformed legs. Flies quickly cover his pillow on the ground.

"Egypt exports Gas to Jordan and Israel, where does this money go? And Rafah .... we have a peace agreement with Israel, but the US and France give a lot of aid money to Mubarak to 'monitor' the border, so why not keep it. Countries manufacture weapons and they need to sell them somewhere, so they create war."

Abu Ali's father enters the room, carrying a doll in his hand. He sits in front of the TV and changes the channel to a Hindi movie. Abu Ali laughs "My father likes these movies." Hajar comes out and snatches the doll from her grandfather's hand. "This is my doll," she says assertively, "it's not yours, you understand." She tosses the doll to the wall, only slightly missing her father's shoulder, before she walks out.

"The young people who led the January 25th revolution want to form a party and get representation in government." Abu Ali says. "The next leadership will come from within them .. Akeed, insha'allah (for sure, god willing)."

FTS

Fire in Al-Areesh

2011-02-12T05:06:00.000-08:00

At the Ghazala
I eat Tiramisu for breakfast and drink a Nescafe Gold, with a drop of milk.
It is early afternoon, the sun is up and the Sea is exceptionally blue.

Last night, in the city of Areesh-Northern Sinai, clashes erupted between masked locals and the police. The news on the net is inconsistent in regards to the numbers of killed and injured. I get my news first hand, from my friend Al-Arabi, who comes from that city. He works here.

"Ten people were killed, and 35 injured, when members of Al-fawakhiriyah attempted to free members of their tribe held in Egyptian prisons. Al-fawakhiriyah sought help from their armed Bedouin brethren. The police abandoned their station, and the prisoners were freed" Guns were fired in the evening, celebrating the departure of a dictator and the return of loved ones."

Early this morning, another police station was attacked in Al-Areesh. This time, the police knew about the attack beforehand and fled the scene. The station was set on fire, no injuries incurred.

'We just want the police out of here," Al-Arabi tells me, as we play tawlah (backgammon, Egyptian style). "Now that the military is in control, there is nothing to fear. Everything will get better. The food that was supposed to be exported in the past couple of weeks but was not, is now being distributed to the people. The finest quality of flour, sugar and rice. The young people are spearheading the revolution, and if their demands are not met, they will riot again."

Al-Arabi is optimistic. I am skeptical. I think of Iran. The fall of a dictator, and hopes for freedom and reform, prematurely killed by the iron grip of the Islamic revolution. With time, another dictator came along, but this time armed with religion.

We are joined by Al-Iskandarani, a 28 year old lawyer from Alexandria. He couldn't find work in his field, so he's working at the beach here.
"Islamic law is the only thing that would work in Egypt". he declares ... and our conversation takes on a whole new direction.

FTS

Mubarak & AbdulRahman

2011-02-11T13:15:00.000-08:00

Una giornata pigra ...

I spent the daylight hours indoors, with the door open, looking upon a tiny garden.

A bougainville rises above the uneven brick wall,
its pink flowers cover the threshold
The sun is up. The wind is gentle.
Souad Massi plays in the background.
I sit on the floor.

Last night, I cleaned my ears, using a cone made out of bandage, fastened with honey. I placed the tip of the cone inside my ear with my head horizontal on a pillow, lit the cone from the other side and let it burn. The dirt in my ears coagulated inside the lining. It was disgusting.

This morning, I could hear the birds clearer, but the sound of noise and roosters has drifted into the background like a soft hum.
Selective hearing at its prime.

Today, Mubarak stepped down from his throne.

Today was also a AbdulRahman's birthday, he turned five.
Yesterday, I promised his seven year old sister that I will celebrate the day with them, but today is here and they are not.
Their father shipped them off, without advance notice, to al-Sa'eed, 17 hours away. He squeezed them and their mother in a pick-up truck 'back home' this afternoon. The woman had only 40 minutes to pack everything and leave. They were destitute, so there was little to pack.

"I don't like it back there, they want to live exactly the way they did in the past, they don't want to change anything. There is no time to be alone, our taste in food is different. Being here is less headaches, even living with nothing, but it's so green over there, and the water is free."

Born in a village in the deep south of Egypt, she is now pregnant with #3. She is 31 years old and six months in. Unexpectedly well informed, this woman's eyes are always smiling, in spite of her fate to be coupled to a man beyond her mental capacity. She spent all her pocket money as a child on newspapers, and climbed palm trees against her grandfather's will. Her husband never read a newspaper in his life, he can hardly write his daughter's name. He used the excuse of "slow time at work and no income, she's pregnant, and there are people to take care of her over there." He had a big smile on his face when he boasted about sending them off later today.

This evening, I ate dinner with the men next door. I talked with an A3rabi(Bedouin) from the Northern Sinai. His ancestors come from Yemen, he is aseel , a true Arab. A level headed guy.
"The Sinai is it's own separate place, if it were independent it would sustain everyone on it."

A couple of grungy hippie blond stopped by to say "Mabrook" (congratulations) to the restaurant owner.
"Hayatkom il ba'iyah" he responded. (Hayatkom il ba'iyah: a phrase used in funerals and deaths.)

Tonight, I sit with the boys by the beach. I play cards with them for the first time.
It's a special day in Egypt.
The Fallaheen boys bring sharabat (an extra sweet strawberry/fruit drink drunk of special occasions.) We drink it, and don't talk about the political situation. In this city, the streets are empty, no mourning and no celebration. They bring out ice cream, and end the night with a cup of tea, listening to Obama speak about the egyptian uprising.
No one knows what tomorrow will look like.

FTS

On land and under water

2011-02-07T10:52:00.001-08:00

I sit with the boys at the SeaView,
We roll smokes and listen to music. We drink sweet tea with sage in small cups.
We play cards at times, joke and talk. We get tangled between our three languages. With only .5% of us fluent in two of those languages simultaneously, we manage to communicate. The boys feel like my younger brothers, simple and sweet. And we all have a common love, the Sea.

The Sea .... it was calm like a sheet a few hours ago, but as soon as darkness dispelled the last traces of light, the wind blew heavily.
The tide is now high.
From 7 knots at five, to 28 at eight.
The South-Eastern winds have changed direction and are now coming from the North.
The Northern wings toss a Specials chalk-board across the street. There is no one there. No alarm by the flying wood.

