The Lawyer's Dilemma

ICPC FOOD PANTRY

2009-11-03T17:38:00.003-05:00

This Halloween, Saturday, October 31, 2009 marked the 15th Monthly Food Pantry held at the Islamic Center of Passaic County. When we began last year, the neighborhood (which is primarily low income/homeless African American and Latino) was hesitant to come inside an Islamic Center to receive aid. I promoted the project giving out flyers in the streets, stopping by liquor stores, corner stores and laundromats. We went to some of the poorest and toughest neighborhoods (you know the ones where there are more liquor stores per square mile than people).

In the last few months, attendance at the food pantry has grown tremendously, with about 30-35 families coming each month to receive food. The overwhelming majority of the visitors are non-Muslim. They come inside an Islamic Center, sit down or walk around, as I prepare their bag for them. We give them a bag of food without any efforts to proselytize. This is purely a humanitarian effort. The tough economic times has even brought in people who normally did not receive assistance, but now have no choice since they lost their jobs.

This effort is totally grassroots with no formal organization supporting it. It has been completely spearheaded by myself and a few friends. Even the Islamic Center that we use as our location has not financially supported our efforts. We raised the money ourselves, we make the arrangements for the food (either through donations or by going to the grocery store and buying it), we promote it and we are the ones who work to distribute the food to the people directly. Alhamdulillah, we have been successful so far in keeping this project flowing smoothly in terms of logistics.

I want to reach out to the community and ask for some help. Any form of help is beneficial. If you are local to North Jersey, you can come donate food to the Food Pantry. If you are not local, you can send money which will be used to purchase food only. Everyone can help by spreading the word about the Paterson Food Pantry and making it known all across the U.S. that such an effort by Muslims exists. All type of help is sought and appreciated.

This cause is local and any money is coming to us directly and I will make sure that it is spend on food for the pantry only.

Please keep our efforts in your du'aa. Insha'Allah, in the future we plan to add a meals on wheels campaign, where we will go to the poorest parts of North Jersey and deliver lunch to people. If anyone has any other ideas/suggestions, I would love to hear them. Thank you.

Judge Rules in Six Imams Case

2009-07-30T16:32:00.003-04:00

Minnesota District Judge Rules in Favor of the Plaintiff 6 Imams.

June 24th marked a major victory for our clients in the "Six Imams" case, with Judge Montgomery issuing a sharply worded opinion and order which, for all intents and purposes, voided a law that would proliferate racial profiling and discrimination against minorities--particularly those of Muslim or Arab descent by extending immunity to law enforcement officers. In its written decision, the Court denied the defendant airport officers' motion for summary judgment, and affirmed an individual's freedom from unreasonable search and seizure under the 4th Amendment.

Read about it here

Islamic Wills: A Primer

2009-07-15T13:40:00.004-04:00

I recently co-authored an article with some colleagues at my law firm about Islamic Wills. The article is a good primer on Islamic Wills and their relationship to American Courts.

Remembrance of death and the afterlife is a cornerstone of the Islamic ethos. Nevertheless, when it comes to inheritance many Muslims living in the United States fail to make the arrangements necessary to ensure their legacy will pass under the precepts of Islamic Shariah law, and as a result their possessions will be disposed of in a manner suitable to the State, but not Shariah law. After one’s death, it is too late, in any American jurisdiction, for relatives to dictate to a court of law how the decedent would have wanted his or her possessions to be distributed. All jurisdictions, without exception, will ignore such pleas and apply their own laws of intestacy, laws that govern how an estate will be distributed upon death absent a will. Such laws will hardly conform to Shariah law.

In order to best illustrate how the laws of intestacy function, it is best to use the example of Husband, H, the decedent, who has not drafted a will during his lifetime. H dies survived by his wife, W, one son, A, and one daughter, B. H had an estate of $240,000 with no outstanding debts. According to Shariah law, W is entitled to one-eighth, or $30,000, and A and B share the remaining $210,000. Since A is male, he receives a share twice that of B. So A is entitled to $140,000 and B is entitled to $70,000.

If H died in New York, for example, the above distribution would be dramatically different under the intestacy laws of those states. W would be entitled to $50,000 plus one-half of the remainder, for a total of $145,000. A and B would share equally in the remainder, getting $47,500 each.

In comparing Islamic intestacy laws with those of New York, it is clear that the distributions are vastly dissimilar, but all parties are still represented. However, if H was survived by a mother or father, then they would also be entitled to one-sixth under Shariah law. Under New York state law, the distributions would be the same as above, and the parents would get nothing. Essentially, U.S. state laws permits disowning a blood relative, which is forbidden under Shariah law.

In order to prevent this, those wishing to comply with Shariah law should have a carefully drafted, enforceable will that upholds Shariah law under U.S. jurisdiction.

Indeed. Read it all here

The Lawyer's Diagnosis

2009-06-25T18:41:00.005-04:00

I see many doctors looking to make the transition to a private medical practice. It seems like quite a daunting task. As a lawyer, I am more amazed at the astounding number of legal issues that surround the medical profession, that many doctors cannot even fathom.

Even aside from the obvious regulatory issues for doctors, such as compliance with Medicare and Medicaid, compliance with state and federal medical standards, and the big issue of medical malpractice, there are so many other issues that can pop up and distract a solo practitioner from patient care.

Inherent in any business venture is the obvious task of selecting the corporate structure. This is usually not to difficult, but the wrong selection can have a drastic effect on a doctor personally. After the business is all set up, there are a plethora of other issues like commercial leasing, office design and, of course, personnel management.

Commercial leasing can be a headache especially when commercial leases that used to be about 20 or so pages now number about 100 pages--not to mention the added complications of leasing to a medical office. Personally, I've dealt with a commercial lease for a doctor's office where a single clause in the lease went on for about 7 or 8 pages. They call it the "killer" lease.

Of course, let's not forget the 900 pound gorilla in the room--medical malpractice lawsuits. Medical malpractice continues to be a strain on physicians in a highly litigious society such as ours. There are many easy things to remember that can help you prevent medical malpractice lawsuits from even popping up or help getting rid of them fast if they do pop up.

I am currently preparing a presentation for doctors to give them a primer on legal issues they can expect when entering private medical practice. I hope the presentation will serve as a heads up for physicians before jumping into private practice. Moreso, I hope that all the physicians entering or currently in private practice can be more prepared when they do confront these issues.

If you are in the New York/New Jersey area, let me know if you are interested in attending the presentation. I don't have a date set yet, just looking to see how many would be interested. Thanks.

The Law Blog

2009-06-10T17:23:00.002-04:00

You might recall my posts on this blog in my past life. Now that things have been dead for a while, I figure I would revive the blog by incorporating my new life.

Perhaps this will breathe some new life into my new life.

With that said, welcome to my new law blog. I will post my thoughts on life and the law and how the twain meet. Working with the Law Firm of Omar T. Mohammedi, LLC, I have to opportunity to be an intimate part of some high profile cases and cases which are more than mere dollar signs for others. I hope to share some of the views from the inside on some cases that the media often distorts.

The Flight of the Anqa (Re-Post)

2008-09-18T10:32:00.003-04:00

I apologize for my lackadaisical posting. When I have some fresh ideas, insha'Allah, I will post again. As for now here are some recycled ideas.

By the way, thanks to everyone that supported the Food Pantry Project. Your money was much appreciated and I received enough to keep the project afloat for a few months. With your help. We were able to provide up to a week's worth of food for many families including some with single unemployed parents and four children. We hope to service twice as many families this month, insha'Allah.

In any case, here's an old recycled thought that I've been thinking about again recently.

The Flight of the Anqa

In the small apartment on the third floor, the TV flickered with bright, unceasing images. I sat in front of the TV, but could not make out anything. She was getting dressed in the other room. She wore a pure white dress with golden embroidery glimmering in the dim light of the apartment. "Get dressed," she said as she tightened a scarf behind her neck. Outside I could hear the rumble of the subway train passing through, in the further distance, ambulance sirens emanated softly into silence.

"Do I have to get dressed?" I asked annoyed at the thought of wearing a suit. Where were we going, I wondered, but didn't ask. She walked quietly back into the other room as if the answer to my question was obvious. I have a red shirt, I thought, it's pretty formal. I couldn't think right. Where am I? The red shirt isn't formal at all. I don't have any clothes to wear.

"Come on, beautiful, get dressed," she pleaded as she walked back into the TV room again. What was this "beautiful" business? Was I dreaming? She was my beautiful...my beautiful anqa. Lovely and mysterious, but the closer I wanted to come, the further I'd feel her drift. Had the flight of the anqa ended now?

"I didn't know you felt that way," I muttered turning away from the TV. I could still not make out the image on the TV. I nervously waited for her response excited at the thought that this might actually be a reality. I still needed affirmation.

"I don't know how I feel," she responded, "I'm a figment of your imagination, I can only say what you want to hear."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, honey," she said with regret.

"It's okay," I said as the TV continued to flicker on. I could start to make out the image now of a reporter standing in front of some building. "Did you know," I continued, "did you know that I always thought of you as my anqa?"

"An anqa, honey?"

"Yea, the anqa. It's a mythical bird with beautiful plumage said to possess great wisdom. But the more one seeks it, the further away it drifts. Like you are for me."

"Aww. I'm sorry--" Her voice cuts off as the TV suddenly starts to grow louder. "Maybe...you should tell...the real...me--" I can see her in the doorway still moving her lips, the golden embroidery on her white dress still glimmers brightly. Suddenly images of soda bottles, beer, and pharmaceutical drugs start invading my apartment. Nothing is clear.

"Where are we going?" I yelled over the inaudibly loud sounds from the TV.

"You're losing your imagination, honey." She started to disappear into the other room.

"Wait!" I shouted, "I have more to tell you." There was no response. I could no longer see her through the darkness of the other room. I felt bombarded with images from TV commercials I had seen. I could no longer visualize her white dress. She was gone. The TV continued to flicker. I shut it off, but I still heard the loud sounds and felt the images in my head. I knocked the TV over and unplugged it. The sounds wouldn't end. I began to take the TV apart from the back piece by piece hoping to remove the one piece poisoning my mind with sounds and pictures. I didn't want these pictures. I can't stop them from going into my mind. She wore a white dress, I reminded myself, she wore a white dress with gold embroidery. She looked at me with a loving glow of relief--like an anqa finally home and tired from the flight. But I continued to lose my mind. The TV was still on.

I sat back in frustration. There was no hope. The sounds from the TV continued to invade my mind. Why did I turn this on, I thought. I couldn't remember. She was gone. The anqa had flown again.

The Horseman's Hunt

2008-09-02T15:12:00.004-04:00

The intellect is like a horseman who has gone hunting. His appetence is his horse and his anger is his dog. When the horseman is skilled and his horse well broken and his dog trained and taught, then he is able to succeed. But when he is himself clumsy, his horse ungovernable, and his dog vicious, then his horse is neither guided under him, nor does his dog go forth in obedience to his signs. So he himself deserves to perish rather than to gain that which he seeks. The clumsiness of the horseman is like the ignorance of a man, his paucity of wisdom, and his dim insight. The restiveness of the hose is like the victory of appetence, and especially the appetite for food and for sexual indulgence. The viciousness of the dog is like the victory of anger and its domination.

-Imam Abu Hamid Al Ghazali (The Marvels of the Heart)

Ocean's Treasure Redux (from July 2007)

2008-08-20T00:28:00.000-04:00

At Sea Bright, NJ (July 21, 2007 w/crappy phone camera)

I traveled a long distance last week so I could look upon the Ocean, and by looking, I was hoping to become more ocean-like. It's always difficult to describe the ocean's qualities. Sure, I can use words like vast, deep, mysterious, awe-inspiring, and even fear-inducing (if that's a word), but it still doesn't mean anything unless you are there standing at the shores at night time when all is pitch black and on the other side is Portugal. Even better is if you were on a slow life boat miles and miles off any coast in the pitch black night all by yourself. With the ocean at every horizon, you begin to notice the curvature of the Earth. You witness the sun rise above the ocean on one horizon and set into the ocean from the other horizon. Perhaps only then could you really feel the ocean. So I'll spare you my meager descriptions.

What I did recall were the wise words of Imam Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali when he said:

How long will you ramble on the shore of the ocean, close your eyes to the wonders of the Quran? Was it not your duty to sail to the midst of the fathomless ocean of these meanings in order to see their wonders, to travel to their islands in order to gather their best produce, and to dive into their depths so that you might become rich by obtaining their jewels? Do you not feel ashamed of being deprived of their pearls and jewels by your persistence in looking at their shores and outward appearances?

Has it not come to your knowledge that the Quran is like an ocean and that it is from the Quran that the sciences of the ancients and the moderns branch off, just as rivers and brooks branch off from the shores of an ocean? Why do you not emulate those people who waded through their waves and thus gained red brimstone, dived into their depths and thus drew out red corundum, shining pearls, and green chrysolite, traveled along their coasts and thus gathered grey ambergris and fresh blooming aloe-wood, and became attached to their islands and thus derived from the animals the greatest antidote and the strongest musk?

I think I could quote the Imam's entire book, but let me stop here and ruin it all by adding my own words. The beautiful analogy of the ocean as representing the Quran is made even more amazing when he adds the specific gems and pearls. According to Imam Ghazali, there are six main goals of the Quran and he attaches to each type a different type of treasure (i.e. brimstone, chrysolite, etc.). I prepared a chart of the six aims to help visualize things (you have to click on it to make it larger to be able to read it):

Each one of these six are treasures worth more than their metaphoric counterparts, however, some of them have more value than others. For instance, the Imam discusses the rarest jewel of them all, the knowledge of Allah's Essence (The Red Corundum):

As the most precious of these corundums is the greatest and the most rare to find, and because of its rarity [even] kings can only get possession of a little of it whereas they may sometimes gain much of what is inferior to it, so also knowledge of divine essence is the narrowest in scope, most difficult to acquire, most puzzling to thought, and furthest from receiving discussion. This is the reason why the Quran contains only notes and indications of this knowledge. . .

The Imam goes on to discuss the other six with their subparts:

1. The Knowledge of Allah (Red Brimstone)
This contains three subparts: knowledge of Allah's Essence (Red Corundum), knowledge of Allah's Attributes (Bluish Grey Corundum), and Knowledge of Allah's Works (Yellow Corundum). Attributes include verses discussing divine power, knowledge, wisdom, etc. Allah's Works include all of creation such as oceans, rivers, mountains, people, animals, jinn, angels, etc.

2. The Definition of the Path to Allah (Shining Pearls)
The description of the way to advancing towards Allah and turning away from all else.

3. The Condition of Man When Attaining to Allah (Green Chrysolite)
The description of the People of Heaven and the People of Hell and their journeys through death, the grave, the resurrection, the reckoning, the balance, and the bridge.

4. The Stories of the People (The Grey Ambergris and the Aloe-Wood)
The stories of the people that traversed the Path to Allah (Adam, Nuh, Ibrahim, Musa, Isa, Lut, etc. [peace be upon them all]), and the stories of the people that rejected the Path to Allah (Pharoah, people of 'Ad, people of Thamud, people of Lut, etc.). The former are the grey ambergris and the latter form the aloe wood.

5. Arguments of the Infidels (The Greatest Antidote)
Verses containing the arguments the non-believers gave in denying Allah, denying Prophethood, and denying the Afterlife (and the rejection of these arguments).

6. The Lawful and Unlawful (The Strongest Musk)
These are the laws of Shari'ah (i.e. verses that discuss the laws of diet, inheritance, governance, war and peace, marriage and divorce, etc.)

And I could go on about the Imam's book, but I will let you discover that on your own (The Jewels of the Quran by Imam ABU HAMID Al Ghazali).

The point, I believe, is clear. The value of the ocean is unimaginable, whether it's to be in awe of Allah's creation and wonder what else is hidden below, or it's to marvel in the beauty of a sunset over the water, or it's to truly understand the power of the Quran as it relates to us. Men of understanding, like the Imam, can see a whole lot more when they see the ocean, but, surely, we can all see something and perhaps gain some understanding of our own.

The Food Pantry Project

2008-08-18T21:36:00.002-04:00

As Ramadan approaches, we are reminded of the Prophet Muhammad's saying, "He is not a believer who goes to sleep at night with a full stomach while his neighbor's remains open."

With that sentiment, we will the first food pantry at the Islamic Center of Passaic County (ICPC) in the closing days of Shaban. The food pantry, a service readily found in many churches in the area, aims to provide necessary nonperishable food items to local families in need. ICPC is located near the inner city streets of Paterson, New Jersey--where, unfortunately, 19.2% of families fall below the poverty line. This fact alone makes the food pantry almost a collective obligation for the ICPC community.

The contents of each bag will be balanced between the various food groups with bread, pasta, canned vegetables and beans, and canned tuna fish. In the future we hope to add other more diverse items. The food pantry will be open one Saturday a month from 3pm to 6pm with hopes of expanding it to twice a month. Food drives and donations from the community will power the food pantry as a permanent feature of ICPC.

To launch this project and fulfill the prophetic value of placing our neighbor's needs equally with our own, we need the support of the community. The inaugural food pantry will be held on August 30th from 3pm to 6pm, insha'Allah. We are looking for donations to help in securing the food and giving the project an auspicious start. If everything goes smoothly, insha'Allah, we will be able to feed over 50 people for 2 or 3 days.

If you wish to donate to the food pantry, please make the checks and money orders out to ICPC with the memo "Food Pantry." ICPC is a tax exempt organization and all donations are tax deductible.

Please send the checks to me at
Tariq Hussain
9 Dykers Farm Road
North Haledon, NJ 07508.

If you live in the North Jersey area and want to hand deliver the checks, you can send them to me Tariq Hussain (tariq08@gmail.com), Moustafa Badreldin (moustafa.badreldin@gmail.com), or Salim Patel (salimpatel78@gmail.com).

Thank you.

Bar Exam Hiatus

2008-06-29T23:57:00.004-04:00

In case anyone wondering where I've been, I'm on a bar exam hiatus. Yea that's right, I knew what you were thinking.

I'm sitting in class right now, pretending to be taking notes so bear with me. I'm trying to stay focused...like a laser beam. I think I'm actually making some progress now...in fact, I think I'm really good at staying focused now. For example, today, i was staring directly into the sun...and I didn't even blink or nothing....yea...I'm focused, maaan.

I do some exercises now to remain focused...you sitting at home right now might wanna try some of these...for instance, I have an exercise where I sit on my laptop during class and ramble on a blog post...it's pretty much what I'm doing right now...the trick is not to get distracted by the professor....every now and then, I might learn a few things about res ipsa loquitur or implied warranty of merchantability...that's when I have to start writing the post from the beginning...yea...I'm for real, maan...no joke...eye of the tiger....don't mess with me.

so yea...try that...it'll dramatically increase your...your focusing ability...hey, did I ever tell you about the time I got wiped out by a car while crossing the street...it was pretty intense...I had to peel myself off the hood of some lady's car...did a quick frisk to make sure I was all still there and then on my way to class again...I wonder what happened to that lady...she's probably telling the story about how she heroically stopped her car in the nick of time to save a wayward pedestrian on the mean streets of New Brunswick...New Brunswick did have some mean streets before, back when Reggie the barber was still in town...the only barbershop that was never open for any consistent hours...everyday was a manhunt to find Reggie on the street somewhere and hopefully get a cut...but, I digress...

So the point is, I'm focused on another level, man (hey, did you notice how "level" is the same spelled backwards and forwards? ...Was it a cat I saw? A dog a panic in a pagoda. Go hang a salami, I'm a lasagna hog. hehe) ...anyway...

somebody pray for me.

The Liberation of Ibn Khaldun (Part 1)

2008-05-26T00:15:00.002-04:00

"I had a bad dream once. I wandered into the dark, dark crevices of a forgotten cave nowhere in the world. I had a strange calling from within the cave which I could barely pinpoint as I walked past the sleeping bats. I walked through pounds of bat droppings. A disgusting gooey, white film covered the bottoms of my bare feet. Wars were fought over this, and all I wanted was to get it off me."

"Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, I could hear the distant rhythmic footsteps like that of a lonely man pacing back and forth in a small cell. I continued through the many stalagmites and stalactites of this mystic cave wondering "why?" I didn't sense at all the oddity of walking through a cavern barefoot searching for a prisoner. I knew there was a greater purpose. Like a tiny geometric design on an immense, elaborate Persian rug, I knew that this was all just a part of something bigger--something more beautiful."

"When I reached a chamber deep within...wait...wait. It gets blurry there. I can't remember so well anymore. I used to remember my dreams more clearly, but I haven't been able to recently. Give me a second..."

"I think I remember seeing the actual prison cell, in which I could see the figure of a man sitting quietly. I can't remember his face. Or maybe I saw it, but it was unlike anyone I knew. But I don't remember anymore. Anyway, the man wore a green turban and looked up at me gleaming with hope. He showed no signs of being imprisoned. Now, I don't remember the exact words, but this is what I think he said:

I walked on the surface many years ago with the people of understanding. I accompanied those who spent time in contemplation over all things standing, sitting and on their sides. I sat with those who saw the world for what it really was.

But then something happened. New demons arose, poisoning the minds of the people. Slowly, people began to lose understanding and very art of contemplation was lost. I found that I could no longer sit with the people. So, in time, they locked me away in this cavern, hoping that I may never be released again.

Then I woke up. He might have said something else, I can't remember. Something about a cosmic battle. I don't know...I don't know what it means. You have to tell me something," I finally finished speaking and caught my breath. The old man stared at me for some time. He had been listening patiently, and I could see his eyes light up brighter as my narration continued.

"It wasn't what you think, son," he said, "the man in the prison was Ibn Khaldun, and he's there right now. YOU have to find him."

"Am I still dreaming?" I asked shocked by the old man's response.

"You were never dreaming. Go now."

Social Rebellion

2008-03-15T19:58:00.008-04:00

Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison.

Henry David Thoreau

To put it differently, if a society has become morally bankrupt or extremely hypocritical, then the only place for a just man is as a pariah. This, then, is the only proper social rebellion best exemplified by Huckleberry Finn's dilemma.

Huck was always a pariah in the imaginary 1840's town of St. Petersburg, Missouri (or Missoura, if you will). The son of a child-abusing drunkard, Huck spent most of his times on the street, until, of course, he was adopted by the widow. The widow and her sister, Ol' Miss Watson, were slaveholders but cherished above all a high morality. The hypocrisy of this type of "sivilization" wouldn't allow Huck to ever fit in, although he did not know exactly why.

When Huck escaped the oppression of his abusive father and the "sivilized" society, he discovered a deep friendship with Jim (Miss Watson's runaway slave). Hence Huck's dilemma. In those times of scathing racism and utter inhumanity, a slave was nothing more than property, thus, Huck was taught that helping a slave runaway is the same as stealing someone's property. Therefore, Huck aiding Jim's escape was morally corrupt by that social standard. At one point Huck is faced with the dilemma of writing Miss Watson telling her the whereabouts of Jim or continuing to help Jim escape slavery. After drafting this letter, Huck thinks:

I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking--thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And go to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me, all the time, in the day, and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we floating along, talking, and singing, and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was . . . and then I happened to look around, and see that paper [letter].

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself, "All right, then, I'll go to hell" --and tore it up.

It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. I shoved the whole thing out of my head; and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line being brung up to it, and the other warn't. And for a starter, I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog.

Huck writes the letter to Miss Watson telling her the whereabouts of Jim and feels that he has avoided hell by doing so (because that's what he's been taught). But after thinking about the times he has spend with Jim he realizes that he'd rather go to hell then give Jim up. He tears up the letter and accepts himself for being wicked without apology for it.

What Huck has discovered is the truth. If a society's standards are so backward, then it's better to go straight to hell (by their standards) then to conform. Like Thoreau, Twain acknowledges that in a place of injustice, the only place for a just man is as a social outcast from that society.

Such is the only true social rebellion. When in a society exclusivist nationalism, destructive consumerism, and ignorant ethnocentrism become the social norm, then is it worth being an upstanding member of such a society? Never.

The Legal Solution

2008-03-11T20:17:00.003-04:00

The law is limited (just ask Franz Kafka). When people pine for change through the law, I'm never confident it can be done in that way. Although I'm frequently told that that makes me some sort of freaky anarchist, I simply can't see it that way.

The rule of law is absolutely critical and can't be replaced. I would prefer an oppressive government that maintains some degree of law and order over total lawlessness. But in order to affect change, the law is limited. It can only reflect the change that takes place in the society. Therefore, some sort of social evolution needs to accompany the change in law. In simple terms, the people need to believe in the law. There needs to be a collective agreement that the law is good and that we must all maintain it. All the laws in the world can't stop any given problem unless there is a change in the collective ethos.

Be that as it may, what legal solution can we possibly come up with for some of the problems today? In the spirit of Justice Stone's proposal, why not give the trees standing in court to sue? Corporations are non human entities that have the ability to sue or be sued in court, so why not trees?

Let the trees have a fiduciary that is willing to absorb the cost and sue on behalf of harm suffered by the trees. The legal standard ought to be sustainability. If Corporation A chopped down an X amount of trees and the Earth can only replenish a Y amount naturally, then let the forest file a class action law suit against Corporation A. If the forest can show the non-sustainable action by the defendant, then Corporation A should have to pay X minus Y amount of trees. Corporation A will probably raise the price of the widgets made using that wood, which could perhaps deter the consumer from buying those widgets. OR Corporation A could absorb the cost and take a slight loss in profits.

Does it sound reasonable? Probably not. But, the bottom line is the planet's natural resources can no longer be an externality. There needs to be a cost associated with environmental damage and whether the corporation absorbs the cost or passes it on to the consumer, it will still create an incentive to reduce the environmental damage. If I can't sue for the damage suffered by the oil-soaked sea gull, then let the sea gull have standing in court.

The law is never so simple, but I can dream.

American Muslim Identity

2008-03-06T22:49:00.014-05:00

They ask me what it means to be an American Muslim. I learned from the desert 14 centuries ago the values of the soul—of knowledge and wisdom, of art and beauty, of justice and compassion. But like the colorless river water taking the hue of the bedrock beneath, my Islam was shaped by America's rich past.

My heritage is rooted in Chief Joseph's lament in the valleys of old;
in Crowfoot's words about the breath of the buffalo;
in the runaway slave kneeling down to pray;
in Harriet who ran the railroad and Harriet who wrote the play;
in John Brown facing the noose over the slavery plight;
in Emerson visiting Thoreau in the prison's dim light.
in the Chinese men standing where the train tracks unite;
in Helen Keller's vision and her suffrage fight;
in Huck Finn's sanctuary on the river at night;
in Langston arriving at Harlem and the Renaissance that flowed;
in Groucho's witty jokes and Chaplin's dancing rolls;
in the Japanese finally saying “Farewell to Manzanar;”
in Coltrane playing the blues and Dylan decrying the war.
in Montgomery, Alabama when there was a long walk home;
in Martin at the church and Malcolm in the dome.

My heritage is rooted in America.

(P.S. I didn't intend for this to be a poem but since I got it going...who'd like to add a verse?)

Blood Chocolate

2008-03-02T17:24:00.008-05:00

If you are a chocolate lover, then you might want to avert your gaze. But, if you value human rights slightly more than chocolate, then, by all means, read on.

