Currently Listening Kid A By Radiohead Treefingers see related

the absent author

I'm supposed to be writing, but I'm not. Why. I don't know. 

I haven't really felt like talking about Bedouin markets and camels or old forts and castles.  I haven't felt like posting pictures of all of the incredible things I've seen and done.  I probably should though. I've been more interested in writing about things that probably matter a great deal more to me than they do to you. Somewhere in between feeling guilty about not recording my unique experiences in Oman and wishing I could write about what I've been thinking about instead, I  have ended up not writing anything at all and to boot, I've been playing (and losing) Vegas style Solitaire (with the little palm tree cards) instead. And that is a very bad thing.

So I'll just write. And whatever happens, happens. It's better than a silent xanga.

I feel like I'm in a state of limbo. Half-way into a new world with mosques and hijabs but still half-way attached to another one with stockyards and Stetsons.  I'm floating in between both--not really fitting into either. And it's ok.

I'm getting used to life here. It doesn't feel abnormal to walk out the front door and see the blue domed mosque across the street or the desert mountain range a mile or two away.  It feels normal--whatever normal is anyway.  Suburbia, with all of its acres of identical brick houses and Wal-Marts and Baptist churches (and the occasional megachurch), gives me a queer feeling in my stomach. 

I don't know where my natural environment is. 

Time is strange too.  Sometimes it seems like someone hit the fast forward button on my trip and every day is speeding by in a collage of little mice voices and blurred images zipping across a screen.  Other days time drags interminably and I can imagine the entire history of the world unfolding in the time it takes for one second to turn into the next.  Today I woke up feeling pretty confident that it was Monday, only to find out it is actually Wednesday.  Somebody is screwing with my senses.

I'm not sure how I'll feel about my Oman journey after I get back.  I'm not exactly sure what this trip is even. It lacks definition. It's not exactly a pleasure holiday, I'm not on a religious mission, I'm not studying anything and I'm not getting payed for a job.  All I'm doing is waking up one day after the other, helping around the house, sleeping, reading and having a look about the country occasionally.  I don't have any specific goals or purposes, other than to help Anna when she needs it. So I don't really know how to define what I'm doing. Existing. Being, maybe.

My instinct tells me that this is a period of limbo--a sort of twilight zone before the next stage of my life begins. A time to reflect and meditate and to learn things about myself without the pressure of school, work and relationships shadowing overhead.  I think this time is like a coccoon.  I'm waiting inside, hidden and protected. It's not obvious that anything is happening from the outside--but there is indeed something being created inside.  I'm developing my spirituality, my core beliefs, my intuition, my creativity, my desires, my plans and my place in the world.  Once I'm done, once I leave, I want to be able to thrive off of the conglomeration of all of these things. 

Cultures around the world have intiation rites or periods that mark the change from a child to an adult.  From the stories I've read, it seems like a ritual practice for youth to leave their home or to spend time isolated, in the wilderness, away from their regular surroundings--to find their spiritual talisman, to be trained by an elder, or to undergo a test.  Maybe that's what I'm doing, unconsciously.  Testing myself. Letting myself be trained for whatever is ahead. Separating myself for a time.

It feels right, though not always easy. Something tells me that I will be better for it. There is a boldness that comes in the assurance that I know what I need to know and that I am who I am supposed to be--that I am on the right path, headed in the right direction.

Now is all I have.

There. I wrote something. 

the older I get, the less I know

I think international travel for young people should be mandatory, especially for American kids.  Right up there with paying taxes. 

At some point in their lives, all youth should be shipped off to a foreign country for a month or two.  They wouldn't be allowed to stay at a beachside resort hotel that has all the same things that you'd get at home, but to some place that is actually inside a culture--in the middle of a city or a village: where other languages are spoken, new foods are eaten and different holidays are celebrated. 

From my own experience, I get the feeling that the United States of America is an island unto itself .  Rather self-absorbed.  Occasionally, some people explore the border towns of Mexico and Canada, but a lot of citizens never leave the country (though that is changing).  Everyone knows that the rest of the earth is out there--it's in the movies and books--but it doesn't make an impact, it doesn't seem real until you see it with your own eyes.  There is a lot more to the world than the United States of America.  A lot more

How can you properly understand Islam unless you meet people whose daily lives are in the Islamic tradition and have been for centuries? 
How can you understand how Muslim people view the Western world unless you take the time to find out and look through their eyes?
How can you have an accurate worldview if you've never been outside of the comfortable world you know?