Dahab feels deserted these days. I like it this way. There is probably no more than a dozen tourists. It's mainly just the people who live here-who are here right now. Several scuba centers and hotels are closed for the season and the uprising in the nation. The few still open are using their spare time to fix the signs, clean the ceilings and paint the walls. It's a new moon, a good time to do spring cleaning.
With less to do, the locals drink tea and sheesha at work, they make visits in the evening, cook and eat together. They help each other connect a hose to the neighbor's pipe to get water ... it comes only once a week, and to some houses, it does not come at all. The more fortunate of us have pumps. We use the off season in pretty much the same way, but in addition can afford to snorkel or dive, ride the Honda Baja up to Mt.Moses on a Friday, unstopped by tightened security at checkpoints or the general situation.
Gratitude.
The wind is strong, it is clearing away everything, in time ....
the best time to be anywhere is off season; not staying at fancy beach hotels or the camps, but between the homes of the people.

Here, the population is composed of Arabs and Egyptians, a few Westerners on extended stays, and the tourists. The Arabs and Egyptians are composed of the Bedouins, the Sa'eedis, and the Fallaheen (more to be said on each later).
Here, there's an intricate balance between the bikini wearing blond, and the bearded shop keeper. Quran plays in many shops, others are wired to the news of Masr, and next door is music. The music is usually stopped when the call to prayer is heard.
Here, it is diverse, the sea is here, but little drinking water.
In the middle, things are rooted.
The nights are back to quiet, after the neighbor's fight a couple of nights ago.
Quiet .... the normal night ambiance is of roosters, cats, dogs, and goats.
Together, they conduct a nightly midnight orchestra, a symphony at times, at times they sound like kitchen clatter.

Last night, in a dream: Apollo and I challenge each other to who can stay longer underwater. We sit at the bottom holding our breath. I see a few words and am about to go out of breath. Then I think about something else. Time passes as I talk. I realize that I'm breathing underwater as if on land."

Today, underwater, visibility was low, but it was warm ... 23 degrees.
It feels colder on an empty stomach, the deeper you go and the longer you stay under.

Above the Sea, the sun shone through down to the bottom.
It was warm upon ascent.
On the side of the street, it felt like summer.
For lunch, I ate a falafel sandwich and understood
how one can live with very little and be happy.

Today at SeaView, I sit with the boys from Za'azee', the capital of alsharqiyah. We listen to a song from their district. They've been playing it since last summer: "من النهاردة ما فيش حكومة". It felt very relevant last week.

It's nighttime .... In the sky, the smile of cheshire cat is bright gold in the West. On the ground, a cat cats under the tabliyah (short table suited for floor seating). Um Kalthoom sings on the speakers. My stomach growls. "Let's go eat pizza", "Yes"
But twenty minutes later, we're still here ... I guess we can eat later.
For now, it's um Kalthoom and a sarookh.

FTS

From the Southern Sinai : من جنوب سيناء

2011-02-06T08:43:00.001-08:00

Uncanny timing, as usual: I arrived in Egypt via Nwaiba' on the maritime on the 28th of January, 2011. Riots had already begun a few days earlier, but they didn't seem too threatening, so I proceeded with my travel plans. I was met at the seaport by the Bedouin who gave me a ride last time I was here. We bargained his fee, and off we headed to Dahab, a city name 'gold'. As soon as I arrived to the Ghazalla hotel, I was told that the Internet was down in all of Egypt. Social media networks had been cut off for a couple of days, but I knew that already.

Within 24 hours of arriving to Sinai, the riots started intensifying. Aljazeera was blocked on satellite TV. The riots spread to Alexandria, and Aswan. Some even say turbulence happened as far as Sa'eed a few days later. Mubarak was MIA for several days, then gave a speech that the whole world must have witnessed. He did not say anything enlightening. I only got a part of his speech, late night at store in a shanty area of town. After hearing me speak in Arabic, the fallah tending the cash turned to me. Wearing a turban and gallabiyah, and with a black spot on his forehead from praying, he smiled and asked me if I was Lebanese. I smiled back and said 'Jordanian-Palestinian'. He frowned and turned to the TV again.

For a few days, the news was contradictory ... They said the airports were closed, then open. Shuttle plains were available to take people back to their countries for free. I did not check with the Jordanian Embassy or the Americans to get the update. The wise thing might have been to cut the trip short, forget about the return stub to Aqaba via sea, and buy myself a plane ticket back to Amman from Sharm El Sheikh. But it wasn't clear to me if it was safer to stay put, or travel. I decided to stay, and maybe even extend my trip ... it was all too exciting.

From the Sinai, for the next few days ... I won't be reporting news, but relaying the here-say of the people, and the stories of people I'm meeting here.

Flashback: January 28 - February 1st- No Internet.

It wasn't the fact that text messages were blocked across Egypt or that the banks were closed .... it was the blocked internet that made the situation seem grave. Much speculation happened during that time, but people here were not worried about the riots in Egypt. In Sinai, it was a different kind of battle. I came to understand that later.

We didn't have riots, but the banks were closed here too, and the post office was out of order. The police left town when protesters burnt police stations elsewhere, but they returned later, forming a coalition with the Bedouins. In the deserted streets of Dahab at night, I saw a man standing outside the Cairo Bank in the square. He looked shady, and I could not figure out if he was the guard or a robber waiting for the street to clear. This felt symbolic of the state at large.

The check-points between south Sinai and the rest of Egypt were - and are still- under tight control. For a couple of nights, the Bedouins of the South and the police joined forces and blocked entrances to the city. I saw a truck loaded with car tires heading to the check point. I assumed they were making a blockade to prevent the prison escapees from entering. But, as I later learnt, the prisoners were not a threat to us here; it was the Northern Sinai Bedouins. Here-say: they had decided to take advantage of the chaos in the rest of the country and invade the south. Their southern brethren have been getting all the money from tourism, and they wanted their share. This is the version we got here in the South, I'm sure the Northerners have their own story. But so it was, as Egypt was rioting for new government, the Sinai was doing its tribal dealings. Meanwhile, I sat at the sea side with the boys, smoking, and watching them play cards.