The story of blood chocolate begins with a feisty, young capitalist named Milton Hershey who entered the wide world of chocolate in 1893 not long after the invention of milk chocolate. He was following in the footsteps of chocolatiers like John Cadbury (who, in England, had realized that chocolate surpassed all his other ventures in profitability). In the budding era of capitalism, Hershey looked to monopolize on all aspects of chocolate production. His vast empire took over entire towns like Derry Church, Pennsylvania (later renamed Hershey, PA) and Hershey, Cuba (built around his sugar mill plantations).

Fast forward some hundred years, it became painfully obvious that chocolate was more than a hit, it was an addiction for many people. Addiction = profitability. In order to feed the mass chocolate addiction ($13 billion spent on chocolate in the United States in 2001), the chocolate industry turns to West Africa for the cocoa. Currently West Africa produces 70% of the world's cocoa used for chocolate.

This raised an interesting business question. Feeding into the chocolate craze in the Western consumer was a piece of (chocolate) cake, but how does one maximize the profitability of the endeavor? The answer was simple. Keep the cocoa prices extremely low. Pay the cocoa producers virtually nothing for the goods and let them hire child slave labor in order to even turn a profit. In the meanwhile, companies like Hershey's could mark up the product considerably and earn a profit of over half a billion per year.

In 2000, there was an outcry by the international community against the exploitation of labor by the chocolate giants. According to an article in the Kansas City Star, boys barely over 4 feet tall were made to work on 500 acre plantations from sunrise to sunset. They were made to carry bags of cocoa beans almost as big as them and if they did not hurry, they were beaten. Boys were beaten if they fell down while carrying the bags. According to other sources, there are approximately 284,000 children working on cocoa plantations and many of them have arrived as a result of child trafficking.

The chocolate giants failed to meet a July 2005 deadline to adopt a monitoring system for the labor conditions on the cocoa plantations. The companies later promised that they would have that system in place by July 2008. Most critics agree that even if these systems were adopted, they would not do enough to solve the problem. These efforts are usually just empty promises that would be underfunded and uneventful even if implemented.

The root of the problem goes to the low cocoa prices and the poverty faced by farmers in West Africa. Nothing has changed since 2000. Hershey's has continued to turn tremendous profits.

In spite of the damning reports against Hershey's (and the known 280,000 child laborers on cocoa plantations), Hershey's website claims:

Today, thanks to a landmark, independent survey conducted in 2002 by the International Institute for Tropical Agriculture (IITA) in cooperation with the International Labor Organization of the UN (ILO) and funded by The Hershey Company and other industry members, we have a clearer picture of actual working conditions on these farms. Contrary to media reports, the survey found that the vast majority of farmers in the region grow cocoa responsibly; no instances of slavery or forced labor were found on the more than 4,500 farms surveyed. . . the clear picture that emerged was far different from initial media reports.

Evidently, Hershey's is not trying to solve the problem because it has refused to acknowledge that the problem even exists. It bases its findings on a research that it itself funded. Apparently, Hershey's finds no conflicts of interest and everything is roses. M&M/Mars, the other chocolate giant, has at least recognized the problem of child labor exists and it has remained silent on whether it exists among its own suppliers. Mars has offered some lofty language and empty promises to appease the local chocolate consumer; however what meaningful action will be taken, remains to be seen.

So, to you, lover of chocolate and lover of love, I recommend Fair Trade chocolate. Fair Trade chocolate is labeled as such by the Fair Trade Labelling Organizations (FLO) which guarantees that the farmers who farmed the cocoa were paid a fair share for their work based on the cost to maintain a healthy standard of living in that area. Since the cocoa prices are low, the FLO adds a fair trade premium to the costs to ensure that the farmers can earn a decent profit.

Look for fair trade chocolate which can be found in ample grocery stores around the country. In addition to being slave labor free, most of the fair trade chocolates have organic cocoa and unrefined sugar. Companies like Equal Exchange and Global Exchange are a few that offer this service. Numerous grocery stores like Trader Joe's and Whole Foods also carry fair trade goods including chocolate, coffee, and other products.

Other chocolate companies like Russell Stover also have better policies towards blood chocolate. President of the company, Tom Ward includes a contract provision with suppliers forbidding the use of child labor. He noted on this issue:

Inhumane labor conditions is a worldwide problem that American companies must heed, or face severe public reaction. Any company that does not understand the impact that can have is not very smart.

The end of the story, as is always the end in a story about a commodity chain, is with you, the consumer. The time has come for the consumer to stop the blind consumption of whatever the market feeds us (whether images or chocolate). You are the all powerful consumer. Chocolate is what you want, child labor free is how you want it, and if big chocolate can't provide that, then you won't buy it.

Civic Consumerism

2008-02-26T13:57:00.006-05:00

In his book, Consumed, Benjamin Barber argues that the advertising and marketing in the current markets destroy children and infantilize adults. The main reason, of course, is because it is much easier to appeal to a childish, infantile nature that is essentially narcissistic and immature. (Case in point, almost all major comedy movies that are not suitable for children due to sexual content or adult language are also unequivocally childish in nature). To combat such consumerism, however, there ought to be a rise of civic consumerism, that is, consumers need to become socially responsible citizens. He says:

The civic calling invokes society able to respond generously to children's "irreducible needs" around the world without turning adults into children or seducing children into consumerism in the name of a hollow empowerment. The civic calling takes Wendy's part in the age-old struggle that recurs in each generation between Wendy and Peter Pan. It acknowledges the true delights of childhood, and helps children be children again by preserving them from the burdens of an exploitative and violent adult world. It refuses to "empower them" by taking away their dollies and blocks and toy wagons in which to haul them and replacing them with cell-phones and video games and credit cards with which to pay for them. It refuses to "free" them from parents and other gatekeepers in order to turn them over to market-mad pied pipers who lead them over a commercial precipice down into the mall. Children should play not pay, act not watch, learn not shop. Where capitalism can, it should help protect the boundaries of childhood and preserve the guardianship of parents and citizens; otherwise it should get out of the way. Not everything needs to earn a profit, not everyone needs to be a shopper--not all the time.

Earliest Memory, Revisited

2008-02-17T18:46:00.014-05:00

Once upon a blog, I spoke of my earliest memory. I was hoping to revisit this topic again.

I smelled the salty mist of the sea as I plunged from the upper deck. No time to gasp for help, I already felt my elbow crack as I hit the deck. I fell two feet away from a machine that rose out of the floor of the ship like a robotic mouth. Good thing my elbow didn't land in the gaping mouth of that monstrosity, I thought. Good thing.

I could see the night sky above the sea. The calming stillness was only broken by all the people rushing to my aid in a panic. I wish they wouldn't do that. "Oh my God!!" someone shouted, "that poor baby! Someone come quick."

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" my uncle uttered as he ran frantically down the staircase. Off into the distance where the noises were nothing more than muffled murmurs, the baleen whales surfaced to catch a breath under the lights of Orion. The moon was absent. My elbow hurt. I couldn't smell the mist or hear the song of the baleen whales, I was in excruciating pain.

The people around me clapped their hands and jiggled their keys hoping to calm me down and silence my tearful cry. The hawksbill turtles floated by hearing my lament. There weren't so many around anymore since the booming industry had arrived. They say the hatchlings couldn't find their way to the shores because the lights of the shoreline nightclubs. They marched to their deaths on the sand as the indifferent party goers gyrated to the lifeless noise of the speakers. No one could hear the cry of the hawksbill turtles. I wondered if they could hear my cry. Actually, I didn't. I cried myself. My elbow was in excruciating pain.

"We should take him off the boat, the trip won't start for another 10 minutes," someone said.

"No, it can't be that bad. I think he just has a light sprain on his elbow," my uncle responded. He looked around asking everyone for my mother.

"She went to get ice cream." As I cried, I could make out the lady in white approaching through my blurry, teary eyed vision. She handed the vanilla ice cream bars to someone else and grabbed for me immediately.

"Hey, baby," the other person said, "you want some ice cream?" Ice cream, I thought, ice cream? I broke my elbow and the dugongs no longer surfaced offshore! Ice cream? But was I ready to leave yet? I could smell the salty mist again. I could suddenly feel the calm stillness of the night at sea. My mind could only imagine now what lay out beyond the horizon. There was nothing but wide open sea for thousands of miles. Nothing to obstruct the sky. Nothing to dim the shine of the stars. The sun would rise up above the sea and the sun would set into the sea. But they broke my elbow and now they want to take me away.

The lady in white would know what to do. I've broken my elbow, but I can't leave the sea, Mama, this is where I belong. She looked at me with the glow in her eyes, and I knew she would take care of it. "It's okay," she said, "it is only a sprain, he'll be fine." She knew the bone was fractured. "Don't feel bad," she told my uncle, "he'll be ok." Yea, it's okay, Uncle, don't take me off this boat now.

The lady in white reached for her scarf and felt my elbow carefully looking for the right spot. The hawksbill turtles would float by and notice the crying now begin to subside. She wrapped it tightly around my elbow and held my arm in place as I sat in her lap. The last tear stood still on my cheek as the gentle breeze of the sea blew it dry. I could feel the sea again. As she finished wrapping, the boat began to slowly drift off the harbor into the quiet Arabian Sea night. She would hold my elbow in place for the entire journey.

I could feel the life of the seawater flow through my body like the blood in my veins, and I forgot that I was a two year old who just fractured his elbow after a traumatic fall. All I could think was of the off chance that I could see the dugongs again. If we floated far enough, perhaps we could see the eerie green glow of the Flying Dutchman as it drifted aimlessly in the foggy night. Perhaps the baleen whales would sing another song and perhaps we could hear the lament of the hawksbill turtles. Perhaps a new gentle giant of the deep might surface and remind us that truly we aren't the masters of this planet. Perhaps we could wave goodbye to the North Star and discover a new land where the dodos still roam.

I sat for hours quietly with my head pressed against the lady in white. "Is he all right?" my uncle asked again guiltily.

"Yes," the lady in white said, "he's never been better." That's right, Mama. It'll take more than a broken elbow to keep me off that boat.

[I was taken to the doctor the next day who put me in a cast for a few weeks. The doctor commended my mother for the medical attention she provided through the journey at sea.]

Lone Wolf

2008-02-15T09:18:00.006-05:00

They say puns are lazy writing, but do you know what's even lazier writing? Posting pictures.

As the last story indicated, the Anqa has escaped, so bear with me. (At least the pic is an original).

Mythological Birds

2008-02-04T11:42:00.001-05:00

Great Blue Heron

Perhaps the greatest marvels of nature is the bird in flight, but not just any bird, a bird that itself is marvelous in flight. Watching a Canadian goose clumsily take flight over a pond is not quite the same as watching a peregrine falcon dive from the dizzying heights at over 200 miles per hour to capture its prey or the majestic glide of the great blue heron. It often leads us to imagine what if the heron was the size of a whale? What if it feasted on elephants? What if it could talk? What if it could turn into a ball of fire like the sun and destroy everything in its path?

Apparently, this kind of thought was common throughout history. In the last post, I alluded to the Anqa. The Anqa bird is a mysterious bird from Arabian mythology, so mysterious, in fact, that there is very little information about the myth itself (save a few verses from poets like Hafiz and Ghalib). However, the Anqa bird is considered to be very similar to the Persian mythological bird known as the Simurgh.

The Simurgh

The Simurgh is a giant, female bird with the head of a dog or sometimes of a man and the claws of lion. Almost all the ancient Persians seals carry the Simurgh as the symbol. The story goes that the Simurgh was so old that it witnessed the destruction of the world three times. And so through all this life experience, the Simurgh is said to possess immense knowledge and wisdom.

In Shaykh Farid ud din Attar's epic poem, The Conference of Birds, many birds gather to go search for their master--the Simurgh. The band of birds are reduced to thirty as the other birds keep backing away from the journey for one reason or another. Eventually, the thirty birds arrive at the lake but they don't find the Simurgh anywhere. Instead they see themselves in the Lake and realize that what they seek is already in them. The come together to form the Simurgh. The Persian word "Simurgh" means literally "thirty birds."

The Roc

The Roc (or Rukh) is also from the Persian mythology but extends into Arabian mythology. The Roc is perhaps rooted in the legend of the Simurgh, but it is a large, white bird of prey. The Roc is capable of carrying off elephants and whales in its talons. The bird became famous when Sinbad the Sailor was attacked by the Roc in the 1001 Arabian Tales. The Roc was popularized in the West by the Venetian adventurer, Marco Polo. He writes:

It was for all the world like an eagle, but one indeed of enormous size; so big in fact that its quills were twelve paces long and thick in proportion. And it is so strong that it will seize an elephant in its talons and carry him high into the air and drop him so that he is smashed to pieces; having so killed him, the bird swoops down on him and eats him at leisure

Marco Polo, of course, describes the bird as an actual living bird that he himself witnessed. There is no doubt that several species of eagles or other raptors existed at that time and have since gone extinct. Some fossils suggest there was a giant species of eagle that could carry away lemurs. Another theory is that the sight of an adult ostrich gave the impression that the flightless ostrich is a chick of some monstrous flying bird.

While I can't say if something like that could have existed, I do agree that the sailors saw a lot of crazy things in this world. On many occasions, they were right and everyone called them crazy. When the sailors claimed they were attacked by a sea monster called Kraken no one believed them. Recently, however, a squid was discovered measuring over 40-45 feet. The behavioral habits of squids suggest that they are likely to attack ships as they are violently territorial. So the sailor's weren't kidding about that one. A few years ago, a piece of an octopus was discovered on the beach somewhere. After some research it was established that it did belong to an octopus and the considering the size of that part, the octopus would have to be 90ft long. (For those that don't have an indication of how big that is, that is nearly the length of a blue whale!). (For those that still don't have an indication of how big that is, please visit a museum of natural history nearby that contains an actual scale model of a whale). But, I digress...

The Phoenix

The myth of the Phoenix stems from Phoenician mythology is probably the best known of the legendary birds. The Phoenix is said to be a beautiful bird with bright feathers. The unusual legend of the Phoenix goes that before the Phoenix dies, it builds a nest and lays an egg. In order to incubate the egg, the Phoenix sets itself on fire and burns (along with the nest) into ashes. From the ashes, the new Phoenix arises and takes the place of the original. Therefore, at any given time, there is only one Phoenix bird. Another characteristic of the Phoenix is that it is nearly invincible during its lifetime.

So what is the point of this post? The point is to hopefully rekindle the imagination and creativity, to rekindle a sense of wonder and a sense of beauty. The narrator in "The Flight of the Anqa" felt he was unable to recapture his imagination ever again from the absurdity of the modern world (the TV). He saw it as the Anqa bird flying away every time he felt he had come close. (Although, paradoxically, by comparing the girl to the Anqa bird he is creating art--the very thing he feels always escapes him).

The Quetzal

So I hope to get a better grasp of my imagination and creativity over the next few months and I hope that you, the reader (if you still exist), will also chase the Anqa bird until you have captured it or until you witness it burn to ashes and arise anew.

Dodo Bird

The Flight of the Anqa

2008-01-30T21:37:00.001-05:00

In the small apartment on the third floor, the TV flickered with bright, unceasing images. I sat in front of the TV, but could not make out anything. She was getting dressed in the other room. She wore a pure white dress with golden embroidery glimmering in the dim light of the apartment. "Get dressed," she said as she tightened a scarf behind her neck. Outside I could hear the rumble of the subway train passing through, in the further distance, ambulance sirens emanated softly into silence.

"Do I have to get dressed?" I asked annoyed at the thought of wearing a suit. Where were we going, I wondered, but didn't ask. She walked quietly back into the other room as if the answer to my question was obvious. I have a red shirt, I thought, it's pretty formal. I couldn't think right. Where am I? The red shirt isn't formal at all. I don't have any clothes to wear.

"Come on, beautiful, get dressed," she pleaded as she walked back into the TV room again. What was this "beautiful" business? Was I dreaming? She was my beautiful...my beautiful anqa. Lovely and mysterious, but the closer I wanted to come, the further I'd feel her drift. Had the flight of the anqa ended now?

"I didn't know you felt that way," I muttered turning away from the TV. I could still not make out the image on the TV. I nervously waited for her response excited at the thought that this might actually be a reality. I still needed affirmation.

"I don't know how I feel," she responded, "I'm a figment of your imagination, I can only say what you want to hear."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, honey," she said with regret.

"It's okay," I said as the TV continued to flicker on. I could start to make out the image now of a reporter standing in front of some building. "Did you know," I continued, "did you know that I always thought of you as my anqa?"

"An anqa, honey?"

"Yea, the anqa. It's a mythical bird with beautiful plumage said to possess great wisdom. But the more one seeks it, the further away it drifts. Like you are for me."

"Aww. I'm sorry--" Her voice cuts off as the TV suddenly starts to grow louder. "Maybe...you should tell...real...me." I can see her in the doorway still moving her lips, the golden embroidery on her white dress still glimmers brightly. Suddenly images of soda bottles, beer, and pharmaceutical drugs start invading my apartment. Nothing is clear.

"Where are we going?" I yelled over the inaudibly loud sounds from the TV.

"You're losing your imagination, honey." She started to disappear into the other room.

"Wait!" I shouted, "I have more to tell you." There was no response. I could no longer see her through the darkness of the other room. I felt bombarded with images from TV commercials I had seen. I could no longer visualize her white dress. She was gone. The TV continued to flicker. I shut it off, but I still heard the loud sounds and felt the images in my head. I knocked the TV over and unplugged it. The sounds wouldn't end. I began to take the TV apart from the back piece by piece hoping to remove the one piece poisoning my mind with sounds and pictures. I didn't want these pictures. I can't stop them from going into my mind. She wore a white dress, I reminded myself, she wore a white dress with gold embroidery. She looked at me with a loving glow of relief--like an anqa finally home and tired from the flight. But I continued to lose my mind. The TV was still on.

I sat back in frustration. There was no hope. The sounds from the TV continued to invade my mind. Why did I turn this on, I thought. I couldn't remember. She was gone. The anqa had flown again.

The Invisible Man

2008-01-27T17:01:00.000-05:00

From Ralph Ellison's The Invisible Man (1952):

I was overcome by a sense of alienation and hostility. My overalls were causing stares and I knew that I could live here no longer, that that phase of my life was past. The lobby was the meeting place for various groups still caught up in the illusions that had just been boomeranged out of my head: college boys working to return to school down South; older advocates of racial progress with utopian schemes for building black business empires; preachers ordained by no authority except their own, without church or congregation, without bread or wine, body or blood; the community "leaders" without followers; old men of sixty or more still caught up in post-Civil War dreams of freedom within segregation; the pathetic ones who possessed nothing beyond their dreams of being gentlemen, who hold small jobs or drew small pensions, and all pretending to be engaged in some vast, though obscure, enterprise, who affected the pseudo-courtly manners of certain southern congressmen and bowed and nodded as they passed like senile old roosters in a barnyard; the younger crowd for whom I now felt a contempt such as only a disillusioned dreamer feels for those still unaware that they dream--the business students from southern colleges, for whom business was a vague, abstract game with rules as obsolete as Noah's Ark but who yet were drunk on finance. Yes, and that older group with similar aspirations, the "fundamentalists," the "actors" who sought to achieve the status of brokers through imagination alone, a group of janitors and messengers who spent most of their wages on clothing such as was fashionable among Wall Street brokers, umbrellas, black calfskin shoes and yellow gloves, with their orthodox and passionate argument as to what was the correct tie to wear with what shirt, what shade of gray was correct for spats and what would the Prince of Wales wear at a certain seasonal event; should field glasses be slung from the right or from the left shoulder; who never read the financial pages though they purchased the Wall Street Journal religiously and carried it beneath the left elbow, pressed firm against the body and grasped in the left hand--always manicured and gloved, fair weather or foul--with an easy precision (Oh, they had style) while the other hand whipped a tightly rolled umbrella back and forth at a calculated angle; with their homburgs and Chesterfields, their polo coats and Tyrolean hats worn strictly as fashion demanded.

My sentiments exactly.

The Banana Peel

2008-01-15T18:55:00.000-05:00

Suddenly, as an eerie shadow covers the highway as far as I can see, I remember that this day began with a banana peel. What was the banana peel doing in my bedroom? Well, when I slipped and landed on my back at 5:30am, I couldn't remember anything. With the incessant beeping of that alarm, my groggy eyes, my dream interrupted, and now some major back pains, I wasn't in my senses. What was my dream about, anyway? I can't remember. But, I do remember how the banana peel got there. I put it there. I placed it strategically between my bed and my alarm clock, so I wouldn't just shut my alarm off and go back to bed. Well, it certainly worked.

Aside from that, the day began normally enough. I dressed myself in the most recent additions to my wardrobe--my Banana Republic shirt, Gap sweater and slacks, of course, I had my Wal-Mart sweatpants underneath (hey, it's cold out there). I also had a new jacket AND new shoes. Talk about trendy! I don't really know what I was getting dressed for. But regardless, I hit the road early to beat rush hour.

Now, that's where things started to get weird. After digging my car out of the snow, I realized that everyone had done so 2 days ago. At this point, everyone around me had piled the snow halfway up to the door on my car, which was still copmletely buried. I get lazy sometimes, but this is ridiculous. I got on the road right at rush hour, but there were no cars on the road. None at all! I was speeding down an empty highway with absolutely no cars in sight. Was it a holiday? Have I slept too much? Was it Christmas? ...No, it's February! Suddenly, I heard the roar of a powerful vehicle. A black Hummer H2 blew past me. Why was I sweating? There was a single person inside the monstrosity of a vehicle--a college student who was also preoccupied with her phone. And with 3 empty lanes for miles ahead of us, she cut me off.

It was a sunny day when I began my trip. And right about now, at the height of my confusion, an eerie shadow covered the highway as far as I could see. This is one hell of a cloud. I tried to lean forward and sneak a look at the sky--all I can see is black. It's moving though. It looks like...like...feathers? There's no way that's feathers! The sweat is starting to drench my clothes. I can feel it the moisture as I jostle around trying to figure out if I have truly seen feathers. It's feathers! Just when I accept that realization, I hear the loud, thunderous shriek of the bird above me. The shadow of the bird is covering the highway as far as I can see. I feel a heavy wind rush past, and my car begins to sway. The giant raptor swoops down on the Hummer like it's a field mouse. And just like that, the Hummer is carried away in the enormous talons. The bird shriekds and flies up higher.

I can see the sun again. I don't care at this point. My heart is in my throat, and sweat is covering me like someone threw a bucket of water at me. It's a thicker sweat. When you see a 200 foot raptor carry away a Hummer off the road in front of your eyes, I suppose you sweat thicker. As the bird flies off out of my sight, I notice the color of my sweater. It was gray when I began my day. The sweat has made it darker gray, but something's not quite right. I'm bleeding. It's not sweat! I'm bleeding. I don't feel any pain. I don't feel a wound. I haven't had the opportunity to be injured (surprisingly). I'm bleeding profusely.

My instinct tells me to keep driving, so long as I don't feel pain, keep driving. I felt my body, there's no wound. I'm not cut. It's not my blood. There's so much blood, it can't be mine. I would have passed out by now. It's the blood of a child..or children. I don't know why I'm thinking that. I'm really speeding now. I have to find someone or something--anything. It's my clothes--they're bleeding the blood of children.

I maneuvered the empty roads until I arrived at school. There's no one around. I still haven't seen anyone except the girl in the Hummer. Inside the building, the telephone is ringing at the security desk. There's no one at the desk. I had to pick it up. I need to talk to anyone.

"Hello," I said frantically.

"Hello Tariq, it's me, Dad," the voice said, and the day gets worse, "listen, I hope no one saw you. Stay low, don't let anyone know you are there." The phone starts to make that annoying beeping sound when it's been off the hook too long. I see no one. Suddenly, I remember my dream before the banana peel incident. I dreamt I went to class and had a normal day.

Drive Home

2008-01-15T12:39:00.000-05:00

Route 3 Next Right

I have to take that exit. No moon out tonight. Although there is a star. Is that a star? Or is that a plane? Can't tell. Merge right. Merge right. Someone in my blind spot. Merge right. 9:42. Can't miss this exit.

This is where I'd be on the phone with her. It was one year ago? Yea, one year. There's a bug on the road. I saw it! There was a bug on the road! She looked like a gutsy bug. Crossing the highway and still smiling. She'll live, I think. I would have gotten squashed. She'll live though. Should I call her now? It's been a year.

Route 17 Rutherford

I liked the sound of her voice the first time. I miss that first time. It's 26 degrees outside. The chrome of the car must be cooler than that. The cold air pressing down to the ground. Higher up the airplane passenger is looking down at my car. A bug crossing the street. I should call her.

Summit Ave Keep Left

The airplane passenger can still see my car. Is he still looking? It's the one still following the big white truck. I can't call her now. I have to move on. She's gonna think I'm crazy. The airplane passenger knows if the road is out ahead. I hope the road isn't out. 10:05. Can't miss this exit.

Summit Ave Next Left

My stomach hurts. I can see it. Like something protruding up into the soft esophagus lining. The beating of my heart makes it vibrate slightly. It hurts. If I call her, what would I say? I can't call her.

Route 80 West Paterson

Crap! I missed my exit.

Funk

2008-01-14T17:44:00.000-05:00

Tariq is suffering from a creative/intellectual/existential funk...

any suggestions?

Power to the People

2007-12-21T16:04:00.000-05:00

Lakota Sioux Secede from the United States

Political activist Russell Means, a founder of the American Indian Movement, says he and other members of Lakota tribes have renounced treaties and are withdrawing from the United States.1221 04

“We are now a free country and independent of the United States of America,” Means said in a telephone interview. “This is all completely legal.”

Means said a Lakota delegation on Monday delivered a statement of “unilateral withdrawal” from the United States to the U.S. State Department in Washington.

The State Department did not respond. “That’ll take some time,” Means said.

Meanwhile, the delegation has delivered copies of the letter to the embassies of Bolivia, Venezuela, Chile and South Africa. “We’re asking for recognition,” Means said, adding that Ireland and East Timor are “very interested” in the declaration.

Other countries will get copies of the same declaration, which Means said also would be delivered to the United Nations and to state and county governments covered by treaties, including treaties signed in 1851 and 1868. “We’re willing to negotiate with any American political entity,” Means said.

Read the rest here.

Eid Mubarak

2007-12-21T08:03:00.000-05:00

Eid Mubarak to everyone.

The New Awakening

2007-12-10T19:33:00.000-05:00

The New Awakening

all my life i've been holding on to something
i didn't know what it was
so i've been inclined to let it go
i just needed someone smart enough to convince me
but no one had
until someone smart enough convinced me
to keep it
for what i am holding on to is
emptiness
...
as people walk in and out of my life
and i walk in and out of theirs
and animals, waves and particles
the occurences
whatever and wherever they may appear
everything remains fine
let my passion drive
and care not
nor fear not
the destinations

By LoPaRu

Consumed

2007-12-10T13:54:00.000-05:00

I know lately my blog has just been a speck on this has-been planet orbiting a cold indifferent sun, but I promise I'll turn that around.

In the meantime, let me continue with the ongoing anti-consumerist theme of this blog. I attended Imam Zaid Shakir's lectures a few weeks ago in Pennsyltucky where a recurring theme seemed to be the destruction waged by capitalist markets on human values through commodification and mediation of human experience. The book that Imam Zaid quoted heavily is "Consumed" by Benjamin Barber. Here is a clip of Barber's interview from the Colbert Report.

