Scribbles

So, what if you live in a Secular state?!

I mean, what's the worst that could happen?! Keeping in mind, you're a Muslim, the normal type, with rules, teachings, spiritual daily intake and reasonable variety of costumes that may or may not be familiar.

It's not hard to imagine, really, or fathom. Just, put the shoe on the other foot.

Are you set?!

Good! How does it feel?!

A bit weird.

Understandable. What else?!

Everybody's looking at me, sometimes, they mock me behind my back.

OK. I need you to portray some sort of obstacle, or a blow to the head, because of what you believe in

Hmm, nothing. I think that's all. But…

No, there's no "but" here. We're talking about a typical Secular, free, all-you-can-get-and-say, state. The one everybody-the stable ones- is talking about. You want to tell me that your only dilemma here, is mocking your beliefs, questioning your ideas and ideals?! So, they didn't lock you up, force you to have some beer, watch vulgar nudity to become a copy of them?!

Now, get back to the obscene reality. What do you see?!

I'll tell you. I, myself, see. A tribal mentality that turned the holy and scared into a joke. Interests became a scripture and this VERY scripture have little to do with the multi-personality disorder this society/body of right and wrong have.

Nobody couldn't take it away in the name of Secularism. Nobody desecrated your religion but you, nobody can.

From "The Open Boat

When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him, he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples. Any visible expression of nature would surely be pelleted with his jeers. Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels, perhaps, the desire to confront a personification and indulge in pleas, bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant, saying: "Yes, but I love myself." A high cold star on a winter's night is the word he feels that she says to him. Thereafter he knows the pathos of his situation.

~ Stephen Crane

From "The Emperor of Ocean Park"

Depression is seductive: it offends and teases, frightens you and draws you in, tempting you with its promise of sweet oblivion, then overwhelming you with a nearly sexual power, squirming past your defenses, dissolving your will, invading the tired spirit so utterly that it becomes difficult to recall that you ever lived without it...or to imagine that you might live that way again. With all the guile of Satan himself, depression persuades you that its invasion was all your own idea, that you wanted it all along. It fogs the part of the brain that reasons, that knows right and wrong. It captures you with its warm, guilty, hateful pleasures, and, worst of all, it becomes familiar. All at once, you find yourself in thrall to the very thing that most terrifies you. Your work slides, your friendships slide, your marriage slides, but you scarcely notice: to be depressed is to be half in love with disaster.


Stephen L. Carter

From "This Side Of Paradise"

• I simply state that I'm a product of a versatile mind in a restless generation — with every reason to throw my mind and pen in with the radicals. Even if, deep in my heart, I thought we were all blind atoms in a world as limited as a stroke of a pendulum, I and my sort would struggle against tradition; try, at least, to displace old cants with new ones. I've thought I was right about life at various times, but faith is difficult. One thing I know. If living isn't seeking for the grail it may be a damned amusing game.

F. Scott Fitzgerald 

An interview with Karen Armstrong, 2002

• Ironically, the first thing that appealed to me about Islam was its pluralism. The fact that the Qur'an praises all the great prophets of the past. That Mohammed didn't believe he had come to found a new religion to which everybody had to convert, but he was just the prophet sent to the Arabs, who hadn't had a prophet before, and left out of the divine plan. There's a story where Mohammed makes a sacred flight from Mecca to Jerusalem, to the Temple Mount. And there he is greeted by all the great prophets of the past. And he ascends to the divine throne, speaking to the prophets like Jesus and Aaron, Moses, he takes advice from Moses, and finally encounters Abraham at the threshold of the divine sphere. This story of the flight of Mohammed and the ascent to the divine throne is the paradigm, the archetype of Muslim spirituality. It reflects the ascent that every Muslim must make to God and the Sufis ...the mystical branch of Islam, the Sufi movement, insisted that when you had encountered God, you were neither a Jew, a Christian, a Muslim. You were at home equally in a synagogue, a mosque, a temple or a church, because all rightly guided religion comes from God, and a man of God, once he's glimpsed the divine, has left these man-made distinctions behind.