We were told that the sheikhs from the South met with those of the North, and they found some kind of agreement. Meanwhile, the flow of goods into the Southern Sinai was still halted. Fruits and vegetables dwindled for a few days, and the gas ran out, people were thinking we're heading towards a food shortage. But then, a few days later, after internet came back on, things seemed to flow in again. Some brands of cigarettes are still missing, and there are no re-fill cards for cell phones anymore, but the gas stations are open, and although ATM's have a 500 LE withdrawal limit per day, they are still spitting out money.

They say that the Egyptian military entered the Sinai, breaking the agreement with Israel.
The US is supporting the people of Egypt, but Israel wants Mubarak to stay- since he was there for the peace agreement. According to Haaretz, Israel reinforced its military in preparation of refugees storming its border with Egypt, or extremists taking advantage of the chaos and infiltrating.
Egyptian TV implied that the weapons with the escaped prisoners came from Hezbulllah, thus suggesting fitna from the 'outside,' and pointing the finger to Southern Lebanon. A commentator dismissed Al-Jazeera as a Satanic satellite station. "The damage al-jazeera caused in the past week has been worse than Israel's in the Suez war."
Yesterday, the Israel-Egypt pipeline was blasted, damaging the branch that was connected to Jordan. They say it was an 'outside' operation ...

tbc

FTS

arab WOMEN talking .... لتسمع المرأة صوتها

2010-12-31T02:01:00.000-08:00

وصلني بعض الرسائل من فتيات اعربن عن رغبتهن في كتابة ارائهم على هذا الموقع، حيث يحول لهم إسماع أصواتهن بطريقة مباشرة لأسباب مختلفة. وبما أن هدف هذه الصفحة توفير الميكرفون، فمن هنا، 31.12.2010 - سوف تتضمن المقالات والأفكار على هذا الموقع أصوات متعدة، كل منها متبوع بلقب كاتبته. الدعوة مفتوحة لم ارادت أن تقول شيئاً ها هنا بإرسال بريد إلكتروني على عنوان محررة هذا الموقع،لانا ناصر

I have received a few letters from women expressing their desire to publish their articles and thoughts on this site. They are unable to make their voices heard otherwise, for various reasons. Since the aim of this page is to provide a 'microphone', from today onwards, December 31,2010, this site will include the voices of several women, their written pieces will be signed by their pseudo name or title. The door is open for those who want to speak, by sending an e-mail to the editor* of this page, Lana Nasser.

*An interesting linguistic fact: Editor in arabic is "Muharrir', which is the same word rooted in Hur: free; branches: tahreer, liberation, Muharrir is then also a liberator ... the written word = freedom.)

A Jordanian passport and an Israeli stamp

2010-11-30T05:43:00.000-08:00

It's not smart to have an Israeli stamp on your passport if you plan to travel in the Arab World. This is common knowledge. Syria will definitely not let you in, Lebanon will give you a hard time, but with Egypt and Jordan it's supposedly kosher, given the 'peace' agreement.

In October 2009, I was part of a dance performance that went to perform in Ramallah. The Palestinian Authority got us the visas. I tried to get a temporary passport for the trip, but Jordan had changed its laws and no longer issued them. I was advised to simply ask the Israeli passport control to stamp a piece of paper instead of the passport. This is common practice, or rather, it is a common request, but whether the soldier at the boarder will grant it is up in the air. My luck: the passport was stamped.

I suppose I could have gotten a new one afterwards, but my passport was new, and I was too lazy and stingy to pay 57$ to get a new one. Besides, my stamp said "Palestinian Authority Only." I figured that if I explained this to any boarder police, they will surely understand.

Liban:

In September 2010, I went to Lebanon. The soldier at the airport did not at first notice the stamp. He placed the Lebanese entry stamp on a blank page, then leafed through my passport. Suddenly, he froze. I knew the cause. He quickly rushed out of his cubicle, asking me to 'wait here'. He came back with his superior. The latter asked me about my trip, what I was doing there and who I was with. He asked me what I was doing in Lebanon. I don't think it helped that I did not know the address where I'd be staying in Beirut, and I only knew the first name of the person picking me up. The officer asked me to escort him to the office. He flirted with me all the way there, which made me think "it can't be that bad!". In the office, the desk police filled out a piece of pink paper and stamped it for me. They made sure to remove all evidence of their stamp on my passport by stamping "Cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled" all over it in red ink. After this small adventure, I was set free.

Misr

In October of 2010, I went to Southern Sinai. It was no problem at the airport or by the Sea, the passport control did not seem to notice the forbidden stamp. However, on my last day in a Bedouin camp-somewhere before Taba, the secret service came to check on who was staying there. I was sitting outside my bungalow with two Jordanians, a Italian, and an Israeli. Those of us with a Jordanian passport were asked to go speak with the two Egyptian officials, I'm not sure if they were police, army, secret intelligence, or what. One could argue that they asked for the Jordanians because we were all females, whereas the other two were males, but I doubt it. One of the officers seemed docile, but the other once was clearly a tyrant. As soon as I sat down, he shot me with his eyes and proceeded to ask about my trip to Egypt. He only asked a couple of questions. Too impatient to wait any longer, he angrily opened up the page with the Israeli stamp, pointed his fingers and asked: "أيه ده!".

Replay: I started to explain ... I don't think he could read English, so "Palestinian Authority Only" meant nothing. He saw Hebrew letters, and that was that. The fact that my father is originally Palestinian made things worse, "But he's Jordanian now" I protested "Can't go back!". The docile partner officer started asking me idiotic questions: why my passport was for 5 years and not 2, like all other Palestinians. So, I had to give him a lesson in political history, explaining the difference between 1948 Palestinians and the 67 ones. The tyrant jumped in, "how much money do you have?" It took me a minute to answer ... do I tell him the truth? But what it he wants me to bribe him? Should I say I have less so as not to feed his greed? What if he's asking because he suspects I'm planning to get smuggled into Palestine with the Bedouins? Then what should I say .... more money or less, which is better? I started stalling .... "I have about 250 egyptian, some Jordanian ... and...."
"Do you have money to pay these people for your stay" he snapped, pointing to the Bedouins who ran the camp.
"What do you think, I'm not going to pay them!?" I snapped back. I gathered my strength and said "من الآخر ... يعني بلا مؤاخزة، إنت عاوز أيه؟" This seemed to work. He threw my passport at me and said "Go." I went back to my bungalow shaking and laughing. "It's your country's fault" I told my Israeli friend. "It's my country" he replied.