Intriguing. Coca Cola's war on Indian tea drinking culture.

¡Viva La Revolución!

2007-11-20T00:45:00.000-05:00

As Thanksgiving approaches, so approaches an opportunity for us to retreat to the last lingering threads of the natural earth--a chance to return to that which our souls are keyed to.

Consider this an opportunity for a revolution. A revolution against commodification of the human experience. That is, a revolution against that economic machine that exploits men, women, children, trees and birds, and everything in its path for a $1.

This is an opportunity to revolt against public schools which aim to massacre the imaginations of our children and turn them into mindless cogs and pegs in that economic machine.

This is a revolt against those that instill brand identification in 6 month olds so they can make a $1.

This is a revolt against the television culture that aims to keep grown adults infants so they can be more productive consumers.

This is a revolt against the homogenization of the human experience for the sake of money.

This is a revolt against those who massacre woodlands by the acres (leaving millions of animals and humans homeless) so they can produce toilet paper for wealthy nations.

This is a revolt against those who exploit the labor of the poor and the young to produce unnecessary clothes for the wealthy (and then have the audacity to name their store "Banana Republic").

This is a revolt against pornography which commodifies women (contributes to the increasing rates of sexual assault, pedophilia, serial homocide, broken families, and low self esteem).

This is a revolt against those who spend billions of dollars to brainwash people to think they need something that's inherently useless just so they can make a billion more dollars.

This is a revolt against the nation that holds its members together by instilling fear, anger, and a sense of victimization.

This is a revolt against the values of the consumer world.

That is, a revolt against love of self in favor of love of others, a revolt against egotism in favor of altruism, a revolt against ignorance in favor of knowledge, a revolt against physical sexuality in favor of erotic love, a revolt against instant gratification in favor of delayed gratification, a revolt against image in favor of ideas. This is a revolt against the idiot culture in favor of literacy.

¡Viva La Revolución!

On November 22, 2007, I'll be at Stokes State Forest near Branchville, NJ. Where will you be?

The Thanksgiving Series (Part 1): The History
The Thanksgiving Series (Part 2): The Spirituality
The Thanksgiving Series (Part 3): The Movement

Snap out of it

2007-11-15T22:58:00.000-05:00

What help can my sympathetic friends really offer?
By the time the wounds heal, won't my fingernails grow back?

-Ghalib

She'd Prefer a Broken Neck to Another Broken Heart

2007-11-12T23:22:00.001-05:00

She said that she would prefer a broken neck to another broken heart.
I said "Remember, even the beauty of birth leaves its own scars
And know that you will find your home right where you are."

She said, "I know it sounds cliche, but I really am just waiting to exhale."
She's not looking for a perfect man, she ain't holding out for Denzel
She's just looking for a real man,
But she said "Most of the realest were in graves or in jail"
Just an upright brother, but she's left with low down brothers, homo thugs, and downlow brothers.

And it took her some time with herself to discover
That having love is even more important than having a lover
But what am I supposed to tell her?
That it's going to be okay? But it may not be.
It may be hard and ugly,
Difficult, complicated, rough and bloody
And I said, "So many women are struggling"

She said, "Yeah, I'd like a man to kiss me, I'd like a man to hug me
But he's gotta truly love love before he can truly love me"
I said, "I feel you." She said, "No, you're not feeling me.
We are women bringing up seeds,
Our own sons grow up thinking love is a disease
Ducking and dodging real relationships, and just gonna take what they please
And they treat pregnancy like it's an STD
If the test comes back positive, it's a negative
And they are ghost in the streets,
Drunk in the wind, only a moment is spent and those moments are brief
Our sons' role models are rolling stones unknown or deceased
They figure we can't teach them manhood, so they'll get grown in the streets
So in the cold world they find warmth with the men holding the heat."

I said "There's gotta be a change."
She said, "Yeah, it's gotta be more than poems on TV"
I said, "I feel you." She asked me how I survive.
I said, "By Allah, it was my mother otherwise
I would have been dead, crazy, institutionalized."

"She kept us in the good neighborhoods, even though she couldn't keep on the lights
So we could go to the best schools learning to read and to write.
Sometimes we'd be so broke, in the store, she'd have to pick between the beans and the rice.
Sometimes she'd put ketchup on a navy bean so it wouldn't seem like we're eating the same thing every night.
Two jobs during the day, and one at night.
And the stuff I saw her endure, I never wanna see my wife [endure]
So I know being a man is more than being male, and I'm focused on doing it right."

"But when I think about my childhood, I don't think about poverty
I remember how she hugged me, kissed me, taught me, loved me.
And I know you prefer a broken neck to another broken heart
Broken parts that litter the night sky like stars.
But remember, even the beauty of birth leaves its own scars
And know that you will find your home, right where you are
We will find our homes right where we are."

-Amir Sulaiman

The Healer Idealists

2007-11-10T23:11:00.000-05:00

In the spirit of avoiding the large paper I have due soon, I wanted to share the Carl Jung personality test. Most of you have probably seen this before, and probably have also taken it. If not, take a moment to complete it. It doesn't take too long.

I find this personality test quite intriguing because it's fairly accurate. So, I was wondering of the 16 possible Myers-Briggs personality types, what do my readers consist mainly of? Cast your vote on the poll to the right.

As for me, I was quite strongly in the category of INFP (Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving) also known as the Healer Idealists. By "strongly," I mean that I was leaning towards those characteristics somewhere near 90%.

Here's a brief explanation of the INFP personality type:

As an INFP, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit into your personal value system. Your secondary mode is external, where you take things in primarily via your intuition.

INFPs, more than other iNtuitive Feeling types, are focused on making the world a better place for people. Their primary goal is to find out their meaning in life. What is their purpose? How can they best serve humanity in their lives? They are idealists and perfectionists, who drive themselves hard in their quest for achieving the goals they have identified for themselves

INFPs are highly intuitive about people. They rely heavily on their intuitions to guide them, and use their discoveries to constantly search for value in life. They are on a continuous mission to find the truth and meaning underlying things. Every encounter and every piece of knowledge gained gets sifted through the INFP's value system, and is evaluated to see if it has any potential to help the INFP define or refine their own path in life. The goal at the end of the path is always the same - the INFP is driven to help people and make the world a better place.

Generally thoughtful and considerate, INFPs are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they have a very deep well of caring and are genuinely interested in understanding people. This sincerity is sensed by others, making the INFP a valued friend and confidante. An INFP can be quite warm with people he or she knows well.

INFPs do not like conflict, and go to great lengths to avoid it. If they must face it, they will always approach it from the perspective of their feelings. In conflict situations, INFPs place little importance on who is right and who is wrong. They focus on the way that the conflict makes them feel, and indeed don't really care whether or not they're right. They don't want to feel badly. This trait sometimes makes them appear irrational and illogical in conflict situations. On the other hand, INFPs make very good mediators, and are typically good at solving other people's conflicts, because they intuitively understand people's perspectives and feelings, and genuinely want to help them.

INFPs are flexible and laid-back, until one of their values is violated. In the face of their value system being threatened, INFPs can become aggressive defenders, fighting passionately for their cause. When an INFP has adopted a project or job which they're interested in, it usually becomes a "cause" for them. Although they are not detail-oriented individuals, they will cover every possible detail with determination and vigor when working for their "cause".

When it comes to the mundane details of life maintenance, INFPs are typically completely unaware of such things. They might go for long periods without noticing a stain on the carpet, but carefully and meticulously brush a speck of dust off of their project booklet.

INFPs do not like to deal with hard facts and logic. Their focus on their feelings and the Human Condition makes it difficult for them to deal with impersonal judgment. They don't understand or believe in the validity of impersonal judgment, which makes them naturally rather ineffective at using it. Most INFPs will avoid impersonal analysis, although some have developed this ability and are able to be quite logical. Under stress, it's not uncommon for INFPs to mis-use hard logic in the heat of anger, throwing out fact after (often inaccurate) fact in an emotional outburst.

INFPs have very high standards and are perfectionists. Consequently, they are usually hard on themselves, and don't give themselves enough credit. INFPs may have problems working on a project in a group, because their standards are likely to be higher than other members' of the group. In group situations, they may have a "control" problem. The INFP needs to work on balancing their high ideals with the requirements of every day living. Without resolving this conflict, they will never be happy with themselves, and they may become confused and paralyzed about what to do with their lives.

INFPs are usually talented writers. They may be awkard and uncomfortable with expressing themselves verbally, but have a wonderful ability to define and express what they're feeling on paper. INFPs also appear frequently in social service professions, such as counselling or teaching. They are at their best in situations where they're working towards the public good, and in which they don't need to use hard logic.

INFPs who function in their well-developed sides can accomplish great and wonderful things, which they will rarely give themselves credit for. Some of the great, humanistic catalysts in the world have been INFPs.

I put some of the deadly accurate details about me in bold-face. I don't know if I'm a perfectionist (as is obvious by the sub par posts I approve for this blog), but most of the other stuff is fairly accurate. Under professions for INFPs they list artists, writers, teachers etc. Essentially, they mean that INFPs are usually the unemployable, vagabond bums of the world. I think that would be a fairly accurate conclusion about me also.

So, if you're a fellow INFP, then I'd like to hear from you, and if you're a girl, then I think I'm in love (although, we'll never talk because we're both too introverted). Ah, the life of a tragic hero is never easy.

Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad on Faith and Science

2007-11-08T19:01:00.000-05:00

I have previously posted video clips of scholarly talks, but I have taken for granted that everyone can view the video clips. So this time I am posting the transcription from a video clip, in addition to the clip itself. This is an excerpt from a lecture given by Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad (fka Timothy Winter) who is a British Muslim scholar and lecturer at the University of Cambridge in England.

(The text is verbatim however my notes are in brackets)

We cannot dismiss out of hand the experience and the practices of any civilization because the fitra [primordiality] is still there. It may be submerged, perverted, misunderstood, but it cannot be entirely erased because it is part of the human composite. You can't do away with it. You can't have a human being who is wholly ignorant and is wholly evil. Everyone has some inkling of the khilafa [stewardship].

Now, the virtue that we might wish to look at here, is the virtue of tafakkur [reflection] or fikr[thought], which is the one of the pillars of the Quran's epistemology.

[Quotes in Arabic].

Those who celebrate the praises of Allah, standing, sitting, and lying down on their sides, and contemplate the (wonders of) creation in the heavens and the earth . . . (Al Imran 3:191)

This is the description of the ulul al baab [people of understanding]. And no appreciation of Islamic understanding of education can be complete unless we understand this particular piece of Quranic vocabulary. The 'loomp' is, in the Quran's vision, the essence of man. It's a word that originally means a seed or a core--in other words that which is at the center, perhaps invisible to outside observers, but that which is fruitful and can lead to a posterity and can lead to infinity. It's potentiality. And the ulul al baab [people of understanding] are people that have this potentiality. And one of their attributes in these great culminating verses of Surat Al Imraan is that they remember Allah--they have dhikr [remembrance] standing, sitting, and on their sides--and they have fikr because they think about the way the Heavens and the Earth are created.

Dhikr is a rare commodity in the modern world. Authentic dhikr is almost as rare amongst Muslims as amongst non-Muslims because we tend to go through the motions rather than experiencing the reality. But fikr is something that can be said to be universal. The problem of modernity is that our increasing knowledge of the diversity and the brilliance of Allah's creation has distracted us--because of its beauty and brilliance and precision--from getting the whole picture. We can't see the wood for the trees. Maybe, one day, we will come up with the equation or the theorem that finally cracks it. This is not beyond the bounds of possibility. Stephen Hawking in his A Brief History of Time says if we can finally get the unified theory, then we shall know the mind of God. And, he's not an atheist. He's a kind of careful agnostic who is hedging his bets and thinks 'well, nothing that I've discovered in my laboratory or equations proves that there is no unifying principle behind existence, I just haven't cracked the final equation yet.'

My suspicion is that the final equation will not be disclosed to human mind because then it would unfairly privilege a bunch of academics and mathematicians. It's not Allah's Will that academics should have privileged access to Him. It's His Will that all human beings should equally have access to Him--whether they are intelligent or stupid, whatever their race, whatever their educational attainments because He is just. And tauba [turning around back to Allah] has to be available to all human beings. But who knows, maybe he will come across an equation that enables him to say 'Yea, there is one principle--one generative principle--that brings about all secondary principles of existence. Quite possible. But for the moment, he hasn't gotten there.'

Now we can say using this Islamic vocabulary their state is [quotes in Arabic]. All of the pointers have distracted us from what is being pointed to. Sayyidna Muhammad (sallallahu alayhi wa sallam) [Prophet Muhammad] who is the archetype of tafakkur [reflection] because this is what he was doing for his tahannuf [secluded reflections] . . . contemplating the creation of the heavens and the earth, how everything is put together in superb symmetry, beauty and balance. [Quotes in Arabic from Al Mulk (67:3)]. You don't see any inconsistency in the Creation of Allah. And the balance of the universe is one of the great marvels that has been uncovered by modern science.

We all know (apparently) that if the energy generated by the Big Bang had been infinitesimally greater, then the formation of matter would have been impossible. If it had been infinitesimally smaller, then the process of expansion would have stopped almost instantaneously. So from the point of view of secular science we are living in the great, mysterious improbability. I think the statistics against it are somewhere in the order of 1 to the power of 50 [i.e. 1:1 X 10^50]. Virtually an impossibility. But here we are, and they have something called the Anthropic Principle, which they think explains why we should happen to be here. If we weren't here, well, then we wouldn't be talking about it, so, in a sense, the question is irrelevant. Here we are and too bad.

From a theologians point of view, we would say well, this makes it look as if faith, blind faith, is a much stronger principle for atheists than it is for believers. We have a coherent explanation. They just have a view of the world as being virtually an impossibility, but here it is and we just have to accept it. That's blind faith, if you like.

Despite this marvel, that there should be anything at all. They are nonetheless preoccupied with looking at the marvels. The Hubble Space Telescope with its deep field can look further and further away exploring the mysteries of the first moments of Creation from the most remote galaxies. But what it can't tell us--what it hasn't been designed for--is 'why?' And that can only be known, ultimately, through kashf [metaphysical revelation] because there is nothing in the logic of the created world that can irrefutably point to beyond it's own nature. Philosophical arguments, higher mathematics, Hubble Space telescope cannot reach beyond themselves. That's not what they're for. They are part of 'ard [earth], they are part of the physical world.

It's one of the greatest errors in religion to think that you can come up with an argument--rational argument--on the level of argumentation, of logic, that proves anything. You can't do that--the system is closed and is circular. You can point to the coherence of theism, and this is traditionally what ilm-ul-kalam [scholastic theology], in Islam, has done. You can show how it is the best possible, best available explanation, but you cannot prove anything definitively. The physical--and human argumentation is in the realm of the physical--cannot reach the metaphysical. Metaphysical reaches the physical, not vice versa, because it's higher. [Quotes in Arabic]. It says in Surat Al Baqarah that absaar, or perceptions . . . cannot attain Him. How can they? A fallible human brain cannot attain the reality of the Mind that created everything the Hubble Space telescope can see. They are categorically different. But that Mind certainly sees what we see and what we know. He is Ar-Raqib, the Watcher. He is Ash-Shaheed, the Witness.

Come See Me

2007-11-06T23:59:00.000-05:00

Don't forget to visit a forest or another natural space around you (like a desert, tundra, savanna, taiga, or even ocean) the morning of this Thanksgiving Day, November 22, 2007.

I'll be there. Come see me.

In case you missed the post sparking the movement, read it here.

Poetry Arrived In Search of Me

2007-11-05T01:49:00.000-05:00

In an earlier post, Mr. Espy asked, "How does one introduce oneself or acclimate oneself with poetry? Also, how does one teach their children this lost art form?"

My response: I'm certain I don't know.

But in the interest of making a more intriguing blog post, I figure I should attempt to say a little more.

Since I am no poetry connoisseur, in fact, I am the furthest thing from one, I figured I should refer to those who know. Luckily, I have the privilege of knowing Professor Belinda Michael, a professor of English literature and, no doubt, a student of the game. The professor says, "I think the first step to acclimating yourself to poetry is to become familiar with the poetic devices employed, which can seem boring, but when understood can make poetry much more intriguing." So let's begin there.

I happen to agree with that sentiment because it really does create a stronger appreciation for the poems. I can't give a detailed exposition on that matter, but for how one would breakdown a poem into the devices it employs, read Professor Michael's dissection of George Herbert's "Virtue." And while you are there, make sure to wish her a happy birthday.

My approach, of course, is far less sophisticated than that, but let's explore some of the devices that I am familiar with. One of the main characteristics of a poem is that it is attractive to hear and to read, therefore, the way it sounds is critical. Techniques like alliteration, assonance, rhyme, and internal rhyme are common in most poems. An alliteration is a repetition of a consonant sound. For example, in "The Raven," Edgar Allan Poe writes:

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

The repetition of the "S" sound in the first line gives it a better feel and has a greater impact on the reader. Assonance, on the other hand, is the repetition of vowel sounds, but not necessarily a rhyme. Staying with "The Raven," Edgar Allan Poe writes:

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

The words "rare," "radiant," "maiden," "angels," and "named" all share the same vowel sound but are not rhyming words. Techniques like this give the poem a much better flow, and again, make it a delight for the ears.

Rhyme is obvious. I won't comment on that, but I will stick with Poe for example of rhyme and internal rhyme (that is a rhyme within the line):

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

The rhyme structure here is A,B,C,B,B,B (i.e. spoken, store, disaster, bore, bore, nevermore). For the two lines A and C, there is an internal rhyme (i.e. broken and spoken; master and disaster). And for line C, there's also a rhyme with the middle word of the next line (i.e. master, disaster, and faster).

Of course, these are simply devices that are meant to add eloquence to the poem, but the meat of the poem, for me anyway, always lies in the content and motifs. One of the toughest things to grasp in understanding poetry is symbolism. Of course, the fact that poets use symbols to represent what they are really talking about is obvious, but to understand what those symbols represents is far more complex. The symbols usually vary depending on the background and culture of the poet. A lot of the Eastern poets share symbols that are not common among the Western poets. Likewise, there are many symbols that are commonly used across the board. For example, the Eastern poets commonly use the moth as a symbol for the lover. The moth is endlessly attracted to the flame, until eventually it enters the flame and burns up. As Ghalib says:

It feels the grief at the longing of the Moth, Oh Flame--
From your trembling is manifest the weakness of the candle

That is, when the flame flickers in the breeze, it is because it feels the pain of the moth that has been burnt up. In other words, the beloved, though seemingly harsh to the lover, does have that little soft spot. A point of optimism for all the lovers.

Returning to "The Raven," (I'm assuming that most of you have read it), what could the raven in that poem symbolize? (Read it here.)

Imagery is what the poets use to paint a vivid mental picture for the reader. The better the poet, the stronger the image. Here's an excerpt from Pablo Neruda's "Poesia":

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

Here is Walt Whitman's "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer":

WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Whitman conjures up the image of a very boring lecture on astronomy. He uses the lines extremly brilliantly to express how the student feels. As he becomes more and more bored, the lines are longer and more verbose, and they become shorter as the student leaves the lecture hall to stare at the stars outside. In the last two lines, Whitman switches the imagery to the beautiful, vast, starry night sky.

Another device used frequently is allusion. The poet alludes to a historical, religious, legendary story or character assuming the reader is already aware. This is obviously a brilliant technique because it allows the poet to put his twist on an already existing piece of lore. Going back to "The Raven,":

`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

"Night's Plutonian Shore" is a reference to Hell. Pluto, in Roman mythology, is the god of the underworld. The narrator, here, has convinced himself that this raven is a bird from Hell.

In Eastern poetry, many readers can get lost because they are not familiar with the allusions. For example, Ghalib writes:

And I'll buy another from the market if it breaks
My clay cup is better than the Cup of Jamshed

In the Firdawsi's epic, The Shahnameh, Jamshed is a legendary king who has golden goblet in which he can see the future. The poet here expresses that if Jamshed's cup breaks, it will be a terrible loss because he can never find another like it. So the poet, with his clay cup, enjoys freedom and ease of mind, and in some ways, a lack of responsibility.

Finally, all of the above mentioned devices employed by poets are just what attract one's attention to the poem, but what makes the poets great is the fact that they can express the sentiments of the reader with stunning accuracy and in a much more eloquent way. The great poets are those who seem to be peeking into the hearts of the people and expressing their joys, their desires, their anxieties, and their sadness. The poets are the mirrors of their societies. And their existence is a testament to the true elements of the primordial human state, the desire to attain to that which is beautiful.

As for the second question by Mr. Espy: "how does one teach their children this lost art form?"

Professor Michael says "to introduce poetry to children I think would be easier than introducing it to adults because children love lyrics, as seen in nursery rhymes."

The professor echoes my sentiments exactly. As I mentioned above the primordial human state, to which children are much closer to, invariably is attracted to eloquence of language. Of course, children usually begin with nursery rhymes (which are often full of socio-politcal symbolism) and as they grow up will gradually learn more and more of the nuances of this genre. Essentially, they will enjoy it. Why don't more kids enjoy it these days? In my opinion, it is because the schools we send them to teach it poorly, to the extent that children become bored with it and begin to hate it. That is, public schools are antithetical to the primordial human state. (Don't know if the professor agrees with me there).

In conclusion, once again I have taken on lofty subject matter that I cannot, in any way, do justice to. There is far more to be added to this post such as the different types of poems that have developed all across the globe through the span of time. Perhaps Professor Michael can post her own thoughts on this, which would be far superior to this post. [On an unrelated note, definitely read her ongoing series on her experiences working with women in prison. Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3]

In closing, let me just add some notable poems or parts of poems that are some of my favorites. Neruda explains how he became a poet:

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

Another gem of good poetry, is, as I mentioned in a previous post, subtlety and power of implication. Ghalib writes:

Before the postman arrives, let me write one more letter
I know what it is that she will write in response

The poet has written a letter to his beloved, but before the postman comes to pick it up, he prepares another letter. He is so certain he knows what her response will be, that he can write a response to that immediately. What will her response be? How can he know what she will write? One might interpret this to mean that because he knows her so well. But the poet also implies, ever so slightly, that the only way he knows exactly what her response will be is because he knows that she WON'T respond at all. The life of a tragic hero is never easy.

Langston Hughes, the Shakespeare of Harlem, on rivers:

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow
of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went
down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn
all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Finally, here is a poem by William Carlos Williams that has been of intrigue for many critics for many years. The poem is "The Red Wheelbarrow":

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

I'll let you wrestle with that one for a while.

The Thanksgiving Posts (Part 3): The Movement

2007-11-02T14:39:00.001-04:00

If you are wondering why I began posting about Thanksgiving as early as October, it's for a good reason. I want to avoid being the person that tells everyone what NOT to do. Instead, I hope to offer some solutions and some alternatives to whatever I see as the problem. Subsequently, I wanted to offer ample time so everyone can adjust their schedules to accommodate what I recommend.

In the case of Thanksgiving, the problem is not in the turkey dinner itself, but rather it is in the mindset that we have sort of fallen into. We have accepted myths and legends as rationalizations for celebration without having explored them. We have ignored the history of a people that were unjustly terminated. We have failed to break through the myth surrounding them in order to truly understand them and to understand the human race a little bit better. The question is why?

We failed because, for the most part, we weren't looking for justice, or virtue, or an opportunity for thankfulness, we were looking for a chance to celebrate and have fun. At the end of the day, it seems that that is what we have usually been reduced to. We spend time thinking and planning on how we can entertain ourselves for the next few hours or days or weeks. We work long boring jobs and desire to spend the rest of the time having fun. We want to get everyone together, eat a lot of good food, stay up late playing Xbox 360 (guilty), watch hours of football (guilty), endless reality shows, or whatever it is that we do. And, as Neil Postman puts it, we are essentially amusing ourselves to death. (And to the death of our planet, for that matter).

In failing to understand Thanksgiving, we fall back into this narrow mindedness where we don't see the whole world and we definitely don't see ALL the people and their histories. We fail to become members of Bani Adam (the Children of Adam or the tribe of the human race). As Shaykh Hamza Yusuf says, Islam offers us a chance to become Adamic human beings. Unlike the Christian view, where Adam is a source of original sin, Islam sees him as exemplary of the primordial human state which we all share and seek to return to. And this requires that we take care of our souls and acquire "virtuous qualities--of erudition, of learning, of depth, of profundity, of care, of compassion...of seriousness." (From Shaykh Hamza Yusuf). [Naturally, this post is not intended for Muslims alone, but for the whole human race.]

I want to bring this change about in myself foremost, and I want all of us to collectively acquire these virtuous qualities. So I recommend that this Thanksgiving morning (November 22, 2007), you wake up and drive out to the nearest (or most appealing) forests in your area. Then sit in the midst of all the trees, away from the paved roads and parking lots, and in quiet solitude reflect for a moment. Reflect on the trees, the sky, the warblers, the wasps, the bears, the people, life and death, war and peace, existence, dreams, history, and the Creator of all things. And if you feel up to the advice of Walking Buffalo, talk to the trees--or just listen to the trees.

Most importantly, think about the value of our forests and natural world and the threat that we have come to pose to it. Is it valid? Are our affluent lifestyles justified vis a vis the loss of woodlands? Would the American woodlands be safer in the hands of Native Americans? Yes definitely. So then, if we have taken their place, should we not act to protect what is left? And finally, should we not actively pursue knowledge when it comes to understanding our brethren in the human race?

To reiterate:
On November 22, 2007, travel out to the nearest forests in your area and spend some time in quiet reflection there. When you return, come back to this post and record your reflections (if you wish). I hope to hear from a lot of you who are willing to participate.

Although on the decline, most states have made access to state forests easy (it might require an hour drive or so). If you live in New Jersey, you can find a list of all the parks here. If you are into hiking to the tops of mountains, I recommend Stokes State Forest or High Point State Forest in Sussex County, NJ. Both have ample peaks to climb. If you are looking for a nice walk along a stream, I recommend Hacklebarney State Park in Long Valley, NJ. If you live in South Jersey, I recommend Byrne State Forest for a walk through the woods leading to a lake. If you are looking for a challenge, I recommend climbing Slide Mountain in the Catskills in New York State. For a leisurely walk through a beautiful forest in New York, I recommend Seven Lakes Drive in Harriman State Park near Sloatsburg, NY.

For those of you not in the New York/New Jersey area, I apologize I can't be of any help. But there's ample places to travel to in every area (perhaps better preserved forests than in NY or NJ). Penn's Woods aka Pennsylvania aka Pennsyltucky has many great state parks as does Tennessee/North Carolina in the Great Smoky Mountain Range.

In any case, I hope to hear from a lot of people willing to participate this Thanksgiving. And I hope that everyone will pass on this information to others so that we might create a movement. And I hope that in so doing, we can all feed our souls with characteristics of virtue and become better more conscious members of the human race.

The Thanksgiving Posts (Part 2)

2007-10-31T12:26:00.000-04:00

In the great tradition, 125,000 prophets of God were scattered around the four corners of the world throughout the history of time. Each one of them eloquently delivering the message to his people. Some were rejected, some were killed, and some found an embracing audience.