From Four Quartets for T. S. Eliot

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

The Locket

When you get the urge to kill someone, you don't plan for it. You just jump, you don't look for difficulties, and ramifications are the least of your troubles. Not twisted, rather a magnification of any driven desire, good or bad, you do feel like you're behind the eight ball. If not done, it never actually passes into nothingness. It just sits there, caressing your wild, probably polite at the time, imagination. Building bridges and arsenals, dicing with unicorns and fairies, putting and end to calamities for the fun of it and that's not all. He thinks too much when he's in the mood unlike the average 20-years-old guy. That very day, the pattern was heading the same way. He was not in the mood, and yet managed to go against it. Revenge does that, hell, it goes beyond that. "My life's not ruined .. yet.", he thought. "It could be considerably OK compared to other lives, if only I could ruin theirs even more.", thought aloud while looking through his window. Pretty much what he LOVED to do when distracted, talking to his alter-ego. The reason was, how on earth could he consider such  fatal tendencies in so short time.

What a gem I had, and what a gem I lost., exactly what jumped to his mind instantly.
He wasn't younger when he lost them, not just a family, a whole life, an affair. It might be supposed that a catastrophe such as he just have had would have slain his incipient passion for life. On the contrary, he never experienced a more ardent longing for life, once he based it all on getting back at the ones who crushed his glowing vision for life. "I need to plan for something on the spot, right this second.", he thought. But that thought was soon interrupted by his phone, followed by his machine, "Hey, Mr. Sanders. You missed your appointment again this Wednesday. Can you get back to us on whether or not, you're going through with your sessions?! Thank you."

Unaware of what just took place, he snapped out as if he realized that this oblong metal object he's been gazing at, contains his cold beer. He walked to the referigerator , snatched his can and gulped it down with relish, as though quenching a flame in his breast.

But the bloodthirsty mourning man in him was in an utter separate daze from any other metabolic or circulatory system.

He was thinking while walking down the few stairs, "Should I take the car or not?'. "Should I buy my own knife, or search for one at that family's house?"

He's at back the door. And as the door squeaks opening, his feelings rushes out of their box, but evaporate at once. Instead, he kept that little composure he's got and hastily plan the unplanned as if he's intending on taking them all for a stroll. "How did you get in .." The husband didn't finish that. He actually got distracted with the blood fountain out of his carotid. The little boy came running," Daddy!" But the plastic bag cut off the air supply enough to say no more with his eyes set upon his dad's obscene sight.

"I'm not wiping away the blood on my knife.", he said decisively, "She needs to know I killed them both.". "I only wish she could give my mother's locket, she stole, back to me."

He looked and looked till he found her in the bathroom. "Of course, she is. Trying to wash the guilt away, the debris of her own barbarian scenery she painted with my family's blood."

His thoughts vigorously rushed into his head. "The Coroner told me, whoever killed my mother, snatched   her locket causing the antemortem injury."

He approached the door with extremely fiery eyes. While she was getting ready, he urged upon himself the excellency of the opportunity offered for indulging his desire to kill.

He swore he'd mutilate and torture her helpless body right before he finished what came for. All she kept saying was, "No, no please no, it was not me I swear please no." But nothing's coming between his inner blood-lust and her death just now. And it was quit all of a sudden. Roaming hopelessly to find the locket, the one with a picture of the three of them inside, he found nothing. Drained and lethargic he maneuvered his way home. After taking a shower and doing his best to erase his traces away, he headed to the closet to find himself another clean pair of shoes. He unintentionally looked up at something shiny that caught his eye. In an attempt to recognize the touch and the look of it, he quickly remembered. It was his Mom's Locket, with her flesh embedded in between the little rings of the chain.

Define elections, (with no reference to democracy)

Lately, It's much easier to be outraged by the political scene in Egypt, instead of pitching in with one's own version of one's own part of the equation. Most of the hardworking citizens don't have the luxury to have an actual misgiving here or there. "I don't have a choice but to vote to A" said an old man with an impression that it's a burden, not just towards his fellow citizens, but also towards his kids. He's in war that could come back to haunt him, since he's a guy with conscious, probably unlike the candidates. The underlying reason to choose is 80 percent economic to such goodhearted people. Sometimes, it's safe haven driven choice. In the middle of all this, they forgot about Scaf, Are they going to be less involved? Are they going to preserve peace? Are they going to carry us to conflicts with or without their own weight? 'Not my problem.", another well-educated young lady who thinks, priorities are changing.

So, at some point, we'll have to or not to choose between a theocracy with a long flaky, undetermined and covenant-like past and a capitalistic former prime minister/minister of aviation who was in the position of power during the famous "Camel incident".

Call it cruel injustice, fatal course of things, karma for not having this mutual standpoint. It doesn't matter: we're already here.

The presentiments we have for now make the already-documented sentiments towards any President quite vague instead of merely capturing the essence of the long-term traces any politician leaves behind.  And here, Robert Frost's words just fit, "I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way." 