Back in Jordan, I told this story to my Palestinian cousin who was visiting from the West Bank. He told me that as a Palestinian male under 40, he's not the most fortunate of travelers. "I was once stopped for 8 hours at the Egyptian boarder," he said "awaiting a permission to pass." Apparently - out of principle, the Egyptians refuse to ask their Arab brothers for visas "ازاي، معئول نطلب فيزا من اخوانا العرب", but if you're Palestinian, you just require "special arrangements - تنسيق", that's all. Common procedure.

The situation is boggling .... it seems that in the Arab world, the people getting screwed up the most are the Arabs, and particularly the Palestinians. I guess it's not enough being humiliated while traveling abroad ... but maybe our brothers are just doing us a favor, helping us develop tougher skin. It makes you wonder ... As for me, I'm still contemplating: Do I get myself a new passport or do I ride this one out? Should I just avoid traveling to Arab countries? Do I put a Jordanian visa on my "other" passport and travel as an American, or do I simply check out?

L:-

The elections: A short lived drive ....

2010-11-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I'm paraphrasing and making generalizations.

"Voting is not a right, it is a duty!" I sign out with a slogan, to later realize that I missed the registration deadline and therefore can't vote, neither 'present' in Jordan nor 'absentee' in the US. My political naz3ah came too late. "Nonetheless," I told myself "I'll still follow up on the local campaigns, to learn about the political games." But overnight, and as the landscape of the city changed, I was completely turned off. My political naz3ah did not last too long.

At first, I was entertained by the ludicrous slogans, photoshopped pictures and contrived smiles. It made traffic bearable, and even amusing at times. Some confirming the unspoken divides and others playing the religious card; slogans with questionable connotations, and my favorite, "nothing to say". I take my hat off. The woman jabat-ha min il-akher. After all, it's all B.S., so might as well abstain from the beginning.

Thing like "justice and equality," what do they really mean? Let's get real. Can someone please tackle tangible issues? Can we talk "poverty, women's rights, inheritance, water conservation, education, government spending, taxes." All the brown nosing makes one wonder, who's really running....

"I wish one of them would say something about passing a law to stop diesel emissions from vehicles." a young Ammani said. " Mind you, the first culprits have a red license plate or are city buses... The fact is, the fumes aren't just bad for your health, they're bad for tourism, and subsequently the economy. (pause) I blame Ameen Amman, amongst others"

No comment.

I wonder how much each candidate spent on printed material alone. All put together, the money would feed several families for a substantial amount of time. The amount of wood and paper, plastic and laser printing is an ecological nightmare. Aesthetically speaking, it is simply hideous. And no offense, but Amman's beauty is not really 'in your face.' I admit, there are worthwhile buildings in the old part of the city, with green patches and true craftsmanship. However, the city- at large is one big housing project, conceptualized with lots of greed, little imagination, and an aesthetic retardation. People responsible for deforming the city this way should be sued. Candidates with their ads defacing the city should be too: Their posters hung on light poles with glue, on building walls and even on ancient columns! This is not to mention posters and banners obstructing vision of drivers, intruding on the streets. With our excellent world record, we must need more traffic accidents-just to stay on top.

"If you don't believe in any of the candidates, should you still vote!" A friend asked.
"You can leave a blank ballot to make a statement." someone responded. "But" he added, "the system is imdaw-wid and won't acknowledge the stance, so why bother."

I don't know much about politics and the people in it, but what I do know is that whatever the system is (nepotism and tribalism, for example), it is dysfunctional. I probably should read up more on the local political charade, but I cant be bothered. I tried to endure Seven Stars' elections coverage, I could only handle half an hour. Am I a hypocrite, calling for you to vote when I am not even registered!? Come to think of it, I might just have the credentials to run for the next parliament, or go into government ...

There is probably more to say (and edit), but in half an hour is a play, and I hear it's worth watching .... To get there in time with the traffic will be a miracle. The key is, always avoid Garden's Street, wil-ba'i 3ala allah.

L:-

Wasfi al-Tal Turns in His Grave ....

2010-09-27T10:34:00.000-07:00

وطني ... شغلت في البعد عنه ... نازعتني نفسي إليه، فعدت، لأجده مزيناً...بالنفايات

لولا غيرتي عليك يا أردن، لما بحت بشيءٍ... ولكن حبي دفعني ... فهاأنا أقول

For Jordan ...

My father tells me that in the late 60's, he used to take my mother for driving lessons at "Gardens street". It was called Gardens Street because it was basically a field of trees. This was before my time. (I later learn that the name of Gardens street actually came from a restaurant on the street named gardens ما علينا it was nonetheless green).
Driving down the street today, you're lucky if you spot one patch of greenery. Today, the over-crowded street is lined with stone buildings and shops; a bustling commercial area with the typical frustrations of traffic violations. If you're lucky enough to be walking on your feet, you'll come across plastic bags, candy wrappers, and cigarette butts, replacing the fallen leaves of yesteryears. Thus said, it does still feel like a jungle out there, with animal sounds, cat whistles, and lion glares.

Gardens .... At some point in my lifetime, the name of the street was changed to "Wasfi al-Tal." Three-times Prime Minister and national icon; the man was a hero to many. It is said that he used to severely punish those who cut down trees. He must be turning in his grave. May he rest in peace.

In 2008 I had a couple of guests from Europe and the US visit me. I tried to show them my country the way I see it, the way I love it.
I took them to Bheida, where the spirit of the place and the sand ... where the rocks with faces. Between the boulders I took them to a camp-out. The plan was to put candles in the crevices of the soft stone around us, but when we arrived, we found the area decorated already: plastic bottles, trash bags, cigarette packets and unidentifiable objects. Only the food scraps were gone, as the animals ate them. There were no bins in the area, but even if there were ... would people have used them? My guests and I gathered much of the trash, and within half an hour, we filled up more than three large black-bags. After cleaning up, we did manage to light the candles. That night, I couldn't sleep, I felt ashamed of my people. Nonetheless, my guests still loved the country, they told their friends how beautiful their trip to Jordan was. "But it's so sad" I heard one of them say, "people have no respect for nature and they are cruel to animals."