When you travel, things are broken down.

A couple years ago, before I began researching Islam and Muslims, I would hear the word "Islam" and unconsciously picture the vague, invisible and slightly ominous Muslim population as portrayed on the daily news.  The broadcasts and articles always seemed to link Muslims with a brooding shadow--the "Axis of Evil", sinister plots, hijackings and bombings and maybe a sand dune or two thrown in there for extra dramatic flare.  I had never even seen a mosque (and if I had, it probably would have frightened me).

That sort of bias just doesn't hold up when you pass Muslims in the street and look into their eyes. It doesn't work when the guy at the grocery store grins and asks where you're from.  It fails to stand when the neighbors bring food to your door as an act of kindness encouraged by their religion.  It fades away completely when you start talking to a Muslim person and realize that they are pretty much the same sort of person as yourself, only with a different set of religious beliefs and traditions.

I've said it before and I'll probably be saying it until I'm dead--people are pretty much the same all over the world.  Everywhere people are existing in the same basic patterns--eating, sleeping, laughing, fighting, crying, birthing, learning, worshiping, exploring, searching for the Divine, living, dying.  We aren't so different as we might have been told to think.

How many times has history shown a bias of one person against another, one culture against another, based on things like skin color, heritage and religion?  Far too many, I think.  When you throw money, prestige, power and control into the mix, things get complicated fast.  It often becomes advantageous to portray other people as different--wrong, evil, and subhuman.  If someone is evil, then it wouldn't be morally wrong to dominate or conquer them would it? Hence hate, violence against others, slavery, deathcamps, racist propaganda and (senseless?) invasions.

For me personally, traveling has been a way of shattering my prejudices, both biases I was aware of and some I didn't even know I had. I don't see religion the same way. I don't see politics the same way. Those news flashes about the Middle East crisis don't just flit in one ear and out the other. I actually care.  I care about the people in India because I've actually lived with them.  I care about Scottish legends and history because I've actually been to Scotland. I listen up when I hear about Singapore or South Africa. The earth and the people in it have become so much more valuable to me because they have been a part of my life.

If it works for me, then maybe it would work for other people. Maybe there would be more peace in the world if people took the time to invest in other cultures.   Who knows.

Maybe I'm naive for thinking it.  Naivety seems to plague the young, doesn't it? "Ah, me," the grownups sigh, "you'll learn, all in good time."  Which has always come across to me as, "You'll see it's useless and give up, all in good time...." And that makes me sad.  I want to believe that things can change for the better, but I'm not entirely convinced that it is possible.  I pray that humanity is not stuck in a downward spiral.  I hope that there is hope.  I suppose there is nothing stopping people from trying to heal the earth.  It's just that the words "earth" "humanity" and "world" are made up of such vast concepts and numbers.  It seems so impossible. I'm doing good if I can keep the peace with my brother, much less putting a bandaid on all the gaping wounds of the billions of people living on the planet.

I'm a tiny, little girl!  I don't have grandiose visions of playing lifeguard to a drowning population!

But I do want to do something......

These thoughts  (not expressed in any sort of eloquent way, obviously) are sort of the very, very basic layers of what I've been thinking about lately--the roots that all the rest of my ideas are growing from. I sometimes wonder if my life will center around these roots.  If part of the reason that I am on earth is to help bring greater understanding and communication between different cultures and people, even if it's just in a small way.

I would like that.  I guess we'll see.

I have a lot to learn and discover.  And don't we all. 

Travel, I say! Travel!

But, hmmm. Enough of the ranting and preaching.  I was supposed to write about my weekend trip to the Omani countryside, but I seem to have been sidetracked. That scintillating bit of journalism will have to wait 'til tomorrow.

I'm going to go read a book now.

Currently Listening Antics By Interpol see related

the ants go marching one by one.....

I know I love music.

I know I love books. 

