In a response to my last blog “Closer”, Bahareh Amidi wrote:
“What a beautiful image, the spinning of the spinning top, such as the whirling of the Dervishes until they become one..... Until webecomeONE.”
Her mention of the dervishes immediately reminded me of another poem I wrote exactly two years and one day ago.
Awakening
10.01.10
A new day dawns -
amidst the mysteries of technology.
Notice:
The digital tree
branching through the world
hears the gurgling stream
speak a language never heard before -
a chorus of interconnectedness
communicating in symbols, links and tweets.
See:
Among those
speaking the language of We,
are the twervishes ,
twirling and whirling on the deck
of the flagship Internet.
From many countries, faiths and worldviews,
in the twitterverse
they #twance -
communicating with joy
and a sense of participation
the dance of liberation
as consciousness becomes aware of itself.
Awaken:
Stillness is at the center of these tweets –
the axis of the twervish twance.
Speaking of me, speaking of you
but more than this
Singing of We
as a new days dawns -
amidst the mysteries of technology.
10.01.10
I thank Bahareh, @BaharehAmidi, known as the “American-Iranian poetess of light”, for the reminder, and to spread this light in the world, I include here a video of her recent wonderful poetry recital at the Pavilion in Downtown Dubai.
A little boy ran and played barefoot and joyfully in his village in India. A bright little youngster, eager to learn, he diligently applied himself to his studies. His name was Shubhra, a name which had its origin in Sanskrit and was used in Hindi speaking countries for both boys and girls. It meant radiant, pure, pure white.
His best friend at school was a Muslim, and throughout the years they maintained their friendship. After completing a Bachelor of Commerce, an undergraduate degree, they both went on to study for a Master of Commerce. At this point, Shubhra said goodbye to his friend who emigrated to Kuwait, and went to live in Bombay.
Earning 400 rupees per month, Shubhra was able to live comfortably and still save.
Time passed and his friend returned. Shubhra was immediately struck by his fine clothes and his jewelry. They had grown up together, studied together and had the same qualifications, yet their lifestyles were at this point clearly very different.
Shubhra immediately began to make inquiries around Bombay. He too would be bold and move further afield. At last he found someone who could organize for him to move to Dubai.
It was 1968, a year before a boeing 707 belonging to Air India would make its first flight from Bombay to Dubai.
A flight from Bombay to Dubai today, only lasts 3 hours. Shubhra did not have this luxury. Instead he bravely boarded a ship for a journey which lasted 3 nights. Dubai, at this point in time, was still a British protectorate and there were only small settlements on either side of the creek.
Fast forward to 2011.
Yesterday, Shubhra and I chatted. We had met before but had never shared personal stories.
He told me that he only knew of one person in those days who had air-conditioning.
With a smile on his face, he recalled a picnic in Jebel Ali. The return journey to Sharjah, a trip which today would take 30 to 45 mins by car, had lasted a day as he and a friend had a vehicle which kept getting stuck in the desert sand.
As he was about to leave, I asked Shubhra about his home village. The look on his face changed. He tried to return there every year but things were never the same. Where once he had run through the rice paddies there are now roads. Family relationships have become strained over time because of distance and lack of communication. People in the village no longer recognize him and ask him who he is. He should never have left.
I am reminded of the passage in “A Tale of Two Cities” where Mr Carton reflects on his life after he leaves the home of Mr Stryver. The two of them had chatted earlier about the divergent paths their lives had taken despite the fact that they had attended the same schools and university.
"Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honorable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears."
As Shubhra shared with me how he had come from here2here I suggested to him that he write his story. He simply nodded his head from side to side.
I share fragments of his story here. In the telling we are all brought closer together. In this here2here space, we realize that although we may be different in many ways, at our core, we are all the same. We all have dreams, some fulfilled, some shattered.
Today, thanks to technology we can all travel, if only virtually, to far away places and converse with each other. I live in Dubai and can instant chat, Skype or Facetime with family and friends far and wide.
How different would Shubhra’s life have been if he had had access to such facilities at the time of his move?
As we honor people like Shubhra, who even though he might not realize it, remains radiant to this day, let us at the same time be mindful of all the benefits of modern communication.
"There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so."
- Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities, Book 2, Chapter 6
These words, spoken again by Mr Carton, were prophetic of the French Revolution. Today they take on yet another meaning as we recognize in them the “we” generation which is currently being born.
Situated on the coast of Oman, at the eastern most tip of the Arabian peninsula, is a remote spot called Ras Al Jinz. With nothing more than a tiny ecotourist resort at a reasonable distance from its beaches, Ras Al Jinz is one of the birthplaces of the endangered Green Sea Turtle.
Every year, about 10 000 awe inspiring female green turtles come onto these beaches to nest. They do this three times in one season with a two week interval between each return. This results in approximately 30 000 nests being built on these beaches each year.
After the nesting season is over, the female turtle, who can weigh up to 150kg, swims away to far away oceans for three years, only to return again in the fourth year when the whole process repeats itself. The males frequent the breeding grounds but never leave the ocean.
Studies of their migration patterns reveal that these turtles, once exploited without restriction but now globally protected, cover most of the world on their travels. Some travel up to 65 000 km in a lifetime which normally lasts for about 80 years.