In 2009, I took four guests from New York to a Bedouin camp in Bheida. Just before the first bird started singing, I woke up. At sunrise, I walked to the edge of the camp. I was greeted by bottles and plastic bags, cigarette packets and a piece of tin. I picked up the trash. Just before reaching the camp, I met with one of my friends. She too was carrying a bag. The Ammarin tending the camp were sad to see us returning as we did. They vowed they cleaned the area often, which they probably did. A few months later, I visited New York. The ladies whom I hosted invited me to dinner along with their families. We laughed about our adventures in Wadi Rum and the Dead Sea. "Do you remember," the host said as we ate, "how funny it was when we bumped into each other that morning with our trash bags!" I didn't think it was funny; I wanted to stick my head in the oven.

Today I attended a workshop by The Public Action Project. Working with the USAID, they are offering a grant of 4.5 million. They aim to raise awareness and facilitate positive change by supporting environmental initiatives. Their research is most extensive and reveals the deeper issues we face. The most interesting to me, was their study about citizens' behavior, and in particular concerning littering.

Why do people litter? What do they not care about their land, and why do they go out of their way to harm it?

The findings: No accountability or feeling of ownership. No fear of penalty. No enforcement of littering laws. Some said there weren't enough trash bins, some blamed the Municipality and street cleaners, while others blamed the neighbors. They blamed government corruption, wasta and not putting the right people in the right place. The research revealed the animosity that people have towards the state, their resentment and apathy. They do not trust the state, nor do they believe it has their best interest in mind. In fact, they think it does not care about them at all-unless they have the right family name. By littering, they are somehow punishing their government.
This isn't such a crazy thought, some serious vandalism happens in revenge. In Jarash today, for example, while firemen were putting out a fire in the woods, some good samaritans were setting more trees aflame. Perhaps, it is their way of playing ... cat and mouse. Cut the nose to spite the face.

I am told that the Ministry of Environment plans to starts reinforcing environmental laws....here-say. But why would it, when hardly anyone else does. It's like expecting the Traffic and Police Ministry to ticket double and triple parking; or expecting the Awqaf to enforce the mandate on prohibiting the airing of Friday sermon on the loud speaker.

I am cynical, I wish I were not! I want to believe that people can change without being forced to. I want to believe that people can actually learn to love nature, "in spite of the State."

So what do we do? Do we create a green movement, but present it as a 'counter movement', while covertly working with the government to create change? Would people buy it and start working for the environment just to spite the government? Would it work? Do the actions of the government, like cutting down hundreds of olive trees to make a high way, for example, convince the masses that the government is anti-environment, and would environmentalism then become a revolutionary act?

I like to be an optimist, but the situation is grave. It is more than just an issue of "environment." The real danger is in the underlying cause to this disease that makes people capable of destroying their own country and its resources.

Changing Government Changing People

For Jordan to develop, there needs to be reform. It's not just about a new parliament, or a Ministerial musical chairs, it's about a change in the paradigm itself. There is a lengthy history of corruption, and an overhaul is needed. Choosing the people who actually know about the area they are governing; people with vision and those who love the country more than their bank accounts and prestige. But even if this is done on the Ministerial level, what about parliament?

Elections are coming up and many people won't vote. They don't think it will make a difference. Are they right to believe that their voice doesn't matter. How can their trust be regained? How can they re-develop loyalty? And if they do go out to vote, are they educated enough to actually 'choose' what serves their person and their country, rather than just choosing a member of their clan or who the sheikh told them to vote for. And even if they did vote consciously, could there ever be -really- a fair election?

To many, the answer is negative, so they shun the system and make-believe it's not there? But might this apathy and disengagement be perpetuating the problem?

We want democracy, but it is about numbers .... Who is the majority and what are their beliefs- or rather, what are they told to believe and what do they follow without questioning? It's scary if you really think about!

You .... we ... Living on the fringe, philosophizing everything and being artists, acting civilized but disengaging, speaking عربيزي and hence reading this article: Our survival and liberties depend on our active participation. Voting is not a right, it is a duty! It's your duty, and mine ... And while I'm at it, I'll be looking for a candidate who at least mentions the environment, amongst other things ...

L:-

On this full moon

2010-08-23T14:03:00.000-07:00

Dance to god
Not the one created by slayers of words
Not the one to be feared by the world ...
The one to be loved

Do not fear god
Love god

Define the relationship
It might shape reality.

The child in yourself

2010-08-17T13:42:00.000-07:00

الفتاوي على أفا مين يشيل
But why get stuck there,
good things are said elsewhere:

إذ استعصى عليك أمر فاستشر طفلك" العقاد"
In plain English:
If something gives you hardship, (there's something you cannot resolve,) consult your child.
It takes longer in English.
In short- "When in doubt, ask your kid."
Translation is never exact,
Somethings lost - something gained.

Consider
سكن الليل:
sakan al-layl
The night has set
The night has made a house for itself
The night comes and with it the sakina
The night is silent ...

If Arabs did anything right, it's the language!

Silence 1

2010-08-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

August 2010 - on the roof:

A grass sprouts out from the soil, in a plastic pot. Is it spinach or lettuce? Is it the flowers?
On the roof: A summer night, a crowded city - a cab honks a door slams a fire cracker explodes
Nearby
A wedding in one of the houses a child screams -or is she just playing?