We see throughout the world that many of the religions of the Far East echo the tones and themes of our own Islamic tradition. Perhaps the remnants of a prophet's words some thousands of years ago who was the brother of our very own Prophet Muhammad (sa). But never have I seen such astonishing similarity, as I encountered in the way of the Native Americans (of North America in particular).

Now, I don't intend to enunciate an in depth comparative religion analysis. I just hope to raise some food for thought and perhaps grasp a better understanding of Native American spirituality (now shrouded in mystery), which is oft misrepresented and misunderstood.

The earliest image of the Native American was that of a savage beast. This was the picture painted early on in the Christian encounter with the Indians as moral justification to overcome them (which is a recurrent theme in Christian history). The technique resembles the image of the Arab or Muslim terrorist who lives a life of hatred for freedom and is disgusted by the liberation of the woman. I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same.

The image of the savage Indian hung around till quite recently. I recall watching caricatures of American Indians scalping and hollering in the Looney Toons and Tom and Jerry cartoons as recently as the 1950s and 1960s (ironically usually appearing in Thanksgiving specials). And we've seen this image fade away as of late, but not really replaced with anything as Native Americans enjoy little to no media attention.

In any case, let's look at the words from the Native Americans themselves. On praying, Ohiyesa of the Wahpeton Dakota said:

In the life of the Indian there was only one inevitable duty--the duty of prayer--the daily recognition of the Unseen and Eternal. His daily devotions wre more necessary to him than daily food. He wakes up at daybreak, puts on his moccasins, and steps down to the water's edge. Here he throws handfuls of clear, cold water on his face, or plunges in bodily. After the bath, he stands erect before the advancing dawn, facing the sun as it dances upon the horizon, and offers his unspoken orison.

A striking similarity to the Muslim half way across the world awaking at Fajr (Daybreak), purifying himself in water, before standing erect and turning to face Allah (the Eternal).

Here are some other statements on praying from Black Elk of the Oglala Lakota:

We Indians know the One true God, and . . . we pray to Him continually

* * *

Perhaps the most important reason for the vision quest is . . . to know that all things are our relatives; and then in behalf of all things we pray to Wakan Tanka [the Great Spirit] that He may give to us knowledge of Him who is the source of all things, yet greater than all things.

A theme that runs through all these quotes is, of course, that of the Oneness of God, or Wakan Tanka [the Great Spirit], and the mission of the Indian was achieving closeness to God. From Yellowtail of the Absaroke:

. . . [It] is also important to pray during the day. Each day, whatever I am doing, I am always praying and thinking of God. As I walk along, whether I am out in the field or wherever, I am always praying . . . Acbadadea [the Great Spirit] knows that I pray to Him and He hears me . . . I am so used to it that I just can't stop, and I think that it is the best thing a person can do. I say, that if you look for them, then you will find many parts of the day that could be spent in praying. I am sure that there are a lot of people who are that way, continually praying to God, remembering the Name of God . . . People think other things are more important than prayer, but they are mistaken. A person may have plenty of money but he doesn't take that along with him [when he dies]. It is good to share what little we have, and pray. A person should measure his wealth in terms of the knowledge and love of God.

Yellowtail most eloquently echoes the words of the traditional Muslim scholars. In particular, he references the lack of value material goods have in the abode of death. The concept of death is an important one for Muslims, as we are encouraged to be in constant remembrance of death. This helps to put our lives on this world in perspective, so that we can constantly be preparing for the next world. It is also said, in Islamic wisdom, that the man who is attached to this world will fear his death and will go painfully, while the man who has prepared for it, will embrace the Angel of Death and go peacefully. Similarly, death is a common theme in Native American spirituality. Black Elk of the Oglala Lakota said:

It is good to have a reminder of death before us, for it helps us to understand the impermanence of life on this earth, and this understanding may aid us in preparing for our own death. He who is well prepared is he who knows that he is nothing compared with Wakan Tanka [the Great Spirit], who is everything; then he knows that world which is real.

On this same topic, Ohiyesa said:

The attitude of the Indian toward death, the test and background of life is entirely consistent with his character and philosophy. Death has no terror for him; he meets it with simplicity and perfect calm, seeking only an honorable end as his last gift to his family and descendants.

And of course my favorite quote from Crowfoot of the Blackfeet:

What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is a breath of a buffalo in the winter air. It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

Crowfoot's beautiful statement almost exactly mirrors the Islamic saying that this life is like a drop of water compared to an ocean.

We also find in the Native Americans a strong concept of trust in God. In the Islamic tradition, we find the same in the idea of rida' (peacefully accepting Allah's Will). Abdul Hakim Murad explains:

On this, Fools Crow of the Oglala Lakota said:

I do not always ask, in my prayers and discussions, for only those things I would like to see happen, because no man can claim to known what is best for mankind. Wakan Tanka and Grandfather alone know what is best, and this is why, even though I am worried, my attitude is not overcome with fear of the future. I submit always to Wakan Tanka's [W]ill. This is not easy, and most people find it impossible. But I have seen the power of prayer and I have seen God's desires fulfilled. So I pray always that God will give me the wisdom to accept His ways of doing things.

The greatest quality of the Native Americans was their closeness to the natural world. And this stems largely for the great respect they had for nature as a creation of the Wakan Tanka, and they saw materiality as a threat. Ohiyesa said:

It was our belief that the love of possessions is a weakness to be overcome. Its appeal is to the material part, and if allowed its way it will in time disturb the spiritual balance of the man.

Ohiyesa, unlike the Europeans who brought on the Industrial Revolution, is not so short-sighted. This beautiful, and most overlooked, aspect of spirituality is found in strong Muslim traditions as well. As Abdul Hakim Murad said:

Those who crave solitude and silence are perhaps a minority in today’s ant heap society. But the Holy Quran is full of advice to “travel in the earth”, to look at nature and to learn from Allah’s signs therein. The human soul is keyed to the natural world - responding even to the sound of birds and the rustling of trees - and tragically our modern lifestyle increasingly shuts out this subtle but necessary way of nurturing the spirit.

Shaykh Hamza Yusuf, who studied in West Africa, always mentions the closeness the Muslims there had with their natural surroundings. They would spend time just observing, for example, what the dung beetle does. Hakim Archuletta explains the value of being Earth-connected:

And so, this was a brief look at the way of the Native Americans. They sought above all, just as we do, to achieve closeness with Allah, Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, God, or whatever one chooses to say. And they found closeness through prayer, remembrance, thankfulness, and through closeness with the natural world which is His creation. Black Hawk of the Sauk said:

We thank the Great Spirit for all the benefits He has conferred upon us. For myself, I never take a drink of water from a spring, without being mindful of His goodness.

Of course we know what was to become of the beautiful tribes of Native America. But, in the spirit of rida', of peaceful submission to Allah's Will, I recall a story by Jalaluddin Rumi. He told of an ant on a beautiful Persian rug. The ant said "what are all these bumps, changing colors, and weird patterns. Surely, this has no purpose except to be a futile obstacle course for me." But the Carpetmaker, who sees it from above, knows the value of the patterns and the colors and knows that there is a purpose and that it is something beautiful. So, even though the Native American culture has been all but wiped out, hopefully one day, we will see something good arise again for the people who remain. And for those that have departed, may Allah grant them what is best for them.

If there is something that we should learn from this is that the Native Americans of North America were no different from us. Knowing this, can anyone say it is still okay to celebrate Thanksgiving? But far more important than that, we should learn the value of the natural world, which we have all but relegated to a museum. Our world, particularly America, is turning into a environmental disaster because we have lost the love, value, and respect for the Creation of Allah. So this Thanksgiving, go out to the woods and really ponder over the beauty of Creation and what we have done to it (rather than stuffing yourself with turkey). Then sit amongst the trees and listen to them.

Did you know that trees talk? Well they do. They talk to each other, and they'll talk to you if you listen. Trouble is, white people don't listen. They never learned to listen to the Indians so I don't suppose they'll listen to other voices in nature. But I have learned a lot from trees: sometimes about the weather, sometimes about animals, sometimes about the Great Spirit.

-Walking Buffalo, Stoney

"And the herbs and the trees - both bow in adoration (of Him)."

Holy Quran - Surat Ar Rahman (55:6)

I know I've said a mouthful, so I will conclude with that. Perhaps I'll touch on a few more points in a future post. Insha'Allah (God Willing).

Here's Part 3

The Thanksgiving Posts (Part 1)

2007-10-29T13:21:00.001-04:00

I is for the Indians we invited to share our food.

They [the Pilgrims] served pumpkins and turkeys and corn and squash. The Indians had never seen such a feast!

The above are two quotes found in places like holiday greeting cards and in handouts given to schoolchildren in America. These and other tales of the Pilgrims comprise the larger myth of the first Thanksgiving.

It does not take a lot to dispel such statements, however. Corn, pumpkins, squash are native to the Americas, therefore, the Indians were quite used to this and the Pilgrims had never seen a feast like that before, as Michael Dorris puts it. But there is a bigger picture here. Why is such a holiday celebrated so fervently?

Before we look at that question, I want to briefly recount the historic Thanksgiving. When the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth, they and earlier Europeans had brought something to the Native Americans that was new. This was disease in the form of Small Pox and other such infections. The Native Americans, unlike the Europeans, did not live amongst livestock. They farmed corn, hunted, and gathered. Also unlike the Europeans, the Native Americans bathed often. The Europeans had bathed only monthly or so and even then they seldomly took off all their clothes as it was considered to be immodest. In any case, the Native American immune systems could not handle the diseases, and thus their populations were ravaged. This sharply dwindled their numbers in the Eastern woodlands, which in earlier times could have competed with any of the European cities. As Howard Simpson puts it:

The Europeans were able to conquer American not because of their military genius, or their religious motivation, or their ambition, or their greed. They conquered it by waging unpremeditated biological warfare.

This practice, though unpremeditated at that time, was later used as a military strategy. In 1763, Lord Jeffrey Amherst (of Amherst College fame) wrote a letter back to Colonel Henry Bouquet approving a plan to distribute blankets to Native Americans infected with Small Pox. Amherst also suggests "to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

But Amherst aside, the Pilgrims that landed in Plymouth did not encounter a harsh, untamed wilderness. They landed up on villages of the Natives, some still flourishing, and some depleted from the disease. In either case, they encountered park like conditions created from the Native Americans who had cleared out underbrush to make way for farming and for living. As James Loewen points out, this explains why so many New England town names end in "field" (i.e. Springfield, Deerfield, Marshfield, etc.).

Regardless, the new visitors still had no idea how to survive in New England and began taking help from Native Americans almost immediately. Here are some records from the colonists themselves:

Having their guns and hearing nobody, they entered the houses and found the people were gone. The sailors took some things but didn't dare stay. . . We had meant to have left some beads and other things in the houses as a sign of peace and to show we meant to trade with them. But we didn't do it because we left in such haste.

* * *

We marched to the place we called Cornhill, where we had found the corn before. At another place we had seen before, we dug and found some more corn, two or three baskets full, and a bag of beans. . . In all we had about ten bushels, which will be enough for seed. It was with God's help that we found this corn, for how else could we have done it, without meeting some Indians who might trouble us.

* * *

The next morning, we found a place like a grave. We decided to dig it up. We found first a mat, and under that a fine bow. . . We also found bowls, trays, dishes, an things like that. We took several of the prettiest things to carry away with us, and covered up the body again.

The colonists continued this practice of robbing homes and robbing graves for years according to historian Karen Kupperman.

So what about that famous feast of 1621 where the Pilgrims "invited" the Indians to share in the feast. The feast of harvest is something is the Native Americans had participated in long before the Pilgrims arrived. That particular feast probably never happened. Thanksgiving became a holiday for Americans in 1863 when Abraham Lincoln declared it such. He was looking for a desperate means by which to unite a nation torn apart by the Civil War struggle. The first time the Pilgrims were even mentioned in the Thanksgiving tradition was not until the 1890s.

Perhaps the best exposition of how the Thanksgiving myth is perceived came in 1970, when the Massachusetts Department of Commerce asked the Wampanoag Indians to select a speaker to mark the 350th anniversary of the Pilgrims landing. Let me reiterate that. The State of Massachusetts, completely convinced by the myth that had been created, wanted a Native American speaker to celebrate Thanksgiving and the arrival of the Pilgrims. Frank Wamsutta James was selected, but before he could speak, his speech would have to be previewed by the Department of Commerce. After review, James was not allowed to give his speech. What did they expect he would have written? In any case, here is what he did write:

Today is a time of celebrating for you . . . but it is not a time of celebrating for me. It is with a heavy heart that I look up on what happened to my People . . . The Pilgrims had hardly explored the shores of Cape Cod four days before they had robbed the graves of my ancestors, and stolen their corn, wheat, and beans . . . Mourt's Relation describes a searching party of sixteen men. Mourt goes on to say that this party took as much of the Indians' winter provisions as they were able to carry . . . Massasoit, the great leader of the Wampanoag, knew these facts; yet he and his People welcomed and befriended the settlers . . . little knowing that . . . before 50 years were to pass, the Wampanoag . . . and other Indians living near the settlers would be killed by their guns or dead from diseases that we caught from them . . . What has happened cannot be changed, but today we work toward a better America, a more Indian America where people and nature once again are important.

Although we have fooled ourselves and our children as to what happened on Thanksgiving, there is no fooling reality. Frank James's speech was historically accurate and therefore it was censored. The treatment of the Wampanoag Indians was only the beginning. In the 200 years that followed, the Native Americans were wiped out one atrocity after another. It was, in short, a holocaust. The Thanksgiving celebration, thus, is a celebration of a holocaust carefully crafted to seem benign and above its historicity. As Michael Dorris puts it:

Considering that virtually none of the standard fare surrounding Thanksgiving contains an ounce of authenticity, historical accuracy, or cross-cultural perception, why is it so apparently ingrained? Is it necessary to the American psyche to perpetually exploit and debase its victims in order to justify its history?

These are the reasons for which we will all indulge ourselves in a turkey dinner this Thanksgiving. And if it seems that the modern Thanksgiving is above its sordid origin, then know that hundreds of Native Americans will gather near Plymouth in Massachusetts to mark The National Day of Mourning known to the rest of America as Thanksgiving. The history is not forgotten and it is painful still for many people. What will our response be to them? The question one must ask is if there were a holiday centuries from now celebrating the holocaust of one's own people, should it be celebrated? What if someone honors the holiday by imitating every single aspect of the celebration, but states "I am not celebrating the holiday, I am only having a late November turkey dinner." In my opinion, it cannot be so.

Still, it is not the turkey dinner itself wherein lies the problem. The real question that this presents is why have we failed to reflect on history and on a forgotten people. Have we become so blinded by the consumer culture that we swallow up whatever feel good holiday thrown at us without once stopping to think for ourselves?

For this reason, I think we should take a step back and reflect for a moment. The next post will focus on the spiritual identity of the people who's massacre we celebrate. The third post is how this affects our society and the least we can do.

Here's Part 2

Songbird's Tale

2007-10-28T22:42:00.000-04:00

I heard the lament of the songbird, in the valley Between the Rivers, where the forests were dead and only their tombstones remained. "MAPLE STREET" read one tombstone, another was marked as "WILLOW ROAD." Some were left nameless like the somber "WOOD AVENUE." And in this valley of destruction, the songbird praised the One By Whose Permission Each Leaf Falls From A Tree, but her song told the story of another time.

. . .

On Love

2007-10-24T12:24:00.000-04:00

In a recent conversation, the story of Laila and Majnun had come up. This is the classic metaphoric love story, particularly in the poetry of the Sufis. I won't take for granted that everyone is familiar with the story, so let me recount it briefly.

There are two accounts, in one account Qais and Laila grow up as school yard friends in 7th century Arabia and develop a strong bond of love for each other. In another account, Qais simply sees Laila in adulthood and falls passionately in love with each other. In any case, the result is the same, Laila's father prevents her from marrying Qais, and instead she is married to another man. At this point, Qais loses touch with the world around him (and reality, or is it that he gets a grip with reality). He leaves his family and tribe and starts wandering the wilderness of Arabia searching for Laila as her nomadic tribe moves around through the desert. He loses all interest in everything worldly wandering around in tattered rags. The children throw stones at him and he earns the name "Majnun Laila" or "driven insane by Laila." He is referred to most prominently as Majnun.

The symbolism here is clear. The devotion of Majnun to Laila became symbolic of the Sufi's devotion to Allah (i.e. no interest in worldly things at all, wandering in search of Allah was the only aim of life). Of course, this was purely symbolic and not a literal wilderness wandering. In any case, Majnun became synonymous with lover; and the Sufi was always driven by the love of Allah above all.

The Sufi poets recorded on this theme more frequently than anyone. Some of them recreating a mythical history of Qais and some recounting lesser known minor stories of him.

Ghalib (19th century poet of India) writes:

I am annihilation (fana') instructed in the lesson of self-lessness since that era

When Majnun used to write "laam alif" on the wall of the schoolhouse.

Or, that is, the young Majnun scribbled the Arabic letters "laam alif" rather than the Arabic alphabet (as most other children would do). Of course, those letters form the word "laa" meaning the negative or "no." The simple negation, laa, symbolizes the concept of fana' or annihilation of the self in Allah. The poet learns a lesson of fana' from the moment he hears that this is what Majnun wrote on the schoolyard walls. Of course, the poet is aware of the what lies ahead for the young Majnun (namely, he is annihilated in his devotion to Laila). Similarly, the poet seeks to annihilate his "self" in Allah.

In another verse, Ghalib says:

In my boyhood, to throw at Majnun
I had picked up a stone, but my own head came to mind

That is, as a youth I picked up a stone to throw at Majnun (as that is what all the kids were doing), but I remembered my own head (or, it would be like striking my own head). The poet says how can he throw stones at someone whom he, in fact, inspires to be like (or whom he is like already).

Here's another gem of Majnun-inspired behavior:

Why did I go along with the messenger?
Oh Lord! Now shall I deliver my own letter?

This takes from an incident involving Majnun. Majnun met a horse rider that was traveling to Laila's village. So Majnun told him to deliver a message, but he had so much to say (i.e. "tell Laila this and tell Laila that," "if she says this, then say that," etc). By the time he had finished explaining the message to the rider, he realized he had begun to walk with the rider and was almost at her village himself.

The poet expresses surprise (Oh Lord!), and there is a bit of a humorous twist here. The lover has so much to say to his Beloved, that he loses all track of time and space and everything else when explaining his message.

Now, does this form of love take life only in application to the True Beloved (Allah), or does it also spread to other aspects of one's life? It appears that the Majnun type love is almost entirely for Allah's sake. However, like the moon reflects the sun, the light of this love ought to reflect in other relationships.

Even here, Prophet Joseph didn't cease from chamber adorning
As the whitewash of the gaze of Jacob spreads itself in the prison cell

That is, when the Prophet Joseph sat alone in the prison in Egypt, his father, Jacob cried his eyes out until he became blind. Often, the eyes of the blind become all white and that gaze of Jacob came searching for Joseph even in the prison cell (whitewashed the prison walls). What this complicated imagery is trying to convey is that though Jacob was blind and separated from Joseph, he was there with his beloved who sat lonely in the prison cell. This love, of course, made the dingy cell beautiful from whitewashing (something that's done to beautify a room). So this was the level of love between Jacob and Joseph (peace be upon them both).

I'll depart this discussion of love with a final famous couplet from Ghalib. I'll spare the Urdu script in the interest of time. The translation reads as follows:

There is, in this town, a famine of grief from love
I understand I have to live here, but what will I eat?

That is, the poet/lover eats grief from love. When there is no grief, how can the lover survive? This suggests that when there is no grief, there is no love. The lover cares not for anything except for loving his beloved, even if it were to bring upon grief (or superficial grief, which it usually does). The lover cares only for love for love's sake, for the sake of the beloved. He seeks nothing in return. That, I suppose, is love.

Eid Mubarak!

2007-10-13T07:48:00.000-04:00

Eid Mubarak to everyone.

Contentions

2007-10-04T18:17:00.000-04:00

As promised to a reader, I have collected some of the contentions of Abdul Hakim Murad, on various issues (all of course interrelated at some point).

I will withhold any of my own useless commentary.

True religion invites us to become better people. False religion tells us that this has already occurred.

Religion is the recognition of beauty.

It is only when you truly don't care what people think that you truly don't need to care what people think.

It is blasphemous to use religion as an excuse for one’s lack of culture.

To switch on a television is to acknowledge one’s own lack of refinement.

The more we have, the less we are.

But for Sufism, religion would be just another form of self-esteem.

Woman is in the first glance, not the second.

Marriage should be the retrieval of the first glance.

It is impossible to love a woman without loving womankind.

Those are just a few to ponder over.

The Poverty of Fanaticism

2007-10-02T18:33:00.000-04:00

"Impatience is impiety, it is the way of the zannina bi'llahi zanna's-saw*. And those who cannot restrain themselves will be smacked down. Worse, they will bring misfortunes upon their communities. 'Beware of a tribulation which will certainly not afflict only the wrongdoers amongst you,' the Qur'an warns us. (8:25). To act impatiently on grounds of 'asabiyya**, and to defy fundamental religious teachings about the sanctity of life, and to harbour ill thoughts about God's providence--all these sins must lead, in the traditional Muslim understanding, to divine punishment. Those who regard them as a shortcut to a world in which their self-image will be healed are likely to be disappointed.

That disappointment is now palpable in the world of Islamic identity-politics. It is time that the great majority stopped being a silent majority, and raised its voice courageously. The sunna must be reclaimed as a via positiva***. This is not, I believe, a heroic option; it is a fundamental religious duty. To uphold the honour of Islam, as a great world religion, and to defy the voices that would turn it into little more than a resentful sect, is a fard'ayn--an individual obligation." (Emphasis added)

-Abdal Hakim Murad, from "Muslim Loyalty and Belonging"

Any thoughts on this powerful call to action?

*zannina bi'llahi zanna's-saw - 'Those who think ill thoughts of Allah' (i.e. that He will let the believers down)

**'asabiyya - collective ethos

***via positiva - 'positive way' (in this context, it refers to defining the Sunna as what it is, rather than what it's not)

The Marvel of the Mountain

2007-09-27T23:03:00.001-04:00

If there is anyone who deserves two consecutive blog posts, it's Abdul Hakim Murad. Once again, my newest addiction, as of late, has been indulging myself in the various essays written by AHM. This is one I read recently soon after suhoor, and upon request from Mr. Espy I decided to share this with everyone.

This brief article doubles as a walking guide for hiking across the Alps. Abdul Hakim Murad details his journey hiking on the Roof of Europe. I can appreciate this because even though I haven't really hiked that much in my life, there are fewer feelings greater than stumbling up to the peak of a tall mountain tired, thirsty, hungry, and having truly appreciated the marvels of creation.

Those who crave solitude and silence are perhaps a minority in today’s ant heap society. But the Holy Quran is full of advice to “travel in the earth”, to look at nature and to learn from Allah’s signs therein. The human soul is keyed to the natural world - responding even to the sound of birds and the rustling of trees - and tragically our modern lifestyle increasingly shuts out this subtle but necessary way of nurturing the spirit.

I took a trip to the Catskills in upstate New York state last year, and although it wasn't a very tall peak (I think 4,280 feet), I still learned some very valuable lessons. The hike began with a very steep 2 mile climb during which I became sick (I became a little sick on the car ride over). I threw up whatever bit of breakfast I had eaten that morning and the rest of the climb looked bleak. Since I was with a few friends, I was not going to let my ailment prevent them from the hike, so I decided to carry on.

I was low on energy and still a bit sick, but somehow managed to get to a stream that flowed down the side of the mountain approximately after an hour or 90 minutes of walking. The water was ice cold and mountain fresh. Naturally, I felt inclined to wash my face with it and make wudu in that water. By Allah, I have never felt so rejuvenated by a wudu then I did that day from that ice cold stream water. The rest of the journey was considerably easier (although I still arrived at the peak really fatigued). Subhan'Allah, it is the mountain water that heals!

Of course, Abdul Hakim Murad's journey is much more exciting than that and spoken much more eloquently than I can ever imagine. Read his article here.

It is worth remembering that according to a number of hadiths, prayers are more likely to be accepted if said on a mountain! It is not hard to realise why. Using your Silva compass to determine the direction of Makka in some particularly awkward valley, and trying to melt some ice for wudu-water while the rain discovers the cracks in your anorak, may involve you in slight discomfort; but the privilege of prayer amidst the grandeur of the mountains is a memorable one. The whole earth has been made a mosque for the Muslims, a hadith tells us.

The Sunnah as Primordiality

2007-09-19T15:40:00.000-04:00

I highly recommend this brilliant essay by Abdul Hakim Murad (T.J.) Winter. Masha'Allah, Allah has blessed the brother with tremendous intellect and a tremendous heart (an intellectual and a lover). Both are evident in all his writings. In this 1999 essay, he discusses how the Sunnah captures every aspect of the primordial human nature. (Be forewarned that he does not dumb his writing down any bit, because he wants us to be able to engage in such discussions in the highest levels of language. This essay is one of his easier ones to follow, however, if you struggle a bit, just read on--you will begin to grow accustomed to the language as you go.)

One deep wisdom to be gained from this is the fact of Islam’s simplicity. Our doctrine could not be more straightforward. The most pure, exalted, uncompromising monotheism: the clearest idea of God there has ever been. A system of worship that requires no paraphernalia: no crosses, confessionals, priests or pews. Just the human creature, and its Lord. The Hajj and Umra also take us back to an ancient time, as we wear the simplest of garments, and perform primordial rites that reconnect us with the symbolic centre, around the purest building there has ever been. The fast of Ramadan is also timeless: bringing us into contact and continuity with one of the oldest of all religious devotions. In fact, some ulema say that fasting is the oldest religious commandment of all: for in the Garden, the grandfather and grandmother of humanity were under only one instruction: to refrain from eating from a particular tree.

By stepping inside the protecting circle of Islam, the human creature is thus reconnected to the ancient simplicity and dignity of the human condition. Islam allows us to reclaim our status as khalifas: Allah’s deputies on earth.

But this is not limited to the pattern of worship alone. To worship according to one vision of man, and to live according to another, will inevitably provoke conflict in the soul. Some religions today allow their followers to live a fully mainstream, 20th century lifestyle outside the place of worship. But Islam knows that this is absurd. The focusing on the divine presence during Salat relativises and transforms our vision of everything else. When we turn away from the Ka‘ba again, we say, to right and left, al-Salaamu alaykum. The reconnection with the exquisite and ancient sacred centre brings a new attitude to the rest of our lives. ‘The salat bars us from corruption and ugly behaviour.’ That is, if it is done well, with hudur - presence of mind and spirit - then the rest of our behaviour will be refined. Poor manners, crude language, lack of compassion for others, are all sure signs that we are offering salat incorrectly.

Read the rest of it.

And on a related topic, Abdul Hakim Murad (T.J.) Winter speaks on the primordial nature as it relates to beauty.

The Decline of Fatherhood and the Rise of the Yuppie Nation

2007-09-17T13:12:00.000-04:00

There are many social ills that plague our society today, but if you asked me to pick one that stands out the most to me--I would say, the decline of fatherhood. There's probably others that seem more blatant--extreme materialism/commercialism, bogus religiosity, economic hitmen--but I think perhaps a lot of the major issues take root in fatherhood (or lack thereof).