We're in the middle of a battle, now, between a realistic vision and a dream. Between what could and couldn't happen if we set our minds on it. This inside flame should turn to something constructive, feel the other flames, use the portals, enslave the channels to do it, or else, let the generations to come pay for it.

From a non-practical candidate to another you couldn't help but think? Who's the least of two evils? Especially, after the blast Mubarak's trial have made the flame even bigger. Between contrived demarche of political parties, and the greedy scheme of the candidates, it feels like the revolution was never over. In fact, it needed that push. Between Islamists who still don't acknowledge the fact that there's blood spatter on their hands, with an intimate yet whimsical and goes as the wind blows and another type of gluttons, upstarters and lightweight status seekers, all what the revolutionaries have got are the will and perseverance that kept on dwindling ever since they found themselves in the middle of a deserted  war-zone like confined arena, between the aforementioned and SCAF.

Elections are no more the sole concern, it never was actually. But if this verdict we heard today is the last straw, so be it.

Poverty, humiliation, broad-daylight killings, repressed women and unfulfilled children right, social justice and the list goes on, are what the media dropped while advertising for "Who's The Boss!". Therefore, there's no better time for the eruption to make a comeback with a little more unity, a little less second-hand leaders and a martyr-like hero, "who" has always been the main aim. Speak of the unspeakable, sheer violence taking place each and everyday for a start. Then when you come back with pure, exquisite and immanent priorities, maybe then, the actual goals of the uprising would fall into place. Egypt could actually have a saying in the region and regain a long lost value and, who knows? One united nation to aspire for.

Dreams and fears

      It's been so long since we last felt interconnected via having almost the same dreams and aspirations. The revolution was an experience of the bodies as well as souls. The first dream was to come to a point where we can feel light and free anytime, anywhere. The act of possessing this blank page that gets filled in, by youthful, confidently asserted, liberal and prosperous changes, is the most fundamental dream of all. No more hatred, mockery, just synergy and paying attention to what matters the most. Each individual is held responsible to take our beloved land to a whole other level of active garden or beehive. Vast areas with greener pastures where we value life and hence create all that's making us ahead   through quality of labor and effort along with quality of life should be in mind all the way. With a better infrastructure and spare fund here and there, the picture would be perfect and we could finally give or return something back to the world.

    

     However amiable and farsighted we are regarding consequences of our revolutionary act, as Longfellow said," If I am not worth the wooing, I am surely not worth the winning. ", we should bear in mind the heavy load left upon our shoulders, these weakened, fragile shoulders, raised to "mind their own business and their business only". That could leave us helpless a bit or even unable to keep the unit of our society up and running. Not to mention the new directions and cults which are born according to the climax or out of fashion trends, unsupported by any kind of principles or dogmas. Prejudicial or unnecessary judgments would waste our time massively without any significant constructive changes. We can get by without the big words and eloquent speeches, isn't that what we complained about before? That they were full of it and we fell for it? That this phony, corny, lame and unfruitful talk got us so far that we couldn't tell what's right and what's misleading anymore? Then why act like a dummy in this puppet show, or even as one of the audience when you can become the real event engine backstage? This is us doing what's right for the good of us, away from illusions and false pretenses toward civilization and becoming a part, as once we were, of humanity, peace and reform. Otherwise, we will be stepping back, without realizing, we'll lose the benefit of our revolution. It could be the mixed blessing of this century for all I know, but when we give our brothers and sisters the benefit of the doubt, we'll focus on what's vital, on what matters, on a lot of expected hard work, sitting in there, waiting to be done. Who am I to say what to do anyways, as far as I'm concerned, I'll do my part of the equation, you know, like bees.    

From "The Picture Of Dorian Gray."

"Have you really a very bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?"

"There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray.
All influence is immoral--immoral from the scientific point
of view."
"Why?"

"Because to influence a person is to give him one's own soul.
He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions.
His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things
as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else's music,
an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life
is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly--that is what
each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays.
They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes
to one's self. Of course, they are charitable. They feed the hungry
and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked.
Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it.
The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God,
which is the secret of religion--these are the two things that govern us.
And yet--""And yet," continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice,
and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so
characteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days,
"I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully
and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to
every thought, reality to every dream--I believe that the world
would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all
the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal--
to something finer, richer than the Hellenic ideal, it may be.
But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself.
The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the
self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals.
Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind
and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin,
for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then
but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret.
The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.
Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things
it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous
laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said
that the great events of the world take place in the brain.
It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins
of the world take place also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself,
with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had
passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have fined you
with terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might
stain your cheek with shame--"