Breathe

On the roof, Tibetan bells ring, and I remember, August 2006 - on the mountain:

"Deafening is the sound of silence, for in it I hear the echo of my own voice. And what does it say but a riddle ...
It takes an emptiness to find the sound of silence. Underneath, the tulips tell stories and the birds explore the sounds they make. With their beaks, they smile to a flower growing, between the wild vine and berry. The plants grow within a day of making way for new leaf.
How sweet it is. The feeling of breathing. Deep into the core, digging between the soil, pulling out old roots and keeping some ... Some plants are impossible to get rid of-in an organic garden. Small hairs seep back, between the unseen and with the worms. They come back, to around the same area, and just develop new ways. Between the roots of other trees-they come out, between the fence. It is falling off. The wire that separates the inside from the outside. Metal rusts and is eaten away by time. It is always there, the duration, the movement of night and day, in rest .... the body simply wants to move-to music. But play it and perhaps I will hear it. I will listen with my every cell and trust that the words will not escape me, as a bird takes me, to another place .... "

لو تدرون

2010-05-24T15:27:00.000-07:00

لو تدرون
لو تدرون وما عرفتم
شوقاً
خلدثه الأيام
وصوتٌ
كتمه البحر والولهان
يبحث عنه
في كل زاوية في الأردض
في كل مكان

بين صفحات الأحلام
يتركلي
رسالة
صطورها ذهب
وعطرٌ
وعطرٌ
وعطر ألياسمين
يبوح
يبوح
يبوح باسمه
.....

L:-
If you know
if you know, but you never will
a yearning
immortalized by the days
and a voice
swallowed by the sea
and the mad in love
searches for it
Everywhere

In between the pages of dreams
he leaves
me
a letter
its lines made of gold
and the smell of jasmine
reveals
his name
.....

Am, was, have been

2010-04-02T05:47:00.001-07:00

...a lie that did not persist

created by a prodigy child

disseminated by a hacker

profile and username

set up

fictional but unimaginative

...a machine with

numerous dysfunctions

breaks unreliable

engine temperamental

no spare parts

...recalled

to somewhere past China

no statements made

no reimbursement to the buyer

"Sugar" was her name

2010-03-19T06:30:00.000-07:00

I cannot tell if it is guilt, or the bitter acceptance of my nature that weighs me down this morning.

I cannot tell if it is truly my nature, or if I am simply an addict, seeking nourishment in all the wrong places- at all the wrong times.

A binge eater .. I fast, famine and feast - devour the fruit before it is ripe - I am left with indigestion.

"If only you had waited."

Reprimand myself, I fast then بفطر على بصله , coated with chocolate to trick my imagination into thinking it sweet.

"But onions are good for you, so what if they smell."

Today I wish I were catholic, so I could go to a priest and confess. He would subscribe a few Hail Marys to me and I would be forgiven ...

If only I were a believer, I would repent.

But is it sin to want - to taste - to eat?
And if one does not taste, how would one know ... is the apple mushy or is it firm.... is it even an apple?

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, or so they say - but today's apples are packed with hormones and those can't be good for anyone.

A bite of an apple and I could go to sleep - snow white in a coma, waiting for a prince to kiss her awake, or a frog to tickle her feet as she dreams of biting an apple and waking up to her nudity.

Sea Foam

2010-01-21T10:44:00.000-08:00

She gives up her voice to see her lover
But he does not hear her ...
She turns into sea foam
زبد البحر

The little mermaid

Between the realms, underneath
She dives into the unconscious
Swimming in the abundant vibrance
Of water

The wind stirs her waves
And inside her a fire stirs
The shore comes
She opens up
Her flesh fields of grape, fig, and palm

I take a taste...

L:- 21/1/2010
Salty.

The sky is purple

2009-12-29T14:23:00.000-08:00

Man has always aimed to the sky
KItes
Planes
Rockets

And we dig
into the ground
with a shovel
But rock stops us midway
or less than mid way
We stop
sometimes we find a spring or well
If we're cursed, we find oil

Into the sky
What flies is an extension of me
There's a thread between us
Translucent but sturdy
like that of a web
The spider crawls from beneath the carpet
I squash it
-just kidding, it's alive.

Ode to the internet
So what if it's a window into secrets
A spying eye into the files of any self
So what....
The way it makes me spy
with my little eye
something that begins with
-You name it, and there it is.

Life in 3D ... and the fourth?
Five people and two dogs
Cirque du soleil on the PC screen, on TV is National Geographic
-Abu Dhabi edition
On one, a women in red hanging from the sky
The other, Omani men dancing with swords

Repeat
Life goes in a loop
But we don't have to
We can skip, from one hill to the next
in a green car

L;-

Fire

2009-11-06T12:14:00.000-08:00

The wind doth deceive me and your voice I hear in the tree shrubs
Possessed am I with your eyes
They pierce my womb and into earth's core
I fall to your embrace

عشقٌ وجنون

Smile to me
For you I set my eyes on fire
With the lashes of your eyes
Hide me in the wallpaper
So I can stay near you
Unseen

Malaysia1: Langkawi

2009-10-04T01:34:00.000-07:00

Come
Slowly
Like the sun setting in the Indian Ocean

Linger...
In every shade of pleasure.

كل اشي إنقلب، أو رجع إنقلب صح

2009-08-25T14:36:00.000-07:00

Unzip you reality
Dissolve
Melt
Die
And wake up to Life

Artemis: Patroness of Jerash

2009-07-04T00:05:00.000-07:00

Artemis was born from the union of the nature deity Leto and Zeus, the chief god of the Romans and the husband of Hera. It is said that Leto delivered Artemis without any labor pains. But after she came out, her mother started having birth pangs that lasted for days. In her womb was Apollo, Artemis' twin, waiting to emerge. Immediately after she was born, Artemis helped her mother deliver her brother. A midwife by nature. Later, she was known to come to women in labor to ease their pain, although at times she did that by ending their lives.

At three years old, Artemis asked Zeus at Mt Olympus to grant her some gifts. A bow and arrow to hunt with, hunting dogs, and a short tunic instead of a restrictive long dress. She asked for the mountains and forests to be her playground and to be accompanied by beautiful nymphs. Like the moon, she wanted to bring light into the world, and she wanted to remain chaste, a virgin, uncontrolled by men, un-swerved by their love.
Zeus said yes, and so it was.

Artemis protected the wild animals and the children, but she was harsh on those who offended her; those who transgressed suffered and those who trespassed tasted her wrath. The nymphs of Artemis vowed to her eternal virginity; Callisto was one of her favorites. Zeus fancied her and appeared to her in the disguise of Artemis. She let her guard down and was taken by him; he left her pregnant. When Artemis found out, she held Callisto fully responsible and shunned her out (she couldn't really lash out at god, her father, for causing the problem). Later, either she or Hera turned Callisto into a bear, first on earth then in the sky by Zeus. Artemis disliked weakness.