When I say the decline of fatherhood, I mean it in a number of ways. First there is the obvious absent father. He is physically missing for whatever reason. Then there is the emotionally absent father. Although he maintains a physical presence in the home, he is overall detached from all duties of fatherhood. He only lends superficial guidance amounting to nothing more than a vague career choice, but nothing more.

The result of the inadequacy of the patriarchs is a loss of manhood, or a misunderstanding of manhood. This concept, coupled with the rise of an increasingly commercial society, has led to a miserable situation. A great exposition of this phenomenon comes by way of the 1999 film, Fight Club.

The film begins with an insomniac yuppie trying to find some meaning in his life. (A yuppie, for those that are not familiar with the term, is a young, urban professional with little familial relations/obligations and an affluent lifestyle). He becomes preoccupied by what he calls "the Ikea nesting instinct." Essentially, he spends most of his time buying all sorts of useless and unnecessary items to decorate his condo (table shaped like ying yang, bowls with tiny bubbles in them, etc.). Perhaps the metaphor that best describes the yuppie existence comes later in the film when he says "how embarrassing. A house full of condiments and no food."

This part of the film touches on a very important concept. In a vastly commercial society (such as ours), there is a requisite feminization of the masculine mind. The idea of caring about the minute details of how things look, is largely a feminine characteristic. Studies have shown that it is women that make or inspire more than 70% of all purchases. But as the capitalist society grows, this is required of both women and men. Thus we see men becoming more concerned with "what kind of dining set defines me as a person." We also see a feminization in the support groups for men with testicular cancer which the protagonist visits early in the movie. The men are encouraged to hug each other and cry it out. So, to some degree, we approach a homogenized gender (in terms of some of the thinking patterns).

However, this is quite impossible. The fitra (or the natural human state) won't allow this homogenization. And so, in Fight Club, we see the protagonist becoming more and more disillusioned by his existence. He flies around the country on business trips, stays very busy, works very hard, but to what end? To what greater purpose? To buy a coffee table or a duvet? As he says "this is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time."

If you have seen the movie, as I imagine most of you have, eventually the protagonist helps establish an underground fight club where men from all walks of life (working class mostly, yuppies, etc) come together to--well, fight. The fight scenes are brutal and violent. The sound effects of bare sweaty fists pounding against a man's face bring out, if anything, the frustration of all of the men--frustrated because they are in a society that is dragging them away from manhood and into emptiness. But is shirtless, shoeless, violent underground fighting really the definition of manhood? As the protagonist suggests, "after the fight, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered." The fight club represented a desperation on the part of the men to find their masculine identities. It didn't matter whether they won or lost, or what their shirtless bodies looked like, or who had a winning record--none of that mattered. What mattered to them was that they had done something "manly" and could now feel like men again. The fight club, thus, demonstrated the level of their desperation, the level of their longing for manhood.

So returning to the concept of fatherhood, the movie hinges on a very key scene that takes place sometime after the protagonist has abandoned his meaningless, condo life and now lives in a dilapidated old house with no luxuries. A conversation takes place between two men about their fathers.

Tyler: My dad never went to college. So it was real important that I go. So I graduate, I call him up long distance, I say, "Dad, now what?" He says, "Get a job." Now I'm twenty five. Make my yearly call again. I say, "Dad, now what?" He says, "I don't know. Get married."

Narrator: I can't get married. I'm a thirty year old boy.

Tyler: We're a generation of men raised by women, so I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer.

We get a hint at the root of the problem through this scene. His father represents fatherhood overall--particularly the emotionally absent father (though physically present). We get an idea that the father is rather aloof growing up but only instills certain concepts such as "you HAVE to go to college." This is the type of fatherhood that is most common today and we see this especially in the immigrant communities amongst Muslims. The emphasis of the fathers is ALWAYS on going to college, getting a job, etc. but rarely focuses on taking a son from a boy to a man. Most boys are relegated as responsibilities of the mother to take care of on a day to day basis. Hence the generation of men raised by women. Try as she may, the mother can never replace the father in those aspects, especially with boys. Thus, the boy grows up to be a thirty year old boy, with a college degree, and a hamster wheel job.

Many men, nowadays, have come to accept this role. Manhood is no longer equated with being able to physically defend one's home and family, or hunt one's food, or stand up in a time of war, or take the physically harsher route in life if it is more noble, but rather it is equated with watching sports on TV, playing with electronics, or dressing up in a nice suit to go party. When did this happen? In almost every society through human existence, a man that was unable to wield a weapon probably wouldn't last too long (especially not long enough to get married and reproduce).

In a brief scene in Fight Club, a character points to a Calvin Klein ad on a bus depicting a well defined body of a man wearing underwear. The character points and asks another man "is that what a real man looks like?" The answer, of course, is no. That's not a real man. That man has worked out and emphasized his body, but for what purpose? So that he can model clothes. Others nowadays work out so they can fill a shirt, so they can look good at a party or a wedding (or whatever). This isn't manhood actually it's closer to a woman desiring to adorn herself and being concerned about the shape of her body.

In the Native American culture, a young boy reaching puberty was sent away from his tribe into the wilderness and instructed not to return until he had received his "vision." This was a practice for which this blog is named. Can we even imagine something of that nature for our youth approaching 12 or 13 years of age? We treat them like babies.

This sort of upbringing is the responsibility of the fathers, because the mothers are not capable of it--after all, it is a bit harsh. Mothers are naturally nurturing and would be devastated if they had to raise kids this way. The fathers, of course, were negligent. The fathers of this generation have probably been the most negligent of any generation. We have seen only a hand few of good fathers, while most conform to the archetype described in Fight Club (physically present, emotionally absent). Thus, the generation has decayed. Likewise, this trend continuing amongst the Muslim youth is not a good sign.

As I mentioned before, when something is unnatural and against the fitra, it never fits in smoothly. Similarly, when boys today are raised in such a way, they cannot accept it without a fight. When fathers are absent (emotionally or physically), boys will ALWAYS seek a surrogate father. Every boy at a certain age, no matter how much he loves his mother, will drift away in search of a surrogate father (although he might not know that that's what he's looking for). We've seen this especially in the case where fathers are physically absent. In the inner cities, we see a lot of fatherless homes and not surprisingly we see a thriving gang culture. In almost every case, fatherless boys leave the homes searching for a surrogate, and find only gangs. Superficially, the gang seems to do the job, of course the result is never positive.

This theme has also been touched upon in literature. Arguably the best novels in American literature are the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. In both cases, they are fatherless boys who cannot find contentment being raised by the matriarchal figure at home. Tom Sawyer seems to wander about searching until he finally finds the Judge as a surrogate father. Huckleberry Finn is different. He is a pariah--a social outcast. He is homeless, fatherless, family-less. After his adventures with Tom Sawyer, he is adopted by Widow Douglas. Even though she gives him a loving home (something he's never had before), he is unable to stay with her and returns back to the life of a pariah.

So we see that the absent father can be problematic. The social ills that are connected to, say, gang activity are numerous, but they all are rooted in fatherlessness. The decline in actual fatherhood by our generation of fathers is deplorable. It is unnatural, inhuman, and not conducive to any form of social success. What have the fathers been doing? I have no idea, but their selfishness in running away from their duties has led to the moral decay of our society.

Although Muslim fathers in the West have generally been physically present, they too have neglected to engage in the actual duties of fatherhood. However, the immigrant Muslim fathers have been more than vocal in encouraging their children to go to college, to make money, to immerse themselves further into the dregs of this world, creating a generation of Muslim, yuppie boys. The weakness of our Ummah in the West is, therefore, logical. Eventually, as the fitra will not allow anything unnatural to sit comfortably, the Muslim Yuppies will search for a surrogate father...and where they will find one remains to be seen. Hopefully, it will be within Islam itself and the example of the Prophet (s.a.w).

As for the young fathers raising up boys, be forewarned. The responsibility of a father is more than just providing money. Stay emotionally involved with your sons and raise up men (and not some weird homogenized gender), even if it means being a bit harsh with your children.

As always, this is just my commentary on a social trend as I see it. I could be wrong (and I appreciate comments to that effect). Also, this was a much more complex issue than I first imagined when I started writing. I have not been able to do justice to it. I haven't even broached the topic of the impact of fatherlessness on daughters (and I believe there's a very strong impact), so I apologize and perhaps I can do it another time. I would appreciate if anyone wants to add anything.

BTS?

2007-09-08T09:48:00.000-04:00

I saw a sign in the supermarket that said "Are you ready for BTS?"

WHAT THE ... IS BTS???

Apparently, BTS is a nifty acronym for "Back to School" and the ad was asking consumers, "did you buy every possible thing that one can buy remotely connected to going back to school?"

It's as if all your clothes that you were previously wearing burned down to the ground in a fire, so you have to buy new ones; your calculator from the previous year suddenly stopped working; you cannot find a single pen or piece of paper anywhere; and you have yet to buy the requisite unnecessary garbage for school (I know that's oxymoronic) such as the geometer or whatever useless items your school may require.

When I was in school, I found the only thing I really needed was a pen (which are ample on the grounds of the school halls) and a notebook (or even the backs of flyers that people keep handing me...or in a true emergency, the back of a paper plate). So did we really need to add yet another acronym into our vocabulary?

I went to garbage public school where I learned to be a slave, no one else in my class learned much of anything. We were better off not going. I always wondered what the purpose of it was. Now I get it. BTS. It doesn't matter that you are being deprived of your sharpest, most formative years by having to spend them in a factory that molds your mind into a cog or peg of an economic machine. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have the best looking protractor in class. And just look at those fly, brand new, white-on-white kicks you got on the first day of school. Where did you get that new Tommy Hil? You're REALLY ready for BTS, that means you're poised to be REALLY successful in school...

Ok, let me stop. But the question still remains. Are they going to transform every mundane occasion of our lives into a shopping experience? They've already beat "Back to School" into our brains so much that we can now just shorten it to BTS. Are we going to accept celebrations of every single meaningless milestone in life--a celebration which comprises only of useless consumption? "Your kid just graduated from 5th grade...go buy something!!!" "You just got a new job running on a hamster wheel every day from 9-5...go buy everyone dinner!!"

I guess you can say the "BTS" sign bothered me. Not to mention the fact that I was in a grocery store, listening to the crap shopping music, looking at shelves upon shelves of all the unnecessary things in life. Perhaps, I'm being too harsh, so let me step back.

(I hope one of my high school teachers reads this.)

The Sufi's Quest

2007-09-05T20:00:00.001-04:00

Mr. Espy's most recent post on the Alchemy of Happiness reminded me of a brief story I had once begun which contained wisdom from Imam Ghazali's Alchemy. The text in italics is taken directly from a translation of Alchemy.

"Wake up, son. You are now ready for this world," the father said as he frantically searched around the house for items to place into a black leather bag he held, "your father is not a man of superior knowledge, but I will share with you what I know, then you must discover the rest on your own."

"Know, my son, knowledge of self is the key to the knowledge of God, according to the saying: 'He who knows himself knows God,' and, as it is Written in the Quran, 'We will show them Our signs in the world and in themselves, that the truth may be manifest to them.' Now nothing is nearer to you than yourself, and if you know not yourself how can you know anything else? If you say 'I know myself,' meaning your outward shape, body, face, limbs, and so forth, such knowledge can never be a key to the knowledge of God. Nor, if your knowledge as to that which is within only extends so far, that when you are hungry you eat, and when you are angry you attack some one, will you progress any further in this path, for the beasts are your partners in this?"

"But real self-knowledge consists in knowing the following things: What are you in yourself, and from where have you come? Where are you going, and for what purpose have you come to tarry here awhile, and of what does your real happiness and misery consist? Some of your attributes are those of animals, some of devils, and some of angels, and you must to find out which of these attributes are accidental and which essential."

The child was still sleepy but listened intently to his father. Some banging noises grew louder outdoors, but the child was more concerned about his father's words. The father seemed to be oblivious to the noises, but sweat had gathered on his forehead as he hurriedly packed the leather bag and continued to speak. Never before had his father addressed him in such a way. A slight anxiety came over him as his father continued, "These are the words taught to me by the great teacher, Al Ghazali. Now you must find a teacher for yourself. Your world is in chaos, my son. Guard yourself from politics and treachery of men. Be wary of the Great War. Seek a teacher, but guard yourself from the false teachers. Until you know this, you cannot find out where your real happiness lies. Go now, my son!"

As the dejected father finished speaking, he kissed his son and opened up the window. The child confused still wondered what was going on. "Take this bag with you as provisions, and travel to the next town, my son. I shall see you on the other side." The father threw the bag out of the window and made a gesture as if he was prepared to lift his son out of the window. The child not sure what was going on, did as his father signaled. The father lifted his son out of the window and the child fell to the ground outside. He heard a fine sound cutting through air....the sound became louder and louder...suddenly an EXPLOSION rocked the house. And just like that the village was set ablaze. Seeing the approaching soldiers, the child ran into the nearby woods vanishing from sight....

Shaykh Hamza Yusuf

2007-09-04T22:13:00.001-04:00

(Do you expect me to add anything to that?)

Reflection on Poetry

2007-09-04T13:17:00.001-04:00

I'll spare everyone any of my commentary on ISNA. I'm sure you can find plenty of that everywhere else. Let me deliver some closure on those two lines of poetry (although I'm sure most of you were unable to read Urdu script).

The power of poetry, in my opinion, lies in extreme imagery AND at the very same time in implication and subtlety. The subtlety is the key.

This couplet demonstrate that pretty well.

Translation:

Don't be afraid to tell me what happened in the garden when I'm in the cage, my friend
Where the lightning struck yesterday, why would it be my nest?

I know it sounds terrible and confusing in translation, but even the Urdu speakers would be confused by this couplet.

The beauty here lies in the implication. This couplet is one sentence spoken by someone to someone else in a certain context. Although it seems like it's out of place, the poet has carefully placed many key words that tell us exactly what is going on.

First key word is "in the cage," implying that the speaker is a prisoner of some sort. Later on, we see the word "garden" and "nest." The implication here is that the speaker is a caged bird. So now we know the speaker.

The "person" being spoken to is referred to as "my friend," which implies the speaker is another bird, possibly not in a cage. So what is being said?

The caged bird says to the other bird, "don't be afraid to tell me what's going on out there," or "don't hesitate to tell me what's going on." The implication there, of course, is that the other bird was talking to the caged bird about something, but then suddenly hesitated to go further or trailed off in his conversation.

The second line clues us in to what could have possibly made him hesitate to talk. Apparently a bolt of lightning had struck the garden where the caged bird had formerly had its nest. The bird outside the cage is hesitant to talk about that incident, why? Perhaps because it did in fact strike the former nest of the caged bird. So not only was he captured and put into a cage, but his nest was subsequently struck by lightning.

So what have we learned from these two lines? A bird was flying about the garden one day when it was captured and placed inside a cage near a windowsill. An old friend of the caged bird is perched on the windowsill talking to the prisoner and tell him the ongoings of the garden, but suddenly becomes quiet and hesitant to talk further. The caged bird then tells him, "don't hesitate to tell me, my friend, I heard the lightning yesterday, but there's no way it could have struck my nest, right? right?" The bird on the windowsill is hesitant to talk about it because it did, in fact, strike his nest and he didn't know how to break the news to him.

So all that was said in two lines through the power of implication. But what is the poet trying to say with this imagery? Well, I hope to hear what everyone else thinks. I think it could be interpreted any number of ways.

The caged bird is constantly being given hardships in life. He was captured and imprisoned, and then his nest (presumably with eggs or chicks) was destroyed by lightning. And there's a very tragic moment when he incredulously poses the question to the other bird, and we all already know the answer. Yes, it did it strike your nest.

Another way to look at it is that the caged bird heard the lightning and knew inside from the demeanor of his friend that it was his nest that was destroyed. But at the same time he knows that he didn't really "own" the nest. It was given from Allah alone and taken by Allah--as was his freedom. So he comforts the news bearer by telling him not to be afraid to tell him the news, because it's not HIS nest that was destroyed, it was Allah's nest, that he was simply using for a while.

What about the element that being captured and imprisoned saved him from being struck by the lightning? Or perhaps the lightning represents something entirely different. Other poets have described the responsibility of Prophethood as "lightning that fell on Moses (peace be upon him)?" Of course there's stuff that I haven't even thought of. Hopefully someone else can come up something that I'm not seeing.

ISNA

2007-08-29T18:05:00.000-04:00

So it appears I'm out to the ISNA (aka FITNA) Convention for the weekend. I'll be back by Tuesday, insha'Allah.

I was working on a post about some reflection on poetry or something, but I didn't have the time. In the mean time, if you can read Urdu script, try figuring this one out.

Nacirema Shrine Photo

2007-08-28T19:40:00.001-04:00

In reference to my earlier post on the Nacirema and of course the follow up to it, I recently noticed that I had some visitors to my blog through the Google search "Nacirema Shrine Photos." So, for those looking for a picture of what a Nacirema shrine looks like, I thought I'd go ahead and post it.

UPDATE
I recently got someone coming through the following Google search terms: "What point is Horace Miner making through the Nacirema about ethnocentrism?"

You slackers! Think about it...don't Google everything.

Trying to Avoid Politics...

2007-08-25T11:13:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to avoid too many political blog posts, but this is such a joke. I couldn't resist.

I've commented before on the media's suppression of Ron Paul as a viable presidential candidate, but now it's just getting ridiculous.

We've seen Ron Paul dominate every single online poll ever taken anywhere on the internet. This was dismissed as hacking on the part of his supporters. So then came the Iowa Straw Poll, which was the first opportunity for a live vote. How did Ron Paul fare in Iowa according to the media?

Ron Paul finished fifth in Iowa with 9.7% of the vote (the exact order was Mitt Romney, Mike Huckabee, Sam Brownback, Tom Tancredo, Ron Paul, and THEN Tommy Thompson). How did the media present these results? Here's the graphic from Fox News

Fox News cuts off Tancredo and Ron Paul. Disregarding any other issues in the Iowa vote, such as the fact that the top candidates were paying people for their votes and busing people into Ames, Iowa, let's look at ABC's portrayal of the Iowa vote.

This video is a great depiction. The first 50 seconds of it shows a home video taken at the Iowa Straw Poll, the last 10 seconds or so shows how ABC presented the scene at Iowa.

ABC ignores the large, chanting crowds of Ron Paul supporters in favor of showing a lonely man with an umbrella holding a Ron Paul banner. The power of the imagery is clear. The whole country was not there in Iowa, but the whole country was watching ABC.

What the other media sources did not mention is that Ron Paul won first place in five other LIVE straw polls and place second in others.

FIRST PLACE
New Hampshire Taxpayers, July 7 ~ 1st 65.3%
North Carolina, Gaston GOP, August 13, ~ 1st 36.6%
New Hampshire, Stafford, NH, August 18 ~ 1st 72.7%
Alabama, August 18 ~ 1st 81.2%
Washington State, August 21 ~ 1st 28.1%

SECOND PLACE
Utah GOP, June 12, 2nd 5.4%
LibertyPapers.org conference, June 16 ~ 2nd 16.7%
Georgia, Cobb Co. GOP, July 4 ~ 2nd 17%
South Carolina, Georgetown Co., July 28 ~ 2nd 18%
West Lafayette, Indiana, August 18 ~ 2nd 11.7%

So, all this aside, the reason I posted today was because of a clip I saw from a CNN segment. CNN (which I don't watch and I don't encourage anyone to ever watch) had a segment where they interview two college students (one Democrat, one Republican) about some issues. The Republican one turns out to be a Ron Paul supporter and says it really clearly on air. The reaction from the CNN anchor? "WHOAAA!!" As if he was thinking to himself "how did she get passed the censors?"

After the inane chatter by the anchors, only the first 2 mins is worth watching.

Marvelous. After asking the girl who she thinks will win the Republican nomination and the girl responds "Ron Paul," the response of the CNN anchor is essentially, "You can't say that on air, PICK SOMEONE ELSE!" Which is another interesting point. If the reporter is trying to gauge a sense of reality by interviewing a REAL person, then why is she dictating to that person what reality is?

Ahh what a marvelous art it is to control the minds of the masses. Good job, mainstream media.

Words from LoPaRu

2007-08-24T09:49:00.000-04:00

Very seldomly does one find words that come directly from the heart with no element of the ego attached. But I believe this is one of those seldom occasions.

Words from a close, personal friend.

Distinguished Visitor

2007-08-23T19:14:00.000-04:00

I noticed that my blog had a distinguished visitor, so I thought I would dedicate a post for my guest. Of course my guest was none other than the U.S. Department of Justice. That means there is an off chance that Alberto Gonzalez could be reading this. Since I have their attention, I'd like for them to read something they haven't seen in a long time--just some really old document known as the U.S. Constitution.

Here is the entire U.S. Constitution but allow me to highlight some points.

Article 1, Section 9

The privilege of the writ of habeas corpus shall not be suspended, unless when in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may require it. [Emphasis added]

Despite the foregoing, Alberto Gonzalez does not think that the Constitution guarantees habeas corpus:

"The Constitution doesn't say every individual in the United States or every citizen is hereby granted or assured the right of habeas,'' Gonzales told Sen. Arlen Specter, R-Pa., during a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing Jan. 17.

Gonzales acknowledged that the Constitution declares "habeas corpus shall not be suspended unless ... in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may require it.'' But he insisted that "there is no express grant of habeas in the Constitution.''

Specter was incredulous, asking how the Constitution could bar the suspension of a right that didn't exist -- a right, he noted, that was first recognized in medieval England as a shield against the king's power to dispatch troublesome subjects to royal dungeons. [Emphasis added]

The Bill of Rights

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Amendment II

A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

Amendment III

No soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Amendment IV

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Amendment V

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

Amendment VI

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the state and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense.

Amendment VII

In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise reexamined in any court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.

Amendment VIII

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Amendment IX

The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

Amendment X

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people.

[Emphasis added]

The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Amendments are just hanging on by a thread. A legal scholar could write entire books on how the rights have been eroded away, so I won't even begin to broach the subject.

In any case, I hope my friends at the Department of Justice enjoyed reading some dusty, old material that they have left sitting in an unreachable corner of their bookshelves.

Gender Roles and Re-evaluating Social Values

2007-08-19T23:00:00.001-04:00

Pardon the title. It is interesting how I have lofty titles for my posts as if I am actually fit to address such issues. Certainly, I am not, but the purpose of this blog is only so that I can throw my opinions out there and hear why people think I am wrong.

The issue that came up that I wanted to address is that of women in the workplace as opposed to stay at home moms. Let me state at the onset that in America most families cannot survive on a single paycheck. Therefore, out of the sheer necessity of making ends meet, both husband and wife are required to work. I believe the majority of Americans, statistically, are two paychecks away from being homeless. So, the following does not apply to those circumstances.

America was founded on principles of "democracy" and capitalism. Voting/political influence and wealth were, therefore, the most socially valuable elements. All of these things were denied to women. Women could not vote nor could they own any property and so they had little to no social value. This was hypocrisy and oppression at its best. It was not until the late 19th century that America began to see a women's movement led by the likes of Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Helen Keller (who, by the way, is an amazing personality), and others. The movement addressed issues such as suffrage and property rights (amongst other issues). These women stood up against what I would describe as oppression and they absolutely had every right to do so.

How does this impact us? We, as Muslims, have set up similar social values (as part of our attempts to assimilate into the West). We value advanced college degrees (doctors in particular), lots of money, political influence, etc. And yet, there is a portion of us who don't believe that women should work, but rather they should be stay at home moms.

Before I analyze any further, let me state what I mean by stay at home moms. I imagine it a noble undertaking, more noble than any high level corporate job that one can find. A stay at home mom is the cornerstone upon which a society is built. She is the first teacher of the children, and I don't mean that lightly. Given the current condition of the American school system, I would say that home-schooling is by far the best--perhaps only--option. This job, then, requires a woman to be an intelligent, extremely well educated mother (and available all hours of the day).

So today we have the debate as to whether a woman should be "allowed" to work or not? Although, I'll never understand why someone would WANT to work when given the option to not work. I imagine, just as the women's movement of the late 19th century was looking for social value, the women today want to have degrees and want to make money--so that they can be considered "successful," "valuable," etc. I grant it's also an issue of financial independence from their husbands.

Given the social condition we're in and the warped values that we now have, one could argue that it would be oppressive and narrow-minded to suggest that women should not work and should stay at home. Let me also remind you that stay at home moms are often belittled for their undertaking. A woman who is a doctor or perhaps a lawyer that works 50 hours a week for some large firm or corporation or whatever is regarded as praiseworthy. Regardless of how her children are being raised or by whom. So under these conditions, should women not seek praise rather than ridicule?

This, to me, seems to be the bottom line. If we are a society that values degrees and money, then who are we to suggest that women should not seek to earn those? If, on the other hand, we are a society that values the akhira and we value a society where children are not raised by television or brainwashing school systems, then it is vital that we raise the social value of the stay at home mom. Her value should be, in my view, greater than the value of the man working to earn money. Society as a whole needs to re-evaluate which is greater.

We have to begin by lowering the rank of university degrees. If it seems that I seem to be downplaying the importance of college degrees, it's because I absolutely am. Our society needs to prioritize once again. Working 50 hours a week at a high position, in a windowless office, under artificial lights, with a fine white noise, to further enhance the earnings of some giant conglomerate is NOT praiseworthy! If it is done, it is done out of necessity. This is the role of the man--to do the dirty work of the dunya. The work that NOBODY should want to do. It is noble only to the extent that we are fulfilling Allah's command that we should provide for our families and it can be done in any number of ways. The more we glorify the dregs of the dunya, the more everyone will want to flock towards it.

So this is my opinion. To tell a woman that she should remain in the home while society belittles that and values people that work would be hypocritical. At the same time, it is not conceivable to build a functional Islamic society with two working parents. Thus, we have to shift our values dramatically. The stay at home mom is extremely VALUABLE and truly SUCCESSFUL.

(I hope it does not appear as I am blaming the woman for anything. I have a much longer future post in mind that speaks to the unequivocal negative impact on society due to the failure of the fathers.)

Parkour

2007-08-19T19:28:00.001-04:00

This looks pretty useful...

About the "Culture Shock" Post

2007-08-16T19:25:00.000-04:00

This is a follow up to a post I did a few days ago called Culture Shock. If you haven't read it yet, go read it before you read this one. Go on, I'll wait...

Anyway, so, did you get it? Did you figure out who these Nacirema weirdos are? I think they're location gives it away:

They are a North American group living in the territory between the Canadian Cree, the Yaqui and Tarahumare of Mexico

There's only group of weirdos I know that inhabit that region between Canada and Mexico.

That's right, Naciremas are none other than Americans (which is Nacirema backwards). The author writes an ethnography on Americans, purposefully taking a position to make Americans seem like a bizarre tribal group relegated to the far reaches of the globe. Thus, the reader comes away find these people to be wholly strange.

So what is the point here? The point is, when you approach every group in this manner then soon you'll find that what everyone else does is "weird" and what you do is "normal." This is ethnocentrism. This is the "othering" mentality that's responsible for a lot of our social ills.