What I did not know is that I would be expanding both my musical and literary horizons to such a great degree during my stay in Oman.  A whole new world has opened up to me in the melodies of

"Skip, skip, skip to my Lou!"

"If you're happy and you know it clap your hands!"

"A sailor went to sea, sea, sea, to see what he could see, see, see....."

It's strange (and slightly bewildering) how an old, long-forgotten children's rhyme, suddenly heard, can draw up little pieces of something vaguely familiar out of the dark chasm of Memory.   Sometimes, for a brief second, I forget how old I am.  Am I six again? Or was it nineteen? Or eighty-three?  Or maybe in such moments age doesn't really matter.  Time is a funny thing anyhow.

My knowledge in the realm of literature has increased as well.  I was not aware that one could read "The New Baby" five times in a row.  Forget the whole lot of those classic Greek characters and stick to the literary figures that matter--Mog the Cat, Dr. Seuss, and Edgar(a mole that lives in a hole).

One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. ABC. 123.  Goodnight Moon.

Aria is my instructor in all such lofty matters.

I've been getting my fill of the Omani beaches the past few days: warm ocean and tidepools that are filled with black tentacled starfish, sea snails, coral and sea plants.  Sometimes there's a brief glimpse of  a red pincher claw disappearing into a dark crevice or a tottering white crab shooting into a hole in the sand.  Always there is the guarantee of a spectacular tradeoff (an age old performance, I'll admit) as the sun sets into the ocean and the quarter moon rises to take its place.

There's something I like about the ocean.  I'm not sure what exactly.  It's a bit of a wildcard. I do know that I like the wildness and the mystery of it.  There are vast parts of the ocean that have never been explored by man.  No one knows for sure what's down there.  Then again, it could be the rhythm that draws me.  When I stand in the water I get the feeling that the sea is breathing. Inhale/Exhale. Forward/Back. Rise/Fall.  Waves come in/Waves wash out.

I like that. It brings me peace.  Maybe the whole earth has a rhythm. It wouldn't surprise me to discover that it does.  And if there's rhythm, I'd be willing to guess that there's music too--even if we can't hear it with our ears.  

Every once in a while, when I was little, I was able to hear music audibly--incredible songs and melodies--from no apparent source as far as I could ever tell.  It always happened when I was alone and the house was quiet. Sometimes I'd check the window to make sure it wasn't a radio playing in someone's yard. Maybe it was a six year old hallucination and maybe it wasn't. I tried not to forget the music, but of course, it was always lost the minute nap time was over.  I'd like to think it's still in me somewhere....

That's all for now.  I'm currently mulling over a couple ideas that I would eventually like to commit to words. As of now, they're just not developed enough to be articulated clearly.  We'll see what happens. 

Currently Listening Day I Forgot By Pete Yorn see related

Lā ilāha illallāh.

courtesy of wikipedia:

Ramadan

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. It is considered the most venerated, blessed and holiest month. Prayers, fasting, self-accountability and charity have special association with Ramadan. The religious observances of Ramadan occur throughout the entire Islamic calendar month.

Muslims believe that during Ramadan, the revelation of the Qur'an to the Prophet Muhammad began. The entire month is spent fasting from dawn to dusk. The first day of the next month is spent in great celebrations and rejoicings and is observed as the ‘Festival of Breaking Fast’ or 'Eid aloft. God instructs Muslims to fast just as those (other prophet's peoples) were instructed by God to fast before your time, for instance the practice of Lent.

September 24, 2006

With the rise of the crescent moon, Ramadan has begun.  A buzzing anticipation fills the air. Locks click as one by one the row of tiny shops close in preparation for the breaking of the fast.  Family members rush through the streets carrying last minute additions to the menu. Men pull back shirt sleeves to check their watches, once, then again. Almost time!  We are ready!

They are all over, the men--in the small careening shops of the souq, on mats placed on the sidewalks and in the surrounding corners of the neighborhood. They sit on the ground in circles of three and four and sometimes ten, Iftar meals ready and spread out in front of them, the smell wafting through the streets.  Hands hover near the food, but never touch.  The men seem to bend towards the food.   I can hear a choir of stomachs groaning.  Come on, yes! 