Artemis had sisterly bonds with women but complicated relationship with men. She killed a few. When Actaeon, the hunter, mistakingly came upon her and her nymphs bathing in a pool, he was transfixed and stunned. His glare upset her, so she splashed him with water and turned him into a stag. She then set his dogs after him.
Artemis also killed the hunter Orion, but there are several accounts to why. In one version, we are told that Orion was Artemis' one and only love. This made Apollo jealous. One day, Apolllo saw Orion swimming far in the water. He found Artemis and pointed out a distant object in the sea and said her arrow would never reach it. Competitive and eager to prove her superiority, she aimed, shot, and proved her brother wrong. When Orion's body floated, she realized she had killed her lover. Bereaved, she vowed to never love again, placing Orion as a constellation in the sky with her dog Sirius to accompany him. In another version, we are told that Artemis killed Orion because he raped her or one of her followers. She sent a scorpion after him to kill him, later placing them both in the sky at a safe distance from one another.

Is Orion guilty of this crime? Perhaps...after all, he had previous allegations against him. It is said that Orion forced himself upon Merope whom he loved. He had wanted to marry her, but the arrangements took too long; he lost patience and did the deed. He was then punished by King Oenopion to whom he provided service. Oenopion got Orion drunk and plucked out his eyes. Orion's sight was later restored when he saw the sun, while traveling to the East with the helper that Hephaestus provided him (Hephaestus: god of the black smiths' fire and husband to Aphrodite). In yet another version, the scorpion just went after Orion, but we're not told why...probably to punish him for something.

Revenge, justice, or jealousy...

Taking into consideration Artemis status and temperament, if Orion raped one of her followers or tried to rape her, then she probably killed him. But was it 'rape' attempted or achieved, or was it mutual consent? Perhaps Orion simply threatened her virginity, perhaps she desired him and did not want to break her vow of chastity, perhaps she broke it and hated him for it. Perhaps she feared loving a mortal man who is imperfect.

The scorpion's sting or the golden arrow
The arrow of Artemis or that of Cupid.

If Artemis loved Orion and he betrayed her by seducing another woman, then she probably sent the scorpion after him. In astrology as well as in myth (like the scorpions of Aset/Isis), the scorpion is known for its tendency to take revenge. To the scorpio betrayal is intolerable, injustice is unforgivable, and there is much possessiveness in love. If he broke her heart, she probably shot his with an arrow, shooting her own afterwards.

Whether it's her brother who conned her into killing her lover, whether it was revenge for being betrayed, or whether it was to punish Orion for seducing her or another virgin..the result remains the same, she vowed to never trust and to never love again.

Artemis
Oh Patroness of women and children, harbinger of light, crescent woman, untamed one..
Huntress
Undo the vow I have taken so long ago- release me

Artemis
Patroness of Jerash in the North
In the lush green of Arabian desert
Allow me drink
I vowed to you but often broke my promise
Damned for my oath
Turned into the plough
A memory

Virgin goddess
One into herself
Complete in herself
Undo the vow I have taken long ago- release me

Like you. I have shot my heart dead in the Sea
Like you, I promised never to love again
I punished those who intruded
And turned them into beasts
But they turned against me
With their sharp teeth

I do not care for war I want peace
I beseech you, set me free

I called to you even before knowing your story
I took your flower as my own
But my soul is running dry and it seeks the nectar
So I ask of you, please release me

Let me go but remain in my consciousness
For you are the independence I seek
You are the strength and the clear aim
You are the mountain range and the open horizon
But in your grip you hold my heart,
It is slowly dying and I yearn to melt

Artemis, release me

Release me from the fear of being loved, of loving, of having an anchor
Give me back the key to my emotions
Let me cry and not hide beneath anger
To be vulnerable like a flower
Let me surrender to the embrace of love
To be light and bring light
Let me go, set me free

---
Readings from:
Encyclopedia mythica http://www.pantheon.org/articles/
Jean Shinoda Bolen, Goddess in Every woman

Challenging Tradition in a Traditional Society #1

2009-03-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

There are some traditions that are worth upholding, but many have collected thick layers of dust so opaque that we can no longer see what was once beneath them. We mistake the dust for the essence, incessantly complaining about a'raf and wajibat, the rights and wrongs of our forefathers...but we play along to avoid ridicule and choose the chains of cowardice, prejudice, and misconception. Ignorance.

I am not saying that all traditions are outdated and useless-far from it, in our Arab culture are jewels and treasures, and I am the first to call for preserving them. But let us stop for a moment and consider what we are heeding, rather than following blindly like grazing sheep.
Sheep and goats: I am reminded of kindergarden and a song we learnt in school. The teacher would walk around the classroom singing: Ya Ganamati. And we'd respond: Ma Ma. ...Ghannou waraya : Ma Ma..and so on and so forth. Very endearing, but also very telling. We grow up, Ma Ma-ing until we reach the grave.

Death:
I walk in to funeral to find a herd of women sitting around my aunt's living room. Her husband has just died. As I walk through the door, I feel all eyes turn towards me. They look me up and down. I do not take it personally, this is the norm. Each of us is measured up: Is she wearing the right thing, is she smiling too much, is she sad enough?. I look around and see nothing but bodies, they all look the same. Some are showing hair but most are veiled. I'm instructed by my mother to greet my aunts and cousins. Ma Ma. . As I pilgrim around the room, I am stopped by women I know and others I have no memory of. Shoo, inseeteena? A kiss on each cheek, at times one kiss, then one two three...there's a rhythm to the kissing ritual, but unable to figure it out, I surrender my face. May he rest in peace, I tell those concerned. I am served dates and weak coffee, and seat myself in a chair.
Some women have rosaries in their hands, others are gossiping about the women in the room, whispering this or that. As for the bereaved, they greet and serve the guests who flow in without mercy. This will go on for three days!

I sit in thought:

When I die, I do not want to burden those I love, I do not want to cost them money beyond their means to attend to the demands of society. I would want them to hold a party and raise their glasses in my memory, remember the funny things I did and even laugh.