Early anthropology was in fact the result of colonial expansion. When the Europeans expanded into other parts of the world, it became important for them to "classify" these groups and to establish their own superiority. In America, anthropology was used primarily in understanding/conquering the Native Americans. And this is obvious in early anthropological literature. They would approach the native cultures with the presumption that the white man is superior and the natives are barbaric and weird. Thus, after much study and gathering of information, they would arrive at that very conclusion. Essentially they translated all of the everyday habits of the natives and spun it in the most primitive way. There was very little understanding at all--the same way Miner analyzes the practices of the Nacirema.

The reason I bring this up is because I think that this still plagues us today. There's a lot of ethnocentrism evident in the way that many of us perceive ourselves and others. There's a feeling of superiority of one's culture, of one's language, of one's arts, etc. I find this to be rather disturbing simply because our planet is so diverse. Especially for those that live in particularly diverse areas (such as major metropolitan areas of the US), it becomes imperative to approach all of the different groups with an open mind and open heart, and without any bit of arrogance.

I have also found that there is much beauty to be discovered in every thing in every part of the world. In my view, and I may be alone on this, no ONE culture is truly complete as far as literature, arts, food, and traditions go. So I think the time has come to bring down the well-defined walls that divide cultures and allow the people to go out and discover the world.

Finally, I want to stress that I don't think that Muslims should compromise their religious identities in order to facilitate blending in with the non-Muslim parts of the world. And this is a very common phenomenon. Our traditions are unique and vital to our existence, therefore, I don't include them in the above statement of breaking the cultural walls. Naturally, I still encourage getting rid of any bit of arrogance one may have towards practitioners of other religions especially when one is effectually ignorant of the other religion (see my post on the Synoptic Gospels). However, when I refer to culture above, I was speaking specifically to those facets of our lives that are not dictated by Islam (i.e. specific types of dress, food, art, literature, etc). Everything is presumably good as long as it falls into the much more general guidelines of what is lawful.

So let's end the ethnocentrism here...between all people but especially within the Ummah. I don't think I could bear listening to another person claim superiority of Pakistani or Indian or Arab or White or whatever. Or worse, deny marriage of their sons/daughters to someone who is of a different cultural/racial background. In fact, we need more such marriages to further blur the cultural lines within the Ummah.

Let's try to learn more about our fellow human beings and let's approach with an attitude of understanding. One of the things I first did when I came to this realization was that I went out and read one famous piece of literature from every part of the world. I really enjoyed that. I would highly recommend it.

I think at this point I'm just rambling...so I'll stop now. Please don't bother pointing out that this post is poorly written...I already know that. I'm having a tough time getting my thoughts across.

Twilight Zone

2007-08-15T12:37:00.000-04:00

The following is the answer Dick Cheney gave in 1994 when asked whether the United States should have toppled the government in Iraq.

If all his arguments sound familiar, that's because you've heard the same arguments made today by the anti-war movement in this country. I don't even know what to say about this...it just feels like something out of the twilight zone. It seems like Mr. Cheney has 20/20 foresight. And he actually uses the word "quagmire" ....go figure.

Culture Shock

2007-08-14T19:58:00.001-04:00

As some of you may know, I am Indian. Now, before you ask me whether my major in college was biology or engineering (or perhaps computer science), let me state that it was anthropology. That's right. Anthropology. I recommend taking classes in anthropology to all the young college students, because I loved it--and not just for the blank looks on the faces of the family elders when they heard it was my major. I can honestly say that it was a huge spark in what I now believe was my minor intellectual awakening (I still await the major awakening).

But enough about that. I wanted to share one of the true gems from anthropological academia. I read this in my first anthropology class. It is a brief ethnography on a tribal people known as the Nacirema, and a real eye-opener to the reality of what exists in the world today (as we call it in the field--"culture shock"). The following is written by Horace Miner from the University of Michigan. I've edited it to make it slightly shorter. Please do read, it reads much faster than it appears.

The anthropologist has become so familiar with the diversity of ways in which different people behave in similar situations that he is not apt to be surprised by even the most exotic customs. In fact, if all of the logically possible combinations of behavior have not been found somewhere in the world, he is apt to suspect that they must be present in some yet undescribed tribe.

* * *

Professor Linton first brought the ritual of the Nacirema to the attention of anthropologists twenty years ago, but the culture of this people is still very poorly understood. They are a North American group living in the territory between the Canadian Cree, the Yaqui and Tarahumare of Mexico, and the Carib and Arawak of the Antilles. Little is known of their origin, although tradition states that they came from the east.

Nacirema culture is characterized by a highly developed market economy which has evolved in a rich natural habitat. While much of the people's time is devoted to economic pursuits, a large part of the fruits of these labors and a considerable portion of the day are spent in ritual activity. The focus of this activity is the human body, the appearance and health of which loom as a dominant concern in the ethos of the people. While such a concern is certainly not unusual, its ceremonial aspects and associated philosophy are unique.

The fundamental belief underlying the whole system appears to be that the human body is ugly and that its natural tendency is to debility and disease. Incarcerated in such a body, man's only hope is to avert these characteristics through the use of ritual and ceremony. Every household has one or more shrines devoted to this purpose. The more powerful individuals in the society have several shrines in their houses and, in fact, the opulence of a house is often referred to in terms of the number of such ritual centers it possesses. Most houses are of wattle and daub construction, but the shrine rooms of the more wealthy are walled with stone. Poorer families imitate the rich by applying pottery plaques to their shrine walls.

While each family has at least one such shrine, the rituals associated with it are not family ceremonies but are private and secret. The rites are normally only discussed with children, and then only during the period when they are being initiated into these mysteries. I was able, however, to establish sufficient rapport with the natives to examine these shrines and to have the rituals described to me.

The focal point of the shrine is a box or chest which is built into the wall. In this chest are kept the many charms and magical potions without which no native believes he could live. These preparations are secured from a variety of specialized practitioners. The most powerful of these are the medicine men, whose assistance must be rewarded with substantial gifts. However, the medicine men do not provide the curative potions for their clients, but decide what the ingredients should be and then write them down in an ancient and secret language. This writing is understood only by the medicine men and by the herbalists who, for another gift, provide the required charm.

* * *

Beneath the charm-box is a small font. Each day every member of the family, in succession, enters the shrine room, bows his head before the charm-box, mingles different sorts of holy water in the font, and proceeds with a brief rite of ablution. The holy waters are secured from the Water Temple of the community, where the priests conduct elaborate ceremonies to make the liquid ritually pure.

In the hierarchy of magical practitioners, and below the medicine men in prestige, are specialists whose designation is best translated as "holy-mouth-men." The Nacirema have an almost pathological horror of and fascination with the mouth, the condition of which is believed to have a supernatural influence on all social relationships. Were it not for the rituals of the mouth, they believe that their teeth would fall out, their gums bleed, their jaws shrink, their friends desert them, and their lovers reject them. They also believe that a strong relationship exists between oral and moral characteristics. For example, there is a ritual ablution of the mouth for children which is supposed to improve their moral fiber.

The daily body ritual performed by everyone includes a mouth-rite. Despite the fact that these people are so punctilious about care of the mouth, this rite involves a practice which strikes the uninitiated stranger as revolting. It was reported to me that the ritual consists of inserting a small bundle of hog hairs into the mouth, along with certain magical powders, and then moving the bundle in a highly formalized series of gestures.

In addition to the private mouth-rite, the people seek out a holy-mouth-man once or twice a year. These practitioners have an impressive set of paraphernalia, consisting of a variety of augers, awls, probes, and prods. The use of these items in the exorcism of the evils of the mouth involves almost unbelievable ritual torture of the client. The holy-mouth-man opens the client's mouth and, using the above mentioned tools, enlarges any holes which decay may have created in the teeth. Magical materials are put into these holes. If there are no naturally occurring holes in the teeth, large sections of one or more teeth are gouged out so that the supernatural substance can be applied.

* * *

It is to be hoped that, when a thorough study of the Nacirema is made, there will be careful inquiry into the personality structure of these people. One has but to watch the gleam in the eye of a holy-mouth-man, as he jabs an awl into an exposed nerve, to suspect that a certain amount of sadism is involved. If this can be established, a very interesting pattern emerges, for most of the population shows definite masochistic tendencies. It was to these that Professor Linton referred in discussing a distinctive part of the daily body ritual which is performed only by men. This part of the rite includes scraping and lacerating the surface of the face with a sharp instrument. Special women's rites are performed only four times during each lunar month, but what they lack in frequency is made up in barbarity. As part of this ceremony, women bake their heads in small ovens for about an hour. The theoretically interesting point is that what seems to be a preponderantly masochistic people have developed sadistic specialists.

The medicine men have an imposing temple, or latipso, in every community of any size. The more elaborate ceremonies required to treat very sick patients can only be performed at this temple. These ceremonies involve not only the thaumaturge but a permanent group of vestal maidens who move sedately about the temple chambers in distinctive costume and headdress.

The latipso ceremonies are so harsh that it is phenomenal that a fair proportion of the really sick natives who enter the temple ever recover. Small children whose indoctrination is still incomplete have been known to resist attempts to take them to the temple because "that is where you go to die." Despite this fact, sick adults are not only willing but eager to undergo the protracted ritual purification, if they can afford to do so.

* * *

The supplicant entering the temple is first stripped of all his or her clothes. In everyday life the Nacirema avoids exposure of his body and its natural functions. Bathing and excretory acts are performed only in the secrecy of the household shrine, where they are ritualized as part of the body-rites. Psychological shock results from the fact that body secrecy is suddenly lost upon entry into the latipso. A man, whose own wife has never seen him in an excretory act, suddenly finds himself naked and assisted by a vestal maiden while he performs his natural functions into a sacred vessel. This sort of ceremonial treatment is necessitated by the fact that the excreta are used by a diviner to ascertain the course and nature of the client's sickness. Female clients, on the other hand, find their naked bodies are subjected to the scrutiny, manipulation and prodding of the medicine men.

Few supplicants in the temple are well enough to do anything but lie on their hard beds. The daily ceremonies, like the rites of the holy-mouth-men, involve discomfort and torture. With ritual precision, the vestals awaken their miserable charges each dawn and roll them about on their beds of pain while performing ablutions, in the formal movements of which the maidens are highly trained. At other times they insert magic wands in the supplicant's mouth or force him to eat substances which are supposed to be healing. From time to time the medicine men come to their clients and jab magically treated needles into their flesh. The fact that these temple ceremonies may not cure, and may even kill the neophyte, in no way decreases the people's faith in the medicine men.

* * *

In conclusion, mention must be made of certain practices which have their base in native esthetics but which depend upon the pervasive aversion to the natural body and its functions. There are ritual fasts to make fat people thin and ceremonial feasts to make thin people fat. Still other rites are used to make women's breasts larger if they are small, and smaller if they are large. General dissatisfaction with breast shape is symbolized in the fact that the ideal form is virtually outside the range of human variation. A few women afflicted with almost inhuman hyper-mammary development are so idolized that they make a handsome living by simply going from village to village and permitting the natives to stare at them for a fee.

* * *

Our review of the ritual life of the Nacirema has certainly shown them to be a magic-ridden people. It is hard to understand how they have managed to exist so long under the burdens which they have imposed upon themselves. But even such exotic customs as these take on real meaning when they are viewed with the insight provided by Malinowski when he wrote:

Looking from far and above, from our high places of safety in the developed civilization, it is easy to see all the crudity and irrelevance of magic. But without its power and guidance early man could not have mastered his practical difficulties as he has done, nor could man have advanced to the higher stages of civilization.

Thank you for taking the time to read all that. I definitely want to hear everyone's thoughts (I guess that means you, Mom).

A Look at the Synoptic Gospels

2007-08-13T19:29:00.000-04:00

We live in very divisive times. Muslims have trouble understanding each other even among their own sub sects, so what hope is there for some understanding across religious lines? Not much, I gather, especially since the discourse between Christians and Muslims has turned so bitter and hateful--even more so online.

I believe that Muslims ought to step back a bit from the front lines of comparative religion if they are not prepared to approach the subject with more academic dignity and respect of the other side. I see a lot of arguments being made on weak grounds that often tend to infuriate, rather than inform. Such arguments often include the one thing everyone hates the most--taking passages or verses out of their historical context. I think there ought to be more Muslims exploring the rich history of Old Testament and New Testament texts and traditions before engaging in any such debates, otherwise, we ought to just leave the subject alone.

In the spirit of kicking off this idea, I recently discovered my old notebook from college containing my notes from New Testament taught by the brilliant Professor M. Smith at Rutgers University. So I thought I'd share some of the things in the course that I found very interesting.

(Caution: Please don't take the following as a direct quote from Professor Smith. It's been a while since I've actually taken the class--not to mention it was an introductory class.)

The Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke are known as Synoptic Gospels because they both are narratives of the life of Jesus. The three are also structured very similarly. Matthew and Luke seem to draw on a similar source not present in Mark, thus, this has led many scholars to believe that there is an unpreserved Gospel known as "Q," which preceded all of them.

Mark
Although second in order, Mark is probably the earliest one to be written, presumably around 70 A.D. The author of Mark is not the best Greek writer, therefore the writing style is a bit choppy. Of course, much is also lost in the translation into English. Mark's audience is comprised of oppressed Christians. He tells the story of Jesus to Christians that are suffering tremendous persecution under Roman rule, thus, it contains images of Jesus confronting the priests and challenging the Imperial Romans. The famous first line of the Gospel begins:

The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. (Mark 1:1)

This is very intriguing because of what the author of Mark actually means by this phrase. Many scholars note that a better translation would be "the son of the god." The "son," in this context, refers to Octavian who often referred to himself (and was often referred to) as "the son of the god" (i.e. the son of Julius Caesar). The intention of the author of Mark is to place Jesus (peace be upon him) directly in comparison with the Emperor of Rome. As if to say, there's no authority in the Emperor, all authority belongs to Jesus (peace be upon him).

Also notable is that the Gospel of Mark contains nothing about the birth of Jesus (peace be upon him).

Matthew
The Gospel of Matthew is a longer book directed primarily at the Jews that remained unconverted. In order to gather their attention, the author begins by placing Jesus (peace up upon him) into an Old Testament type genealogical context specifically placing him in the line of David (through Joseph and NOT Mary) and dating all the way back to Abraham (peace be upon them all). The reason for this is because the Jews were expecting their Messiah to be from the House of David (peace be upon him). So we see the story shifting a bit to become more pleasing to the Jews.

The author of Matthew also places the birth of Jesus in the context of the Jewish king, Herod the Great. In this birth story, Herod sends three Magi (or Persian priests) to go find the baby Jesus and bring back news. Thus, the first to pay homage to Jesus are Persians--not Jews (interesting). Even more interesting is after the Magi visit Jesus (peace be upon him), they flee back to Persia rather than reporting to Herod, similarly, Joseph is told in a dream to flee to Egypt and he does so. Upon hearing this, Herod goes nuts and starts killing all children under the age of two. Precisely what's happening here is that the author of Matthew is placing Jesus explicitly close to Moses (peace be upon them both):

Out of Egypt, I have called my son (Matthew 2:15, quoting Hosea 11:1).

And the author continues trying to portray Jesus (peace be upon him) as an enforcer of Mosaic Law. This is important because Jesus (peace be upon him) continued to go around breaking Pharisaic Law (which the Jews perceived as the Law of Moses). Jesus breaks the Sabbath, he heals the poor and sick, he preaches to thieves, all of which aggravates the Pharisees.

Luke
The Gospel of Luke is very interesting. The author is a tremendously skilled writer in Greek--presumably a Gentile. The eloquent author of this book is a Christian apologist. The early Christians suffer from persecution because they were perceived as a threat to the Roman Empire. The author of Luke would like to convince the Romans otherwise. Therefore, we know that this Gospel is intended towards non-Jews--specifically Romans.

Consequently, the family (i.e. Zechariah, Mary, Elizabeth, and Joseph) are presented as very good, law abiding citizens of the Roman Empire (with no insurgent tendencies). In fact, they are such good citizens, that when Augustus Caesar says there should be a census and everyone must register in their hometowns, Joseph takes his 8 and a half month pregnant wife on a donkey ride all the way from Nazareth to Bethlehem. All this just to be obedient to Caesar. Of course, she gives birth on the journey. In this version there are no Magi nor antics of King Herod, instead we find shepherds tending their flocks (no shepherd, in his right mind, would have his flock out in December in Palestine!).

The historical context of Luke is always according to the reign of the Roman Emperors and the governors overseeing the specific regions (i.e. Pontius Pilate). Further, the genealogy that Luke gives, which also traces Jesus (peace be upon him) through Joseph, ends not with Abraham, but rather with "...son of Aadam, son of God" (Luke 3:38). Luke implies that Jesus is the son of God because he is the son of Adam (who was son of God), implying that perhaps we're all children of God.

Conclusion
This post took a little longer than I expected. I hope it is not too much to read. There is a LOT more to the Gospels, of course. My intent, however, was to simply illustrate the different historical contexts in which each of the Gospels was written, and the consequent differences in each. We see that these Gospels (at least the chosen ones)are more of a tool to address specific political agendas rather than being unadulterated words of Jesus (peace be upon him). It is also not particularly clear whether the writers KNEW that they were writing holy scriptures--certainly Paul did NOT know that his numerous letters would one day constitute the majority of a holy scripture. This is the basic understanding that one must have when approaching any of these Gospels in order to truly understand the individual passages contained within. And Allah knows best.

More on the Synoptic Gospels here.
More on the Gospel of Q here.
Brief overview of Islamic Jesus here.

Words from an Iraq War Resistor

2007-08-12T18:07:00.000-04:00

Eleonai "Eli" Israel is a former Army National Guard soldier who served in Iraq and consequently took a brave stance by refusing to further partake in the war which he realized was illegal and unjust.

I have taken and/or destroyed the lives of people who were defending their families from being the “collateral damage” of the day. Iraqi boys are joining groups like “Al Qaeda” for the same reason street kids in the U.S. join the “Cribs” [sic] and the “Bloods”. It’s about self protection, a sense of dignity, and making a stand.

The young man whose father and cousin we “accidentally” killed, and whose mother and siblings cry every time the tank rolls through the neighborhood, doesn’t care who Osama Bin Laden is. The “militants” we attacked were usually no different than an armed neighborhood watch group who didn’t trust their government. We didn’t trust the government either, and we put them in power!

Our own sacrifices, as tragic as they are (and they are tragic), are dwarfed in comparison to the carnage that has been brought on the Iraqi people.

“Success” in Iraq is not a matter of the number of coalition deaths “declining”. Success would be an end of the catastrophe we have inflicted on a entire society, and restoration of dignity and sovereignty.

Iraqis continue to die at a rate 10 to 20 times that of the coalition forces. In Baghdad alone, five years and $950 billion later, the population suffers power and water outages that last for weeks at a time. Meanwhile, we often impose martial law so that no one can leave. The day I saw myself in the hateful eyes of a young Iraqi boy who stared at me was the day I realized I could no longer justify my role in the occupation.

Read the rest of his article at CommonDreams.org

Maaaan....

2007-08-11T18:47:00.001-04:00

And the herbs and the trees - both bow in adoration (of Him).

Surat Ar Rahman (55:6)

A Credit to Human "Progress"

2007-08-10T22:18:00.000-04:00

Look how far the human being has come. In the pre-industrial revolution era, destroying an entire species took a lot of effort and usually required the help of other major forces such as major climatic changes or perhaps a giant asteroid of some kind. It seems there is no hurdle too difficult to overcome for the human mind. Technology always strives to do the impossible and let's our minds run wild with imagining what else is possible.

So, it seems that we have progressed so far that we have driven our first marine mammal species into extinction due primarily to the human technological rat race (or as it's otherwise known--human progress). The Yangtze River dolphin was declared "functionally extinct" after not a single species nor any signs of the species could be found following an extensive search of the river. This is the first extinction of a large mammal in 50 years.

Human beings make for lousy co-existees, just ask the bumble bee.

Am I Not Your Lord?

2007-08-08T21:53:00.002-04:00

So you ask me about my earliest memory? Many years ago when my soul wandered in the realm of souls it was asked, "Am I not your Lord?" Following an answer in the affirmative, it found it's way into a womb, and blew into my incipient body.

Wait, wait...I don't think I actually remember all that. But this reminds me of a very interesting thought. What if my soul were given a choice as to which womb it would enter?

The First Choice
You will be born into the depths of poverty in an a destitute third world nation. This means you will be amongst the world's very poor. You will barely have a grain to eat or clean water to drink. The world's very few will steal all the resources from you and your people. You will be susceptible to many diseases, some from malnourishment and some brought on by others. No one in the world will hear you cry as you and your people will be among the most oppressed. Allah will hear your prayers whether or not your faith is strong, because of your oppressed status. You will be accountable for very little in the world. You will probably die as a child due to illness or violence, therefore, you will be accountable for nothing. And even then, your great suffering will purge whatever sins you may have had. You will return here very soon and enter into the Garden. Your suffering will be great in worldly terms (minuscule, otherwise), but it will be shortest, and you will be spared the Fire.

The Second Choice
You will be born into a middle class family that lives in a highly technological society. While growing up and in your adulthood, you will be aloof from the natural worlds and all the wondrous Signs from Allah that are hidden within it. You will be constantly surrounded by a human designed environment. Everyone around you will be eternally struggling to make ends meet. They will have to do so by sitting for 50 hours of their week inside a small room working away on human designed machines. Most around you will be ignorant of Allah and His Signs. Seldom will His remembrance be on their tongues. You will be forced into spending the first 22-27 years in deep study of the worldly ways so that you can obtain mind-numbing, stress-inducing jobs, so that you can buy things that you don't need. You will be among the the world's very rich, but you will feel like you are always poor. And since you are, in fact, rich, you will be held responsible accordingly when you return here.

The food you buy will come from plantations from around the world where men, women, and children are beaten and forced to work for nothing. They will work 18 hours a day pouring in blood, sweat and tears into a chocolate bar that will probably destroy your body. The meat you eat will come from animals that are inhumanely kept and brutally slaughtered in factories. The clothes you buy will be made by 10 year old child slaves in some other part of the world working long days and cold nights. The rest of your money will go to other merchants that fund wars, bloodshed, and massacres to make more money for themselves. The worldly pleasure from that which you consume will be short and fleeting. You will be responsible for every penny that you spend.

You will find it difficult to maintain your faith as you will be surrounded by hedonists, intoxicants, violence, and debauchery. Where you live, it will be considered unusual to desire to give up the luxuries that surround you and you will be ridiculed for suggesting it.

If, in the face of such adversity, you can maintain your faith; earn money only from what is halal; eat only what is halal; avoid spending towards the miseries of others even if it means sacrificing your own luxuries; guide others towards Allah as you try guide yourself; live sparingly for yourself though people may ridicule you; aid the poor, the starving and the oppressed around the world as best you can; keep your tongue wet in remembrance of Allah; spend time with the few pious men amongst your community; and seek only to love (to love Allah and love for the sake of Allah)...then your station with Allah will be that much higher compared to him who has not faced this adversity.

Hmmm...what would my soul have said to those options? It seems like suffering is common in both, whether suffering from the woes of the world or from alienation from Allah (or both). The Second Choice sounds like a higher path, but too risky, and this "destitute nation" sounds too tempting to pass. I think I ought to go with the First Choice, I want to return 'here' as soon as I can. No wait...I should strive to return at a higher station...

Well, it seems my soul was never given that choice to make, so I suppose it's a moot point.

...but, I digress, so in answer to your question, my earliest memory was when I smelled the ocean's mist and felt my elbow crack as I came crashing down to the deck...but you know what? I think I've said enough.

Kids Who Die

2007-08-08T19:07:00.000-04:00

By Langston Hughes

This is for the kids who die,
Black and white,
For kids will die certainly.
The old and rich will live on awhile,
As always,
Eating blood and gold,
Letting kids die.

Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi
Organizing sharecroppers
Kids will die in the streets of Chicago
Organizing workers
Kids will die in the orange groves of California
Telling others to get together
Whites and Filipinos,
Negroes and Mexicans,
All kinds of kids will die
Who don’t believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment
And a lousy peace.

Of course, the wise and the learned
Who pen editorials in the papers,
And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names
White and black,
Who make surveys and write books
Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die,
And the sleazy courts,
And the bribe-reaching police,
And the blood-loving generals,
And the money-loving preachers
Will all raise their hands against the kids who die,
Beating them with laws and clubs and bayonets and bullets
To frighten the people—
For the kids who die are like iron in the blood of the people—
And the old and rich don’t want the people
To taste the iron of the kids who die,
Don’t want the people to get wise to their own power,
To believe an Angelo Herndon, or even get together

Listen, kids who die—
Maybe, now, there will be no monument for you
Except in our hearts
Maybe your bodies’ll be lost in a swamp
Or a prison grave, or the potter’s field,
Or the rivers where you’re drowned like Leibknecht
But the day will come—
Your are sure yourselves that it is coming—
When the marching feet of the masses
Will raise for you a living monument of love,
And joy, and laughter,
And black hands and white hands clasped as one,
And a song that reaches the sky—
The song of the life triumphant
Through the kids who die.

By Langston Hughes

Was the Baby Fat?

2007-08-07T15:07:00.000-04:00

"Where's the lady that lives here?! I need to talk to her, right now!" I was slightly panicked. No, I didn't think yelling would make her be there, but I hadn't thought this through that much.

"She's not here, she's still at work, she'll be back in an hour. You can wait here if you like," the girl at the door responded. This lady must be at least sixty years old, I thought. Where was she working? Anyway, it didn't matter. I had no choice. I had to wait.

The sun was beginning to set on this day--a long day. I had never thought the day would bring me here, I didn't even know this lady, but she's the only one that can answer my questions. Right now questions were all I could think of. I waited impatiently. Tapping on the wooden boards of the lady's porch and pacing back and forth. It was cold that day, unusually cold, but I didn't really care about that right now. Where is this lady?!

"I thought you'd come to see me, sooner or later," the lady said as she walked to her door. She was old and bundled up for the cold weather. I could barely see her face. "Yes, I knew your mother."

"I need to know everything," I said to her, "it's important."

"How did you finally figure it out?"

"I don't know. It just came to me this morning, then my mom had no answers for me. Look, I just need to know everything, please." Why am I so panicked? It's not like me to panic. We were inside now. We sat down in the living room, and I was anxiously waiting for her to start telling me something. There were tons of details around me that I could have noticed, like the rickety, old staircase that led up to what seemed to be darkness, or like the mess of papers and files on her shelves in the living room, or even the unusual odor that flowed through her house. But no, I didn't notice anything right now. I was just waiting for her to begin talking.

And just as the old woman had settled in, she finally began to speak, "I knew your mother years ago," she spoke slowly, "but first I had met your father. He was an older man that lived next door to me. He had the biggest house in that area and quite a lot of money, but he never did understand happiness. He was a brute of a man. After just one year of being married, his first wife left him on account of being beaten by him on occasion. It caused quite a stir in the neighborhood, that's how I came to know of it."

"Of course that wasn't your mother. Oh no. You see, your father had become more and more violent as he became older. With the passing of time, he had alienated everyone except for a few drinking buddies. The rest of the time he spent working and making more money. To take care of his big house, he brought home a young, orphaned girl from the village as a maid. She was 12 when she first came. She was a quiet child and she was worked like a slave by that man. One night..."

Suddenly, I knew where this was going.