The women are there too--inside, always separate.  I catch brief glimpses through dim cracks in the windows and here and there a trail of a black gown being swept inside a doorway.  The women are also hungry, even though I cannot see them, I can feel it. 

All ears are alert, man and woman, inside and out, listening for the first notes of the evening Azaan prayer.  When will it come?

Anna and I walk through the quivering, hushed streets and alleys of a city that is holding its breath.  Waiting. 

We are waiting too.

And then it comes. From the towers and minarets of the many surrounding mosques, it comes--the first cry of the Azaan prayer. Allāhu Akbar. Allah is  greater. It is not one cry, but many.  A chorus of prayers that make the air vibrate, above and beneath me.  Hayya 'alas-salāt. Make haste towards prayer.   Glorious.  I think I am in the epicenter of worship.  Can the whole earth feel it?  I have a vague suspicion that my feet have left the ground from the effect, but I look down and to my surprise, find that I am still standing on cement.  Lā ilāha illallāh.  The mosques in the distance echo the last refrain. There is no God except Allah.

Lā ilāha illallāh.  I am smiling.

The prayer has ended. The fast has been broken.  Let the Iftar feast begin!

Anna has a few pictures up of our exploration of the souq/neighborhood at Iftar.

I found it interesting that the month of Ramadan changes the way the entire society functions.  Everything slows down. No one is allowed to eat or drink in public from dawn til dusk, hence all the restaurants and most of the shops are closed.  In the evening, all the businesses open and remain open most of the night.  In the early morning, before the sun rises, everyone eats a last meal called Suhoor.  Most of the daylight hours are meant to be spent in prayer, rest and building of the spirit and body.

I'm curious to know how many people actually adhere strictly to the guidelines of Ramadan.  They aren't easy. It's incredibly hot and it would be difficult to last without drinking any water (not to mention food!) all day.  I'd probably end up breaking the rules.

Anyway, Ramadan Kareem!

Currently Reading The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness (Armstrong, Karen) By Karen Armstrong see related

self-fulfilling prophecy

Sometimes I think I could just turn around a corner and disappear.  Vanish forever.  Not that I would, mind you, not that I even want to—I just could.  It gives me an alarmed sort of pleasure to think about it.

I imagine walking out the front door of my home and never coming back.  In an airport terminal, I picture myself deciding against the connecting flight to an intended destination and instead dragging my luggage behind me, out the exit door and into the sidewalk crowd.  Sometimes, at night, I calculate how much gas I could buy and how far it would get me on 35W.  I would take the car and drive north without stopping. 

I could make Canada quite easily, I expect.

What would it be like to walk away from everything? To be gone?

It's a fantasy, yes, but an interesting one. The idea gives me a feeling of power.  I can make decisions for myself and act on them. Period.

Of course, the chances of me waking up and deciding to wildly abandon all I have are slim to none, but the possibility is never extinct.  It's never 100 % final that I will stay put. I could if I wanted to.  For some reason, knowing that brings me peace.

I don't suppose these are normal daydreams? Maybe they are. Often, just when I go and think my thoughts are spectacular and unique and worthy to be examined under a microscope, I discover (to my chagrin) that everyone else is thinking thoughts just as strange as mine(if not stranger).

Nevertheless, I can hear explanations gnawing at the insides of my head, like a doctor's grim prognosis.

"Young, she's so young.  Obviously trying to form a sense of independence. Typical.  It's a complex stage for young adults. We've all been there. Everyone has to establish themselves apart from their parents.  That's all."

"It's the flight complex again!  She runs away every time things get rough.  Always has.  Whenever life gets confusing she books a trip to

 the farthest place she can think of to "find herself".  How many times does someone have to find themselves, for crying out loud?  She thinks that disappearing is an escape route.  It's really just a retreating act--a cop out."

Maybe. Maybe not.

I'm tired of letting myself feel apologetic for my youth.  I am what I am and I will experience what I experience, regardless of whether or not all of mankind has already experienced it or not.  It's the first time around for me. I won't be ashamed to relish and explore my journey.

I don't feel like apologizing for running either or from feeling relief at escape.  It's ok to want to find myself--again and again and again.

And I will, because.....

                                     I choose to.

Simple as that.