If a person I love dies, the last thing I would want is loads of people crowding my house. I would not want to surrounded by people who feel obliged to fulfill their duty and who probably could care less about my pain. I would not want to serve anyone coffee or answer questions about where to find the bathroom. I would not want to be clearing empty plates and making sure there's lunch to feed the mass.

If someone I love dies, I would leave the guests and run away, returning only when no one is left. But what would they say about me? Do I care?

If a person I love dies, I would not want to dress up in name brands or get my hair done (which has become customary amongst the 'velvet society'. I hear there's even a special 'funeral hairstyle' nowadays). I would not want to brush my teeth or even bathe...

If some I love dies, I would want to be left in silence, to be with the people closest to me. I would want to be around those with whom I could cry and who would make me laugh. We could look at photos of the one who has just passed, and remember the beautiful days we had. Perhaps we would sit in silence, and maybe even watch a movie.....

But maybe it's just me...maybe there's something in this charade that I'm not getting.

I leave the funeral and return to my home. I tell my father about my day. He says that when he dies, he does not want a funeral, just a burial and that's that. I pray for his long life and say, for this and more, I love you dad.

L;- in Jordan

Take away the oil...

2009-02-16T00:50:00.000-08:00

A new consciousness is arising, I can see it everywhere. Individuals and groups transcending boundaries, meeting the other, reconciling with the 'enemy,' and finding shared humanity.
Watching the news, one would think there was nothing but bombings and suicide attacks, hatred on all sides. But there is good news: seeds, children of peace, sulha, friends of the earth, and all nations (1), we just don't hear much about them. There are also people making babies together and others making art. There is beauty. "There can never be too many of us dreaming of peace"(2). We are stronger together.

The Middle East is becoming increasingly polarized: the ultra conservative right and the fundamentalists are increasing in number and loudness. The globe is heating up, the oil is running out, and we are killing each other over it. Meanwhile, the river is becoming a creek.

Take away all the oil, only water can quench my thirst.

Black gold oozes from the dry crust.
We argue over land ownership.
Who are we to claim the earth; at best, we are its hosts, at worst, its rapists. We fight for resources and the copyright on god. Our way is the right way, our word the final word, and our book His truest revelation. And forget her, she's pagan and demonic, even if she looks pretty.

If I were g-d, I would resign,
I would descend from my throne and call the whole thing off
I might reinstate Her.

There is no time to dwell on the past, the future is approaching. Prophecies are coming up, the Mayan calendar is about to conclude, the wall is being built, and people are awaiting the Messiah. Are we about to expire, or shift? People are afraid of nuclear war, a slip of a finger and the end of civilization. Ohers are looking forward to the apocalypse. It's worrisome.
Our myths are dysfunctional: injustice and domination, women left in the middle of the desert with a handful of dates; fathers sacrificing their sons in the name of the patriarch. Deception, exile, domination, mutilation, persecution; expulsion from Egypt, Palestine, Eden; forever in exile, always yearning for the holy city of peace, but never having it.
Orshaleem al Qudss. The reality is sadly ironic, but we set ourselves up for it thousands of years ago with the wives of Abraham. It's in the books. But in the books too is talk on finding water: the promised land, God's kingdom, al-jannah, paradise. Is it a place, a destination, or our highest aspiration?
War cannot bring peace, but dance can.
It is here, it is now.

*
(1) if you know of peace organizations, please add them in the comments, I'd like to start a network of links.
(2) Quote came from the world dreams peace bridge.

Children playing in Gaza

2009-01-07T22:50:00.000-08:00

Children went out to play during the three hours of ceasefire Israel announced in Gaza. Rushdi Abu Alouf reports for the BBC. It was the first time the children went outside of the building in 12 days. Psychiatrists fear that the children will never recover from their wounds.

In Oakland, riots are breaking out in Downtown. People are out on the streets, setting cars ablaze and burning tires. They are protesting the killing of an unarmed black male by metro police on the first day of the New Year.

There is much injustice and inequality in our world. The constitution says we are all equal, but the reality shows us otherwise. Where, when, and how did we lose sense of our humanity? How can we regain it?

Psychological damage is caused by trauma inflicted on children during war, under oppression, and from the first moment they are born. It does not take a PhD to see the connection between trauma and violence, but it takes a dreamer to believe that the damage is not irreversible. It can be transformed, but it won’t happen spontaneously, and it will take all of us working together. It will take time and patience, but above all compassion.

During the past twelve days of war on Gaza, about six hundred lives were taken, 14,000 displaced, and 3,000 injured. The children who died were perhaps more fortunate than the ones who witnessed their friends die. They have to live with the memory, experiencing the guilt of “why was I spared, am I worthy?” having anxiety attacks about bombs falling from the sky, harboring anger and resentment. This is true for both sides of the conflict. There are no winners in this battle, only casualties.

Enough damage has been done that if there were world peace tomorrow, we’d need at least three decades, if not three centuries, to undo the damage. Undo, unknot, untangle, wash clean….

How many children have been born under the Gaza siege? How many know a reality other than oppression, hunger, aggression, revenge, and victim-hood?
How many Iraqi children have suffered and seen their fathers murdered? How many of them are turned into human bombs?
How many Somali children have been displaced and are starving? How many Kurdish children were not even given a chance to learn to walk? The list goes on, and it goes back, from burning Jews in chambers, to slaughtering native Americans, witch hunts and crusades…slavery.

If we were to let ourselves feel, we would all be sobbing, we would not be able to live ‘normal’ lives…how could we? There is no separation…the pain of others is our pain. We try to numb it, turn off the TV, have a drink, make some money….

In our human history, we have no examples for peaceful civilizations; they appear only in the sunken myths and in the dreams of children...if only we would listen; if only we could give them the chance to dream, to feel safe enough to close their eyes, to wake up and tell us.

Peace is not a political solution, history has proven as much. Peace can only come from within the people, and particularly the children. Peace is the evolution of our consciousness; it is the only way we are to continue to exist, to prosper.

Working towards peace, finding it inside, and creating it outside…that is the new Jerusalem.

The damage is great. The need is greater. How am I working to mend it, how are you?

L;-
1/7/09