The old woman continued talking, "One night, he came home drunk and looking to fill the missing void of woman in his life. A man like that could never understand love. He only understood money, power, and domination. The poor child was still innocent to the ways of the body...she didn't see it coming." The woman began to become uneasy. I knew where this was going. The splash in the teacup the old woman was holding told the whole story. But she continued anyway, "the child was raped by that man that day. She was only 12." She didn't have to say it.

The woman wiped away her tear, "I'm sorry, I was still young at the time, and when I saw the poor girl, I was heartbroken. It changed my perception of reality forever. When that man discovered that the little girl was pregnant, he sent her away. The poor child had no place to go. That's when she came to me. I didn't know what to do either, but I told her of a place where she could have the baby and the baby would be taken care of. She had you when she was 13. She had you, and she was carried away by the wind somewhere. I didn't hear from her again for many years, but..."

"You know where she is now?"

"Yes, do you want to meet her?" I couldn't believe this. What a day!

"Yea! of course. Can you take me right now?"

"Yes, come with me," the old woman had already begun to put her coat and scarf back on. "I am a tired old woman now, but I knew you would come, sooner or later."

The old woman led me to the local mega mart. A massive consumption moshpit that I had seldom visited. She took me through the aisles and pointed to a woman working at one of the cash registers. It can't be! I saw a woman. She wore a wrinkled white dress and a bandanna covering her hair. She wasn't slim, she was emaciated. She was still a young woman, I calculated, but her face wore the many years of poverty and torment. And in her eyes I could see the sorrow, her plight, and the plight of every such woman. My vision became blurry. She was a woman. She was my mother.

...

...

...

...

Awaken.

It was just a dream. Am I relieved? It was only a dream this time, but for so many it's not.

Every 2 minutes a woman is raped somewhere in the U.S. (61% of them are younger than 18).

Romney the Frontrunner

2007-08-06T14:02:00.000-04:00

Ronpaul
Uploaded by krs601

"Have you forgotten about 9/11?" Mitt Romney asks as he tries to interrupt Ron Paul. Why would Mitt Romney make that statement after Ron Paul had just said "This war had nothing to do with Al Qaeda." Also, George Bush earlier this year was asked, "What does Iraq have to do with 9/11?" To which Bush immediately and assertively answered, "NOTHING."

Why does Romney still approach the topic of the Iraq War with slogans like "Have you forgotten 9/11?" The reason is the continuing war on intellect in the United States. Presidential hopefuls are being elected based on their gut feelings, sloganeering, and appearances on television (i.e. subliminal marketing), rather than any meaningful discussions or intellectual thought. There is very little academic and multi-disciplinary approach to discussions on various issues, rather it's a stubborn pursuit of policymaking in favor of maintaining the status quo.

The bigger question is: Why are the people buying into this approach? And this is the pitfall. This is Fahrenheit 451 without actually burning any books, but rather the public is simply drawn away from engaging in intellectual thought or discussion so the books are effectively burned.

By the way, now that the debate is over, ABC wants to know who you think won.

Well there you have it. Mitt Romney clearly the frontrunner.

The Construction of an Ivory Tower?

2007-08-03T17:25:00.000-04:00

I wish to begin here with a disclaimer. Although this post may come across as a harsh criticism or an argument, I want to state that I only meant it as an observation. If I intend to criticize anyone, I include myself in that group. This is just my personal observation, and if anyone feels to the contrary, then please comment and add your thoughts. I will add more to this disclaimer after I further elucidate my observation.

It appears to me, and others as well, that as Muslim in America we have failed in establishing effective institutions that would engender positive growth, unity, and success. The two main institutions I am concerned with are schools and mosques. I understand that we have plenty of each in America, however, I am speaking more to the effectiveness rather than the quantity.

Schools
This is perhaps the most important institution in any society. Every form of state power has used this as the foremost tool in maintaining control. In a capitalist society, the emphasis has been to reproduce a large working class. The public school system is designed, not to educate our children, but rather to transform them into cogs and pegs of a larger economic machine. John Taylor Gatto, a former Manhattan public school teacher, states:

[W]e must wake up to what our schools really are: laboratories of experimentation on young minds, drill centers for the habits and attitudes that corporate society demands. Mandatory education serves children only incidentally; its real purpose is to turn them into servants.

For the sake of brevity, I won't discuss the details of the school systems, but the point is quite clear.

As Muslims, we are quite blessed because our traditions contain a long history of academic excellence. We have probably one of the better systems of education which lead to the establishment of institutions such as the University of Sankore in West Africa and others across the world. These institutions brought to life the hearts and minds of men, while Europe was still a daze in the Dark Ages.

So what is the point here? The point is, in America, why have we not seen the establishment of such institutions. The Islamic schools that I have observed are primarily institutions that mimic the American public school curriculum while adding on a Quran class. And even then, such institutions are poorly organized, poorly run, and dangerously underfunded. They remain unable to attract and keep educated teachers due to a plain inability to pay the salaries, despite the fact that the larger Muslim community that sends to such schools is generally wealthy. Thus, young Muslim parents are left with a tough decision as to how their children ought to be educated. Homeschooling seems to be the only viable option, but the practicality of instituting effective homeschooling in every household is questionable.

Meanwhile, American private schools, especially the most elite, have adopted a curriculum that encourages creativity, emphasizes intellectual thought, poetry, logic, etc. Thus, we have abandoned our traditions in favor of the brainwashing American public school curriculum, while the American private schools have held fast to a superior system. The aim in the American class system is to let the working class parents have working class kids, and the ruling class produce the future rulers. Thus, almost all power and influence in this country is relegated to very, very small circles, small groups, a handful of families. So why emulate the public schools and discard our own rich traditions?

Mosques
Similar to the problem of schools, we are unable to establish fully functional mosques. Although the number of mosques throughout the more concentrated Muslim areas is quite sufficient, the effectiveness is still questionable. I agree that there are some that run far more smoothly than others but still not near being ideal Islamic Institutions. The mosque has been another cornerstone in the establishment of the Islamic Empire. Mosques served as a place for socialization, as a place for scholarly interchange of ideas, as a place for spiritual meditation, as a place for exchange of poetry and creativity, as a place of refuge for poor, needy, and travelers, and so on. However, in America, the mosques simply serve as host to Friday prayers and the night prayers during Ramadan.

Aside from the political divisions in many mosques today, which serve more to drive people away, there are many other glaring shortcomings one can find.

First, mosques are poorly run administratively. This is simply because they do not have the ability to hire someone qualified to run the finances and produce efficiency in their books.

Second, mosques are poor organized. Although the people are friendly and there aren't any glaring sectarian divisions, their just isn't anyone willing to organize the activities of the mosque in an orderly fashion. The end result of this is that people interested in seeking knowledge are turned away simply because they have no way of finding out where and what time a certain class is taught. There's no one in the offices, there's no one manning the phones, and there's no website (or an inadequate website).

Third, women and youth are alienated. Programs for women are few and far in between or women are situated behind barriers that don't allow them to fully participate in the programs. The voice of the youth is rarely heard and oft criticized. The mosque leaders are stubborn in giving way to allow the sons and daughters of the mosques to perhaps have some influence. As Imam Zaid Shakir says on this point:

Many of our youth are also blocked from any effective involvement in the affairs of the mosque, even if they are highly motivated religiously. They gain the impression that they have to wait for the "uncles" to die before they can have any say in the running of the mosque

Fourth, mosques often gear programs towards the largest present immigrant groups and ignore the minority convert population. Many times the spokesperson of the mosque or the imam communicates in poorly spoken English with a thick accent, making it difficult for many that are unfamiliar with accents to comprehend.

And finally, the mosques are sometimes just plain filthy. Mosque leadership have not done enough to ensure cleanliness and a pleasant aroma (or at least a neutral aroma).

The Ivory Tower
So what is the conclusion here? My main point is not that the above institutions are plagued with shortcomings. My main concern is that the Muslim community in America possesses ALL of the tools and resources necessary to eradicate these problems, yet we are unable to do so. We possess, masha'Allah, scholars at many levels in various subjects. We possess a healthy population of 25-35 year old, well educated, professional, visionaries who are motivated religiously. Finally, we possess wealth. What we lack is the wherewithal to put it all together.

So what is the problem here? We have formed institutions such as the Islamic Society of North America and Islamic Circle of North America filled with some of the most brilliant scholars we possess, but we face some of the same fundamental issues. New think tanks like Institute for Social Policy and Understanding (ISPU) have been setup and their impact remains to be seen. The following is not my conclusion, but rather a thought that I just want to throw out there. Have we formed an academic ivory tower where the scholars discuss problems and solutions amongst themselves but there is not enough reaching out to the common man? Have the visionaries and the people of knowledge not done enough to reach out to the smaller mosques and the smaller communities. And don't get me wrong, I don't mean to criticize the scholars, Allah knows, we need more of them, and I am thankful these people have made sacrifices in their lives in pursuit of helping our community.

Which brings me to my next thought, if the scholars/thinkers have indeed reached out to the communities, then do we not possess enough scholars? The youth in our communities are being pushed (almost always in the immigrant communities) into careers such as medicine, engineering, law, and IT. Very few venture into the study of Islamic sciences in conjunction with high level studies in the various social sciences and liberal arts.

The conclusion is thus twofold. There is a shortage of thinkers, scholars, and visionaries. And at another level, the thinkers that do exist have thought out solutions, but there are not enough efforts in materializing their visions (either because the communities are not receptive to them or they have not fully reached out to the communities). Thus, it results in the construction of an ivory tower, where scholarly thoughts are left among the scholars, seldomly reaching the common man in any meaningful way.

Again, I don't intend to criticize the scholars (I love and respect every single one of them), but I do encourage that they reach out to ALL of the smaller communities and help establish better institutions based on a better vision. And I encourage all of the small communities to gather the best and brightest and to use ALL of the tools at their disposal (and we have many) to whole-heartedly assist the scholars in materializing this vision.

The Tempter's Visit

2007-08-03T01:12:00.000-04:00

Now I may not recall everything that happened that hot, dusty afternoon in mid-September, in fact, I don't recall any of it, but I suppose it went something like this. I was only an infant incapable of even balancing my own neck when he came to me. That was the first time I met him.

As I lay in my bed swaddled up like a caterpillar in a cocoon and my dear mother on my side busy in her daily chores, his dark and dreary figure began to take shape. This was perhaps the only time I could have seen him in his true ugliness, but like I said, I don't recall. And there I lay trying desperately to understand this whole new world equipped with only a little tongue and appendanges which I couldn't even begin to control. He took one look at my soft, chubby body, which everyone in the world had characterized as the cutest thing they'd ever seen and quickly he became disgusted.

"Ah, you foul creature of mud," he scoffed, "is this what I am supposed to bow to? You don't even know who I am..."

"You are just another pebble in the vile progeny of dirt. I am from the most superior smokeless fire--you don't stand a chance against me. I swore an oath to destroy you and your kind ever since that day I first met your father, and soon, I shall destroy your soul."

"Your beloved prophets have come and gone, and now this world is a playground for me. Can you hear me?"

I couldn't take my eyes off him, and I struggled, oh how I struggled! I struggled to remember this day and remember the words that he spoke.

He continued his arrogant soliloquoy, "I hate you and I will always lead you astray. And yet you are so powerless. I just told you that I hate you, but you'll still hear me out when I give you advice. And people will warn you about me, and in fact, you might warn others about me, but you'll still hear me out."

"I'll come when you are weak in spirit and lead you away from Him. I'll come when you are strong on the path to Him and I'll fill your heart with pride and arrogance. I'll come at dawn and remind you how important your sleep is. I'll come when you are wealthy and I'll make you love yourself. I'll come when you are destitute and make you question His existence."

He began to smile, that smile, that devilish smile. I could only stare. "I have no control over you, but you will still listen to me," he laughed a bit as he said that.

My mother, still busy in her chores, thought of me as she muttered, "Oh Allah, I seek refuge with you for my son from Shaytan, the accursed."

He stopped laughing. "I'll be back," he said and in that second, he was gone. I knew I wouldn't remember any of this. And slowly, with every jiggle of the keys, with every clap of the hands, with every lullabye sung, I forgot everything...

Welcome to Manzanar?

2007-08-01T14:45:00.002-04:00

The issue of Muslim internment camps in America for the duration of the "War on Terror" has been tossed around here and there. But how much weight does that opinion actually carry?

We are all probably familiar with the ravings of Daniel Pipes, a columnist, author, Director of the Middle East Forum. In his article on "Why the Japanese Internment Still Matters," he writes:

For years, it has been my position that the threat of radical Islam implies an imperative to focus security measures on Muslims. If searching for rapists, one looks only at the male population. Similarly, if searching for Islamists (adherents of radical Islam), one looks at the Muslim population.

In an article in the Rocky Mountain News, Pipes implied that relocation of Muslims to internment camps would be a good idea. This comes as no surprise.

The other proponent of this idea is Michelle Malkin, neo-conservative columnist, author, and contributor to Fox News. She, of course, has written a book titled In Defense of Internment. She hopes to reinvigorate the public debate of whether internment camps are a good idea for national security. As she says: "Civil liberties are not sacrosanct." Her book has been the main premise on which many other ultra-right wingers call for internment of Muslim-Americans.

Perhaps another player in the media that has raised some eyebrows lately is Glen Beck of CNN Headline News. He has gone on record to say:

All you Muslims who have sat on your frickin' hands the whole time and have not been marching in the streets and have not been saying, 'Hey, you know what? There are good Muslims and bad Muslims. We need to be the first ones in the recruitment office lining up to shoot the bad Muslims in the head.' I'm telling you, with God as my witness... human beings are not strong enough, unfortunately, to restrain themselves from putting up razor wire and putting you on one side of it.

That statement was made on his radio show, on his TV show, he had this to say:

You want the profiling to stop? Then, here's an idea. Stop murdering innocent people. Stop excusing the people who do. You do that for a while, and I guarantee you won't have any more problems at the airports. Stop blowing stuff up and the world just might be your oyster. Otherwise, it's going to be like that movie, The Siege. You remember that movie? The Muslims will see the West through razor wire if things don't change.

Glen Beck is known for his extremist remarks. This is precisely why he has held down a primetime spot on CNN Headline News--people are actually tuning into Headline News now. Many times he shoots himself in the foot by going so far that he kills his credibility even with people that might sympathize with neoconservatives.

Finally, there was this statement made on Fox News by columnist, Cal Thomas:

How much longer should we allow people from certain lands with certain beliefs to come to Britain and America and build their mosques, teach hate and plot to kill us? OK, let's have the required disclaimer. Not all Muslims from the Middle East and South Asia want to kill us, but those who do blend in with those who don't.

Would anyone tolerate a slow spreading cancer because it wasn't fast spreading? Probably not. You'd want it removed.

Thomas's remarks came after the recent terror plot in London. Although he does not come out and state specifically that there ought to be internment camps, he states quite clearly that the "slow spreading cancer," which is the non-extremist Muslims, should be removed from the US population.

In any case, the foregoing were all columnists, TV show hosts, authors, etc. And the number of lesser known radio hosts and bloggers that support Muslim internment is increasing steadily. I understand that such people have a tremendous amount of ability in influencing the policymakers, but I still feel that these are fairly extremist positions. There are numerous equally influential people ready to condemn the opinions of the above.

So why bring this up now?
I bring this up now because the country is run a little differently than we probably have been led to believe. The Executive Branch has given itself so much power, that we need not be concerned with anything except the whims of the President and his advisors. The domestic and foreign policies are essentially being dictated by executive orders directly from the President. The same executive orders that were used by Franklin D. Roosevelt to institute the Japanese Internment Camps back in the 1940's.

So is this Administration likely to reinstate the Internment Camps? Remember, the Korematsu Decision by the Supreme Court which upheld the Internment Camps has never been overturned therefore it is still good law. And anyway, it is in the power of the President to neglect Supreme Court decisions (President Jackson sends Cherokee Indians thousands of miles away to Okhlahoma despite Supreme Court decision to the contrary).

I would say the possibility is not outrageous. Considering, this article from last year:

A Halliburton subsidiary has just received a $385 million contract from the Department of Homeland Security to provide "temporary detention and processing capabilities."

* * *

"Almost certainly this is preparation for a roundup after the next 9/11 for Mid-Easterners, Muslims and possibly dissenters," says Daniel Ellsberg, a former military analyst who in 1971 released the Pentagon Papers, the U.S. military's account of its activities in Vietnam. "They've already done this on a smaller scale, with the 'special registration' detentions of immigrant men from Muslim countries, and with Guantanamo."

So Halliburton is already ready to build concentration camps in undisclosed locations in the United States in case of a "national emergency." Well there you have it. Regardless of how much the radioheads talk and liberals oppose, it doesn't matter. All we can hope is that this is another one of those junk contracts that only exists to embezzle money from the taxpayers into the pockets of Halliburton execs (funny how that's the best case scenario).

My suggestion is that we should not shrug off the possibility of Muslim Internment--I don't think it's that far-fetched. The book I referenced in my title is "Farewell to Manzanar," which is a memoir by a Japanese woman who had lived through Manzanar Detention Facility as a little girl. It might be a good book to pick up.

There's also a propaganda video issued by the US government regarding Japanese Internment during World War II:

What can I say? We live in interesting times.

Emperors and Pirates

2007-07-29T02:02:00.000-04:00

I found this surprisingly well made Schoolhouse Rock parody called Emperors and Pirates. Is there any difference between the two?

Nicely done.

The Ocean's Treasure

2007-07-27T18:34:00.000-04:00

How long will you ramble on the shore of the ocean, close your eyes to the wonders of the Quran? Was it not your duty to sail to the midst of the fathomless ocean of these meanings in order to see their wonders, to travel to their islands in order to gather their best produce, and to dive into their depths so that you might become rich by obtaining their jewels? Do you not feel ashamed of being deprived of their pearls and jewels by your persistence in looking at their shores and outward appearances?

Has it not come to your knowledge that the Quran is like an ocean and that it is from the Quran that the sciences of the ancients and the moderns branch off, just as rivers and brooks branch off from the shores of an ocean? Why do you not emulate those people who waded through their waves and thus gained red brimstone, dived into their depths and thus drew out red corundum, shining pearls, and green chrysolite, traveled along their coasts and thus gathered grey ambergris and fresh blooming aloe-wood, and became attached to their islands and thus derived from the animals the greatest antidote and the strongest musk?

As the most precious of these corundums is the greatest and the most rare to find, and because of its rarity [even] kings can only get possession of a little of it whereas they may sometimes gain much of what is inferior to it, so also knowledge of divine essence is the narrowest in scope, most difficult to acquire, most puzzling to thought, and furthest from receiving discussion. This is the reason why the Quran contains only notes and indications of this knowledge. . .

Are Cage Free Eggs Really Cage Free?

2007-07-24T17:08:00.001-04:00

When I noticed that my grocery store now had the more expensive option of purchasing "Cage Free" eggs, I jumped on the opportunity and permanently switched from the usual, 20 hens per square inch eggs. However, it was brought to my attention, and numerous articles were written about it, that the "Cage Free" phenomenon is a new fad and is heavily under regulated. Therefore, even though the label carries "Cage Free," it only really means that the egg laying hens are kept in slightly larger cages. Very disturbing indeed.

Today I went ahead and emailed the Consumer Services department of Egg Innovations (which is the Cage Free eggs I buy most frequently):

I'm a long time purchaser of your "Cage Free" egg products. Recently I've heard that "Cage Free" does not mean that the egg laying hens are free roaming or free grazing (as in an idyllic barnyard scene), but rather they are in cages slightly bigger and they are still debeaked. What guarantees can you make about your product that the hens are not debeaked or kept up in slightly larger cages? Please let me know. I am a concerned consumer. If I do not receive a response, I will probably go ahead and no longer purchase any egg products. Thank you.

I believe that last bit about not buying egg products anymore is what's responsible for the prompt response, which I received in about 10 mins (website said 2 business days). Here's the response:

Your assurance of our animal welfare commitment is the fact that we are certified by the Humane Farmed Animal Care program. Their standards are posted on both their and our website and they routinely perform audits of our facilities.

Not very detailed, but at least he pointed me in some direction. So I checked the guidelines of the Humane Farmed Animal Care (HFAC) program. I haven't had the opportunity to read through all the guidelines, but I glanced at just a few. Perhaps, someone out there can point out something I might have missed.

Debeaking
According the HFAC debeaking is not allowed under any circumstances, however, they do allow something known as beak trimming. Apparently, beak trimming allows the hens to keep enough beak to eat and preen, but not enough to hurt other hens. The process leaves the hens in pain, however, if it is done on a chick younger than 10 days, then the pain is not long term. HFAC guidelines requires that it must be done on a chick younger than 10 days or not at all.

Free Range Requirement
Under HFAC, the hens are allowed to go outside for at least 4 hours a day and must have adequate exit systems that allow for more than one hen to leave at a time.

Housing
Under HFAC, the hens are no longer kept in cages that look like this:

They are still kept in a rather packed metallic barn looking enclosure. The HFAC website provides a picture. It seems that the hens are still crowded in one area, however, they can move around and stretch their wings.

As you can see from some of the above pictures of the Cage Free hens, they are still crowded in together. Beak trimming would probably not be necessary if the hens were given more space for themselves.

Conclusion
So what is your conclusion about the "Cage Free" eggs? It would appear that the idyllic barnyard scene that we were all raised with is gone and it's not coming back. Unless, of course, we move out to the country and raise our own hens or purchase from poor family farmers that raise their hens this way (both are more difficult to accomplish but not overall impossible).

As compared to the regular supermarket eggs laid by debeaked, caged hens in extremely depressing/disturbing egg factories, it would appear that the Cage Free scenario is a slight improvement. Although the hens are still cooped up, at least they can move around and go outside for at least 4 hours/day. If there is still a desire to purchase eggs at all, given a choice between Cage Free and regular--Cage Free seems like the better option. But this should not be a sense of security (i.e. that as a consumer, I can now buy without a guilty conscience). I believe that alternatives should still be very actively and perhaps aggressively sought. Alternatives such as small time family farms that raise a modest amount of hens the old fashioned way. If it is possible to send our dollar bills that way, we should all absolutely do so.

Remember the days when all a chicken had to worry about was...
...a feisty, young chicken hawk?

Arrivers at the Feast

2007-07-23T19:58:00.000-04:00

Shall we reflect on some poorly translated poetry?

Oh fresh arrivers at the feast of heart's desires
Beware if you have desire for flute and drink

Look at me if you have an eye that can see warning
Listen to me if you have an ear that can heed advice

The bartender with his glory--an enemy of faith and awareness
The musician with his melody--a highwayman of dignity and judgment

Either at night we used to see that every corner of the feast
Is the apron of the gardener* or the fist of the flower seller

The grace of the movement of the bartender; the relish of the voice of the lute
This is a heaven of the eye, that is a paradise of the ear

Or else come into the gathering at the break of dawn, and look!
There is neither that joy and ardor, nor turmoil, nor commotion

Burned by the scar of separation from companionship of the night
One candle has remained--thus it too is extinguished

* apron of the gardener refers to the fact that the gardener is using his apron to bring in a lot of flowers that he has collected

Poem by Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib, written probably in 1827 or 1828 in Delhi, India. Get the full ghazal in Urdu Script here (if you can read Urdu script).

My Comments:
The feast is all of the desires that exist in the dunya. The poet seems to single out music and alcohol to represent the rest of the desires of the world.

The night time (when the feast is in full effect), is the current life and youth. When the dawn arrives, there is no longer any joy left--only desolation. And that last candle that's still barely lit becomes extinguished. The dawn seems to represent death or an age very close to death.

Sacrificing the night in favor of the temporal desires wasn't worth it. In the end, there's only spiritual emptiness, which one realizes in the dawn after the party has ended. Though the charms of the barkeeper and the flute player were too much resist, it seems that they brought nothing except a cheap temporal sedation of the spirit. As it wears off, the groggy traveler wakes up to find that he hasn't moved anywhere in his journey, and his end is near--if only he had continued traveling throughout the night...if only...

They say the only real depression is when the believer finds himself/herself distant from Allah...

Your thoughts?

A Brief Political Comment

2007-07-20T11:16:00.000-04:00

For those that know me, I try not to get too involved politically. I find that there are far too many inherent biases in the system such that a true democracy is wholly undermined. Perhaps it is better to stick with John Perkin's term--corporatocracy, rather than democracy.

And so I wanted to make a brief comment about the inherent biases in the system. Let me also start by stating that I don't believe Muslims in America have anything to gain from involvement in the political process, in my humble opinion. There is a view that such is the only valid route for the community. However, knowing fully how the system works, I highly doubt this conclusion. (I'm hoping that the people who makes this claim have a knowledge of the system beyond "I'm Just a Bill Sitting on Capitol Hill") (see below for more on this cartoon). Also, I am only discussing one aspect in this post, I recognize that this is a multi-faceted issue. But I do believe that this represents the larger issue pretty well.

One of the tell-tale flaws of the system is that the people don't have a choice (contrary to the U.S. Constitution). Very soon primary season is going to kick off and people will have a chance to vote for who should represent each party (which is an inherent bias in itself because the views of only two parties are represented). However, the candidates still around during primary season will not reflect the people's choice. The emphasis in the Republican side has been entirely on Giuliani, Mitt Romney, and even Fred Thompson (thanks to Rupert Murdoch and the media). The media have consistently ignored any other candidates in any of their discussions and analysis of debates, leaving the people to believe that there are no other viable candidates. I went to the National Republican Senatorial Committee (NRSC) website and I voted in their polls for who ought to be the Republican nominee. Here were the results according to their poll:

Ahhh. Isn't that interesting! Ron Paul is second right behind Fred Thompson. Who is Ron Paul? An allegedly minor candidate whom the media leaves out of their political segments. In a previous poll run by the NRSC, Ron Paul was not included as one of the candidates. Various other polls often leave him off as a choice. And what are the political leanings of Ron Paul?

Ron Paul is vehemently anit-war (he was also opposed to the Civil War). He is against US intervention in any foreign affairs. He is for the individual freedom and for less government regulations and involvement in the life of Americans. He is against subsidizing oil companies. In a nutshell, he is for citizens and AGAINST the interests big business (big business = US foreign intervention). And for this reason, Ron Paul, despite being well liked by the citizens AND well supported (as the polls indicate), will not be a major factor even around primary time. The whole emphasis will be on Giuliani vs. whoever. This is precisely why the system is flawed. The interests of the people are not taken care of, as in a democracy, but rather the interests of business are favored, as in a corporatocracy.

Our involvement in this system therefore would be futile, in my opinion. On the national level and even state level, success goes beyond fielding a popular candidate. Even leading in the opinion polls is not enough. There are far greater forces at play and forces that we have to deal with. I believe that emphasis should be placed on how to deal with the reality of things, rather than the fantasy of a just democratic system.

There are some Muslims who have a plan or perhaps a greater understanding than I do of the political system and so I don't mean to disparage or discourage such involvement. I only wish to state that before any of us decide to achieve anything systemically, we should first take a step back and recognize the system for what it is rather than what it ought to be.

Definitely catch Alex Andalus's discussion written prior to the 2004 elections: Why I Won't Vote

And also be sure to read Br. Naeem's post on this issue.