This past weekend, I was privileged to witness the nesting and hatching process. After a journey by car which lasted almost nine and a half hours, we arrived weary but excited at the resort. Tours to the beach were offered at 04h00 and 21h00 each day.
On the evening tour, the moon played the role of our tour guide’s assistant and helped to light the way, but in the early morning we held onto each other at times as we quietly approached the nests on the beach in torchlight and at times in pitch darkness. The milky way sparkled above us, a reminder of how far away we were from light pollution of any kind.
The female turtle digs out a nest 1/4 metre deep. Within this she digs another smaller hole also 1/4 metre deep, into which she lays approximately 100 eggs, golf ball like in size. Using her back flippers she slowly covers these eggs with sand, compressing it as she proceeds. Using her front flippers she then scoops up sand and scatters it behind her, leaving a camouflage nest by the time she heaves herself onto the flat of the beach and slowly makes her way back to the ocean.
The eggs remain under the sand for 55 days, the temperature of the sand determining the sex of the hatchling. After it hatches, the baby turtle instinctively begins its journey into the ocean, its tiny flippers spinning like propellers. This is no easy task as predators such as foxes and seagulls have to be avoided. Inland lights, if there, can lure the baby in the wrong direction. Once in the sea, the baby turtles are often eaten by fish or caught in nets. There is no parental care. Only 1 in every 1000 babies makes it to maturity.
Most amazing is the fact that once the female turtle reaches maturity she returns to lay her eggs on the very beach on which she was born!
Despite the fact that sea turtles spend almost all of their lives submerged, they must breathe air to obtain the oxygen required for the demands of different activities. The breath is very important to the sea turtle. I too, wish to pay more attention to mine.
The speed of everyday physical and virtual life exists. There is however, also a need for periods of slow pace. Each has its time and place.
I am not yet able to fully verbalize what I was privileged to experience. I am reminded, however, that the shadows of my being are often poorly lit and that I need others on my life’s journey. Hiding in these shadows are mysteries and scenes of creativity. Some occur unattended, but every now and again awareness allows us to participate fully.
The hatchlings of my experiences are precious.
What I saw requires time to fully impact me. There is no haste. I am in no hurry; neither was she. Each step had its moment for those who cared to see.
On my way from one appointment to another this morning, I am suddenly confronted with an amazing sight in the middle of the Dubai Mall. Bloomingdales is sporting a New York theme and has built actual street scenes to support this. Earlier this week, I put up a post and a blurb mobile about skyscrapers. Synchronicity?
A whole floor above the setting, I pause, and as I stop, break dancers enter the scene. My hand flies into my handbag to grab my camera and capture some of the activities.
I have visited New York, love New York, have friends and tweeps in New York, but I live in Dubai. Or do I?
We are closer to each other than we always imagine. We are interconnected in so many ways. What I am watching so fits in with the theme of this blog site. English and Arabic grace the same advert. Locals and visitors from all over the world mix and share the scene.
My “here” can be brought to your “here” in so many different ways. Technology allows me to share my “here” with you both visually and audibly, in the time that it takes to press a button and hit “send”.
The spinning figure I am watching epitomizes the speed at which this is all taking place. I marvel at it, I am in awe of it, I appreciate it.
The dance ends, the moment is over, and I move on, closer to you all.
Travelling back to Dubai last week, I put on my headphones to listen to some music I had recently downloaded. The pieces were relaxing, when suddenly one track had an incredible impact on me. About a minute into the piece, my insides moved and it felt as if something was rising within me. At one stage tears filled my eyes, not accompanied by a feeling of sadness, but rather of awe.
I have been home for a week now and listened to the piece on numerous occasions. And still..... it has the same effect.
Annie Syed in her latest Still Sundays post tells of visiting a museum and being ”mesmerized by this amazing sculpture.”
I recall too an incident on Twitter when a video of Louis Kahn’s Phillips Exeter Academy Library was being shared amongst us. One response to a tweet I sent out was, “Made me cry. This is what architecture is about.”
The overwhelming responses to the video indicated that something was happening not only on an individual level, but on a collective level as well. Technology had made it possible for all of us from different parts of the world and in different time zones to not only view a place many of us might never visit, but also to experience simultaneously a feeling of awe.
What is it about some works of art that have the power to move us so?
Attempts to share such an experience often fail, as words can only attempt to hint at the actual experience itself. They are really only a finger pointing at the moon.
But they are a finger, nevertheless, and those who have had the same or a similar experience will know what is being pointed at.
“Let me return to what art is finally all about. When I directly view, say, a great Van Gogh, I am reminded what all superior art has in common: the capacity to simply take your breath away. To literally, actually, make you inwardly gasp, at least for that second or two when the art first hits you, or more accurately, first enters your being: you swoon a little bit, you are slightly stunned, you are open to perceptions that you had not seen before. Sometimes, of course, it is much quieter than that: the work seeps into your pores gently, and yet you are changed somehow, maybe just a little, maybe a lot; but you are changed.”
This extract is part of a piece entitled “Contemplating Art”. It is one my favorite pieces of writing by Ken Wilber and is, in my opinion, a work of art in itself. You can read the whole piece here. It is to be found on the last few pages of the pdf.
My piece of music, Kiyamah, has changed me.
Which works of art have touched you? Let's share them here2here.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012 at 9:56AM 