If you watched the "I'm Just a Bill Sitting on Capitol Hill" cartoon by Schoolhouse Rock (which is an entertaining number), it's interesting to watch two other clips that parody Schoolhouse Rock and might be much more accurate to real life.

From the Daily Show:

From The Simpsons:

The Flight of the Bumble Bee

2007-07-17T15:37:00.000-04:00

Are the bees leaving us? Has it come time for the many beneficial creations that we've abused and ignored to leave? I guess it's no surprise. We humans make for terrible neighbors. When we move in all the other creatures say "there goes the neighborhood."

Apparently, bees, by the thousands, are leaving us. Some articles have reported bees to be just plain disappearing:

In October Hackenberg had delivered honeybees to a Florida farm to pollinate crops. The bees typically return to their boxed hives when their work is done. But this time was different.

'I came to pick up 400 bee colonies and the bees had just flat-out disappeared,' Hackenberg said. 'There were no dead bees, no bees on the ground, just empty boxes.'

'In almost 50 years as a beekeeper, I've never seen anything like it.'

Eerily vanishing or perhaps sent away (not unlike the Lorax sending away the fish).

Other articles are reporting a mysterious illness taking all the bees away:

He had expected to see mites or amoebas, perennial pests of bees. Instead, he found internal organs swollen with debris and strangely blackened. The bees' intestinal tracts were scarred, and their rectums were abnormally full of what appeared to be partly digested pollen. Dark marks on the sting glands were telltale signs of infection.

Perhaps this is a lesson for us. If one by one we lose the little creatures that make our existence possible, what will become of us? Will we then realize we should have done our part as khalifas/trustees/stewards of this planet?

Another thought that strikes me as odd is why isn't this a bigger deal? Bees are so crucial in pollination of plants that this could be disastrous. Why is it that we can read these articles and this blog post and still not care? I wonder if it's because we've moved so far away from the natural world, that we've completely lost our sense of understanding and feeling for it. We surround ourselves 24/7 in an artificial world. Artificially designed landscapes, artificial buildings, fake grass, plastic plants, artificial light, the naturalscapes and native cultures are museumized to the extent that visiting the woods is similar to visiting a museum to see dinosaur bones. And so, as the bees are packing their bags and leaving...we are not noticing.

Forgive me for editorializing. One last article that I read points out that even though bees are disappearing in other parts, there haven't been any losses for organic bee farmers:

[No] one in the organic beekeeping world, including commercial beekeepers, is reporting colony collapse on this list. The problem with the big commercial guys is that they put pesticides in their hives to fumigate for varroa mites, and they feed antibiotics to the bees. They also haul the hives by truck all over the place to make more money with pollination services, which stresses the colonies.

Ahhh...so this might be all on us, after all...

Well...regardless of what the cause is, I find it very eerie and distressing that the bees are leaving, although I can understand why they might want to leave. I guess we humans are a tough bunch to live with.

Dictator's Checklist

2007-07-16T01:13:00.000-04:00

Excerpt taken from Mander, Jerry. Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television. Perennial, 1977.

"Imagine that like some kind of science fiction dictator you intended to rule the world. You would probably have pinned over your desk a list something like this:

[1] Eliminate personal knowledge.

Make it hard for people to know about themselves, how they function, what a human being is, or how a human fits into wider, natural systems. This will make it, impossible for the human to separate natural from artificial, real from unreal. You provide the answers to all questions.

[2] Eliminate points of comparison.

Comparisons can be found in earlier societies, older language forms and cultural artifacts, including print media. Eliminate or museumize indigenous cultures, wilderness and nonhuman life forms. Re-create internal human experience—instincts, thoughts, and spontaneous, varied feelings—so that it will not evoke the past.

[3] Separate people from each other.

Reduce interpersonal communication through life-styles that emphasize separateness. When people gather together, be sure it is for a prearranged experience that occupies all their attention at once. Spectator sports are excellent, so are circuses, elections, and any spectacles in which focus is outward and interpersonal exchange is subordinated to mass experience.

[4] Unify experience, especially encouraging mental experience at the expense of sensory experience.

Separate people's minds from their bodies, as in sense-deprivation experiments, thus clearing the mental channel for implantation. Idealize the mind. Sensory experience cannot be eliminated totally, so it should be driven into narrow areas. An emphasis on sex as opposed to sense may be useful because it is powerful enough to pass for the whole thing and it has a placebo effect.

[5] Occupy the -mind. Once people are isolated in their minds, fill the brain with prearranged experience and thought.

Content is less important than the fact of the mind being filled. Free-roaming thought is to be discouraged at all costs, because it is difficult to control.

[6] Encourage drug use.

Recognize that total repression is impossible and so expressions of revolt must be contained on the personal level. Drugs will fill in the cracks of dissatisfaction, making people unresponsive to organized expressions of resistance.

[7] Centralize knowledge and information.

Having isolated people from each other and minds from bodies; eliminated points of comparison; discouraged sensory experience; and invented technologies to unify and control experience, speak. At this point whatever comes from outside will enter directly into all brains at the same time with great power and believability.

[8] Redefine happiness and the meaning of life in terms of new and increasingly uprooted philosophy.

Once you've established the prior seven conditions, this one is easy. Anything makes sense in a void. All channels are open, receptive and unquestioning. Formal mind structuring is simple. Most important, avoid naturalistic philosophies, they lead to uncontrollable awareness. The least resistible philosophies are the most arbitrary ones, those that make sense only in terms of themselves."

Excerpt taken from Mander, Jerry. Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television. Perennial, 1977.

The Untitled Story Project (Part 2 of X)

2007-07-02T15:28:00.000-04:00

As the stench of greed rained down from that haunting green sky, the Board continued its discussion. "Mr. Construction Chairman, I have Mr. Oil Chairman on line one," the voice over the intercom said.

"Put him through. Mr. Oil, long time no talk. I imagine you're doing well."

"Mr. Construction, I've got a problem. I talked to the Premier, I understand that you also have a problem. I have a feeling that we can come to a common solution to our problems. Perhaps you've heard of the idealistic young leader in the Near East?"

"I have."

"He seems to be interfering with our plans for that country. As I see it, his removal would be most advantageous to us, however, it's not that simple. His untimely demise could spell rampant chaos across the country, and any new government would spur an insurgency--"

"In other words, you are delivering the war I requested."

"All I need is your support in selling this war."

"How does it begin?"

"Oh, just leave that to the professionals. All you have to do is fund the support for war and get your boys ready to do some rebuilding--"

Under a red sky, halfway around the world in an ancient town, now infested with traffic jams and excessive carbon emissions, Kamal looked around frantically for his car. He always parked it under the old palm tree by Obaidi's gate, they never used to mind before. Frustrated and late for work, Kamal took a taxi to the local police station to inquire about his car.

"Your car registration expired, so we had to tow it," the officer hadn't looked up towards Kamal yet.

"I HAD my registration! Where did they tow it?"

"Don't raise your voice with me. Your car is outside, but I can't let you drive it out of here. New regulation says all unregistered vehicles are towed to the military barracks for further inspection and registration. Can't be too sure these days," the officer continued to read his magazine.

"So what do you want me to do!!"

"Calm down, son, calm down. Just pay me a little 'release fee,' and I'll let you drive your car to the barracks, so you don't run up a big taxi bill. And maybe you'll get to work on time."

Kamal had no time to argue or fight for justice, he was late. He hurried to the military compound frequently checking his wristwatch. This job had been a blessing for him and his family. He couldn't afford to lose it over a few corrupt cops. He was in such a rush to get this ordeal over with, he failed to realize that his car was slightly heavier than before. Actually, he did realize it, just as he approached the military complex, but figured he would check it out during the inspection.

As he drove past the security, he looked at his wristwatch one last time which had stopped moving, but he continued to hear some ticking. Kamal tried to stop and jump out of his car but the immense explosion erupted as he reached for the door handle. The smell of burnt flesh and rubber covered the area as the building began to collapse into a pile of rubble. Kamal didn't know it, but the President of his country was visiting the complex that day to address some of the troops. Kamal had rushed out of the house without reading the paper because he was late for work.

It took several days to put out the conflagration from the eruption. The reports indicated that 400 people were killed that day including Kamal and the President. It was reported as a suicide bombing masterminded by an anti-democracy rebel army. It was also the worst single act of peacetime terrorism that region had ever seen. Kamal's picture from his office identification card would make it to television sets around the world as the suicide bomber that set off a new world war.

Untitled Story Project (Part 1 of X)

Ecological Footprint

2007-06-29T17:03:00.000-04:00

Looks like I'm going straight to Hell...according to this Ecological Footprint test, if everyone on the planet lived my lifestyle, we'd need 3.8 Planet Earths. I use up 17 acres of land just for myself when on average there are 4.5 biologically productive acres of land available person in the whole world (Average American uses 24 acres). May Allah help me!

See how many planets your lifestyle would destroy...take the test

Ecological Footprint Test

On the Death of an Innocent

2007-06-26T22:47:00.000-04:00

A friend has suffered a tremendous loss today. He lost his daughter before he even had a chance to meet her. Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon (To Allah we all belong, and to Him we shall return). May Allah grant him and his wife patience to deal with the loss.

I remember a year ago when I attended the funeral of another young traveler. My cousin had lost her second child in two years. As we buried the young one next to his older brother (each having lived one or two days on Earth), I thought here we are standing on this planet and shedding tears for the young ones, but there they were looking up at us and shedding tears for us. Their existence in this world was a day of nothing but suffering and death pangs. They were sinless souls purged of everything impure and now resting and waiting to enter Paradise. Insha'Allah, they would also find their parents and guide them into Paradise.

And then there we stood, centuries old with some years spent in misguidance, and some years in disobedience. We sat through nuisances of existence yet never truly suffered. We experienced heart break, sickness, stress of work and school, pressure ...yet we still never truly suffered. At the end, we were fat sleep o'nights. Then I understood. I understood who ought to be crying for whom. May Allah guide us all.

The Untitled Story Project (Part 1 of X)

2007-06-26T14:32:00.000-04:00

Under a gray sky at midmorning, at a time when the world was in turmoil, two men walked out on to the street. It was a normal day, like any other day, in the ghetto--those droopy brick public housing buildings, those dilapidated and abandoned warehouses, that smell of industry, a fried chicken place on one side, a liquor store on the other, a crowd of people in front of the corner convenient store.

The men weren't from around there. Most out-of-towners were afraid to walk through this neighborhood. The university students from two blocks away did their best to not wander off the university property. An extra police force was hired to make sure no one from this neighborhood wanders into the university. The ubiquitous police cars constantly circled around the university. Deep into the ghetto, only a few police cars would wander in to randomly search the denizens. The way those police officers saw it, if they violated the rights of 50 people in the ghetto and one of them had drugs--they would consider that a good day. Down the street, in the university, if the police had searched 50 students, 27 would have drugs. But that
would never happen, those students were paying lots of money to go there, so the police circled the university protecting the students.

The men wore matching black kufis but they dressed entirely differently. As they walked through the streets, random denizens would greet them with a "As salaam alaikum." They would respond and move on with an occasional handshake. That's how it was for the brothers with the kufis.

They began to grow weary from the uphill walk and all the supplies they had in hand--a folded up wooden easel, a heavy book bag, and a large pad of paper tucked tightly under arm. As they walked, a large dilapidated warehouse came into view. This city was filled with many such warehouses when all the businesses abandoned the city after the Great Riot, but there was something different about this one. It had the same cruddy exterior with paint scratching off. It had the same boarded up windows and moldy interior. What was so different about this building, which looked like it was ready to be torn down, was that on the north side a group of five year olds lined up ready to go inside. The sign read "New Hope Day Care." And this is where the men stopped.

Under a green sky, some miles away, where the skyscrapers stood, the Board gathered for discussion. On the top floor of the tallest skyscraper, the black suited "gentlemen" of the Company gathered around the 30 person table. The table was made from the wood of the rare trees from the far away rainforests. The wood was ever more expensive now as the forests were shrinking rapidly.

"Gentlemen, we're losing money!" the Chairman said as he pounded his old, wrinkled fist on the wooden table. "We need some new ideas."

"Mr. Chairman," a younger suit spoke up, "if I may make a suggestion. We're losing money because not enough people are building these days. Perhaps the world no longer really needs any luxury buildings. Our statistics show that more people on this planet are homeless and we've already built far too many buildings for the tiny wealthy elite. Perhaps we should consider building some homes."

"Nonsense!" the old man stood up. "There's no money in building homes. I want more offices, more embassies, more castles, more forts, and more military complexes, and I want them now."

"Well...sir," another suit said, "we did a lot of work after the destruction in the War of 91, perhaps if there was another war..."

"That's it!" the old man shouted, "gentlemen, I want a new war, and I want it now. I want shock and awe and massive infrastructure destruction. Get me the Premier, immediately."

Untitled Story Project (Part 2 of X)

The Lorax (from Youtube)

2007-06-24T12:29:00.000-04:00

A film version of Dr. Seuss's "The Lorax." An early vision of the destructive nature of imperial capitalism. The Lorax puts his whole life into speaking for the trees and speaking against the corporate kingpin, Mr. Once-ler.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

That march of the refugee fish is powerful.

Hadith on Planting Trees

2007-06-23T16:26:00.000-04:00

Just to emphasize the point of the previous post and to further illuminate the discussion in the comment area, here is the hadith (tradition of the Prophet Muhammad (saw)) regarding trees.

"Jabir b. 'Abdullah (Allah be pleased with them) reported: I heard Allah's Messenger (may peace be upon him) saying: Never does a Muslim plant [trees], or cultivate, but has reward for him for what the beasts eat, or the birds eat or anything else eats out of that."

Reported in Sahih Muslim, Book 10 Number 3766.

Reflections on Trees

2007-06-22T16:31:00.000-04:00

Joyce Kilmer said:

"I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day.
And lifts her leafy arms to pray:
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me.
But only God can make a tree."

The marvel of the tree does not end there. Perhaps there isn't another thing on Earth that brings beauty, wisdom, social value, and ecological utility to this planet than the tree.

Trees lower air temperature by evaporating water in their leaves. On average, the shade of a tree lowers temperature about 20 degrees.

Trees improve water quality by filtering rain water and protecting watersheds. Tree roots, meanwhile, prevent soil erosion and stabilize the soil.

Trees provide shelter and food for animals. Forests tremendously increase biodiversity.

Trees cut down noise pollution by acting as sound barriers.

An acre of trees absorb as much carbon as produced by a car driven 8,700 miles. Two average trees can produce enough oxygen to support a family a four. One acre of trees removes 2.6 tons of carbon dioxide per year.

Trees provide wood for housing, furniture, and everything else as well as paper.

Trees provide our planet with unsurpassed beauty and can provide companionship for those who know--not to mention joy for climbers young and old and shade for picnickers.

For those that seek to make the world better, know that a tree is better for our planet than we can even begin to imagine--so, plant a tree.

"The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago...the second best time is now."

National Arbor Day Foundation

The National Arbor Day Foundation lets you purchase trees to plant in your backyard and it also allows you to fund the planting of trees in other parts of the world including the Gallatin Forest in Wyoming or the Amazon Rainforest.

Perhaps there are some other avenues to planting trees, please let me know if you any.

Now as the trees of the world bow in worship of Allah, and Allah commands them to provide for us and our ecosystems, we, in our infinite wisdom, have decided to destroy their existence. Chopping trees for lumber and paper and other products is, of course, necessary, however, the unsustainable cutting down of trees is criminal. We are chopping down more trees than the Earth can produce and we are doing so for no good reason aside from stuffing our homes with useless paper products, cardboard packaging, brown paper bags at the grocery store, rolls and rolls of toilet paper, and I don't know what else.

Useless consumption and a lazy lifestyle is destroying our beloved trees. Corporations are either leaving entire forests with nothing but stumps, or they are replacing native trees with monoculture (i.e. a single type of tree used for specific economic purpose). Monoculture forests amount to nothing more than green deserts where no life can exist. This is CRIMINAL. Indigenous people are displaced because they are dragged away from potable water and robbed of access to wood. We all lose out because carbon continues to buildup in our atmosphere.

It is also aiding and abetting a criminal to support any such companies that carry out these crimes. Stand with the trees as they have stood with us, don't stand with the corporations, they'll sell you for 84 cents if that's all they can get.

Recommended reading: I know most people (myself included) either don't have time to read or don't have the attention span to stay with a long book. So here's my recommendations

"The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein (yes, it's a children's book and so is the next recommendation)

"The Lorax" by Dr. Seuss

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man

2007-06-21T11:55:00.000-04:00

Look around, look around, oh people of the West.

Look at all that we've got and all that we want--cars, houses, automatic sandwich maker, pre-crushed corn flakes, pancake wrapped sausage on a stick (beef sausage, of course), grande mocha latte from starbucks, 42 inch flat screen HDTV, rolls and rolls of toilet paper, all the ice cream in the world!

....but at what cost?

Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright

2007-06-20T11:28:00.000-04:00

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

-William Blake

My take: Blake's reflection over creation and the Creator. He stops for a moment, perhaps like we all should do, and really seriously thinks about the process by which the tiger (and all life) was created. Where did all the parts come from?

For all of us that think that our existence is for ourselves or even that our bodies are our own, we need to stop to question why we think we own things? Did we do anything to affect the way our bodies are, and if so, "what the anvil, what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain?" Can we even begin to answer that question?

Blake goes on to compare the creation of the tiger, the quintessential symbol of ferocity, with the creation of the lamb, the bestial symbol of calmness and softness. Surely, Allah creates all things. (As an aside, the lamb probably also symbolizes Jesus as in reference to his other poem "The Lamb").

So let's all stop, even for a moment, and try to answer the hard-hitting questions that Blake poses as we go on trying to stuff our minds and bodies with the junk food of the world today.

Summer Gathering

2007-06-14T19:39:00.000-04:00

"So when do you finish?"

"About a year."

"Oh that's good. That's not too long from now."

"Yeah," he forced a smile and continue to squeeze his way through the crowded banquet hall.

"Oh, hello, how are you?" the next distant relative asked him. "So...when do you finish law school?"

"About a year," he said solemnly as he continued to move forward. The simultaneous chatter of the hundreds of people filled the room. Bright lights focused on the bride and groom seated in the center. Girls decorated themselves in all colors walked around commenting on each other's dresses. They had spent that whole day so everyone could see their golden adornments for a few hours. He continued to move towards the door.

"Hey, where you going? The food is just about to be served," his cousin said to him as he opened wide the door.

"Yea. I know. I'll be right back." He stepped out to the hall and then out into the quiet summer night. The occasional latecomer families passed by as the girls hurried in with their skirts held up over the concrete and the men strutted in with their pinstripe suits. He loosened his tie and took off his coat. The hotel employees stood around the corner for a smoke. He looked up at the cloudy, moonless night. No starlight was visible. He looked around for a bench or anything to sit on, but there was nothing. The scratchy yellow paint on the curb seemed appealing suddenly and he sat down. As the sliding doors opened, he could hear the chatter of the guests. As they closed, he could hear the quiet of the night.

Another gathering, another night outside by himself. He looked at his watch it was only quarter to 9. Still early, but he knew his absence would not be noticed. A hotel employee let out a loud chuckle as the cars continued to whiz by on the nearby highway. He squinted to see the dark figure moving towards him, but not wanting to give the impression that he was staring, he turned to the sky again and began to doze off.

The Fortress (Part 2)

2007-06-10T13:01:00.001-04:00

The first chamber inside was rather empty. The only notable feature was that it was filled with men and women in robes of red claiming to have seen the Light of Guidance and were now returning. As I approached one, he quickly looked at my robe and exclaimed, "You can never make it to the Light of Guidance, for your robe is longer than it need be. Surely, you are a prodigal man." I looked at my robe, it barely touched the ground. I decided to ignore him and continue towards the door on the other side. The people of the red robes walked about in a haughty fashion with their noses stuck up high, but they spoke of humility as a virtue that I wholly lacked. They continued to question why I had not worn a covering over my head and why I had not folded my sleeves in a certain fashion. "Surely," they all said, "surely, you cannot enter the Light of Guidance without taking these matters to account."

And very soon I grew sick of the people of the red robes. They constantly pestered me with questions on every move. I was almost ready to give up my search all together, if this was all I would find inside. But suddenly, I remembered where I was coming from and what I had to return to. No turning back now. I ceased to listen to any of these people and I charged to the door on the other side. And towards the last stretch, I began to run and threw my body at the door to fling it wide open. I was in the next room.

The next room was interesting. So far, it resembled the other room, in that the walls were large stones like in a dungeon. There were torches all along the walls that dimly lit this sullen interior. In the middle, however, there was a wide pit filled with water and a few crocodiles circled around in there. The pit was too wide to jump across and there was no way to walk around it. In this room were many people dressed in orange robes all on my side of the pit. They were a curious people trying to find a way across.

"I believe if we all walk on our hands, the crocodiles will be confused and will not eat us," one of them said.

"How will that help?" I asked him.

"I am not certain," the short man from the east went back to thinking some more. Then he jumped up again, "Perhaps, if we all jump up and down 240 times, the crocodiles will fall asleep." I wasn't going to argue with him. Among them was a man wearing a robe of violet. He was standing near the edge of the pit as if he was ready to jump in.

"They'll never get across," he said to me, "they only come up with silly innovations. I have read from the sacred tablet, that the only way across this room is to walk through the pit."

"I wonder if it wouldn't be better if the crocodiles ate me," I replied, "Are you going to do it?"

"You first," he said.

"Why are you in search of the Light of Guidance?"

"Once I have the Light, then the people will respect me, and I can command the armies."

"I'll go. I don't care. This is all that matters. I need to know what is the meaning of it all." He watched carefully as I began to climb into the pit of crocodiles. The water only came up to my knees, and I began to wade to the other side. The crocodiles lay lazily around and only afforded me a mere look as I walked by. They fell back into their reverie. I climbed up on the other side near the door and turned back to see the man in the violet robe.

"I guess it's safe," he shouted. "I'm coming." The moment he stepped in the water, the crocodiles suddenly awoke from their slumber. He tried to struggle through the crocodiles, but he was hopeless. The crocodiles did not kill him, they threatened him and blocked his way. He didn't make it. His robe was tattered, he was bleeding, and he was still on the same side, but he was alive.

One of the orange robed men shouted, "You're crazy! You must say the word 'crocodile' a hundred times, then bow, and then try to cross." He looked at me and shook his head. I had no choice but to keep moving, this was for him to figure out.

The third room was filled with people in robes of yellow and blue. They had been in that room for years, but no one was moving towards the door. They just sat there. I moved directly to the door which was locked. There was writing scribbled on the door which said "To open the lock of patience, you must wait three years for the key of knowledge to emerge." There was no turning back for me now. Outside there was nothing violence, bloodshed, confusion, arrogance, and ignorance. I had come too far, and I refused to return empty-handed. So I sat down among the dwellers of this room. I noticed other travellers coming to the door, reading the inscription, and then leaving. I saw a constant flow of people coming and going, and only very few waiting.

The people wearing the robes of blue and yellow seemed to have been there for more than three years, but they still did not enter through the door. Some of the time they were happy, but most of the time they were depressed. "If you go on, the Light of Guidance might lie right beyond this door," I said to one of them.

"I've lost my way," he said, "maybe the Light is through any of these doors, maybe I've found it already, I don't know anymore."

"It's further inside," I replied, "I'm certain it's there, you just have to go on a little further." The man looked confused and seemed to ignore me. He went back into his daze. I spent three years talking to each of them and learning about their journies, I also talked to the other travellers and learned about the different lands. Most them did not stay for the full three years. I waited and I waited. And after three years, a key emerged only for me, and some of the others waiting to enter still had a few years to go before they received their key. They watched as I unlocked the door and entered into the next room.

I was immediately blinded by the bright light that glared into my eyes and I could see nothing. The light subsided, however. And an even more powerful beam opened up my robe and my chest and light poured through my heart. Suddenly, I could see everything. I saw all the rooms in the fortress and all the people outside the fortress.

Most of all, I saw the people in this room. There were men and women all dressed in robes of green. Amongst them I saw some that were afflicted with extreme poverty and some afflicted with wealth. Some had lost appendages, some were terminally ill. Some had lost loved ones, some were rich with family. They were of all colors black, and brown, and yellow, and red, and white. All of them had passed the tests of patience, and purity of intentions, and humility. Despite all their calamities and despite all their triumphs, they were all peacefully content. And even though there would still be tragedy in this world, and the warmongering orators would continue to divide the people, and bombs might continue to fall, the tyrannical whip of the giant conglomerates would crush the backs of the peasant workers, it truly would not matter. For the peacefully content in the robes of green had obtained the only thing in this world worth anything. A thing equally accessible to king and peasant alike.

The Light of Guidance had reached them all as it now flowed through me. And through this whole journey, I realized that it was always in front of me. Though the path was blurred by war and bloodshed, and filled with obstacles and pitfalls, it was not impossible. The Light of Guidance is only accessible to those who seek it with humility and pure intentions. The virtues make the path easier. Without them, it is a formidable task, quite near impossible.

The Fortress (Part 1)

2007-06-09T19:18:00.000-04:00

"You must find the Light of Guidance," the old man said.

"Where?"

"In a fortress to the east. But be careful. It is heavily guarded and surrounded with many traps...er...wait! You're not ready yet. Where are you going?"

I had no time to answer the old man, I heard enough. I was going to find this fortress even if it was the death of me. Nothing else in my life mattered to me anymore.

Beneath a red sky there stood a tall fortress in which was contained the Light of Guidance. I looked upon it but was not shaken by its intimidating exterior. I was done being scared, this was the last resort for me.

As I walked to the fortress, a mighty explosion shook the land. I hurried for cover under a wooden cart (as if that would do much good). Underneath the cart there were two children--two weary, injured, and orphans. They had been stuck in this war zone for a while. I held on to the two as the bombs continued to explode.

When the explosions had subsided, I ventured out again lured by the sound of an orator speaking to a crowd of people.

"This is war!," he shouted, "this is what our fathers had told us about. They had seen the Light of Guidance and they taught its secrets to us. And the OTHERS want to destroy us for that. But we shall never let that happen! We must stand up for our the religion of our fathers. My people! Do not fear the OTHERS. Do not retreat and never surrender! TO VICTORY!"

The people cheered him on. Some stood quietly looking at each other. They seemed distraught from centuries of violence that plagued their lives. Nevertheless, they followed. "Have you seen the Light of Guidance?" I interrupted.

"I know the Light of Guidance better than anyone here," the preacher responded with a smug demeanor.

"I can see that. But have you actually seen the Light of Guidance."

"It is of no matter. It was the way of our father's fathers and we must uphold up their way."

"So you've never seen it?" I heard him yell something in response to that, but I was already walking away. On the other side of the fortress, I saw another orator preaching to his people. Once again I could hear the distant cries of "father's fathers," "victory" and "freedom." I headed straight for the fortress leaving the explosions and the bloodshed behind me.

The fortress door was a bulwark that seemed impervious to any efforts by someone of my physical capabilities. Perhaps if I had a crew of one hundred men carrying a battering ram, I might be able to enter. I didn't have that. I lay my hand on that monstrosity of a door, and to my surprise...it opened ajar. And in my ragged clothes torn from dust and debris from the explosions, I entered the fortress...

The Vision Quest

2007-06-09T11:40:00.000-04:00

Let's Begin.