ihath

When I wrote about my visit to Washington DC, I always intended for it to be a trilogy, with related themes running through all three. But when I came to write the third article I hesitated for weeks and finally didn’t write the third article because I felt that it was too wacky.

Wacky …. Shmacky  …… this is my blog and I can be wacky if I want to.

Soooo ….. here it is.

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My favorite scene in the Lord of the Rings movies, is the battle outside the city of Minas Tirith where it ends with the ghost like deads storming the city at the last minute and  rescuing it from the wrath of orcs. The city of Minas Tirith looked so glamorous with it’s seven circular layers each smaller that the other and reminding me of the tower of Babel. It was once the city of great kings, thinkers and civilization. But now it was a place of decay and stagnation as its people spent more time remembering the past and glorifying the forefathers than living their own daily lives. The little bit of remaining courage among the few is not enough to save her beauty. That is when the haunted dead are summoned to the rescue. Having broken their oath to a king of the old, they are unable to join the after life in peace. A new battle offers a second chance to fulfill their oath  and be free of the curse. ….. What a brilliant story plot. Only a genius story teller would come up with  that.



While in Washington D.C. I had one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I was walking around in yet another art gallery in awe of the art exhibits, one of the security people walked up to me and said.

security guy:  Mam! ehm …. ehm ehm
ihath: Ha? ….sorry I didn’t hear that.
security guy: Mam! ehm … ehm ….  errrrrrrrrr!
ihath: (I walk closer to him) ha? …. what?
security guy: ehm! …. cough! …. errrrr! (while he keeps touching his zipper)
ihath (thinks to herself: is this an obscene gesture?):  what?
security guy: mam! ….. ehm! … ehm! … ehm! (keeps touching and pointing at his zipper)
ihath (I finally look down and realize that he is telling me that my zipper is undone) Oh my god!

My face turned red.
I wished the ground would split and swallow me whole.
I have never felt so embarrassed in my whole entire life.
I remembered that I visited the washroom 10 minutes earlier at the gallery. It must have happened there and I simply forgot to do up my zipper. Luckily I was wearing very solid underwear underneath, non of that skimpy lacy stuff I bought two days earlier. I tried to console my self by thinking that I am in a foreign city and I will never meet any of the people that saw me ever again. I will probably never see that security guard ever again either. Still I felt so embarrassed I wished I was struck down by a bolt from the sky that would make me invisible. I am such an idiot. A hillbilly. A disgrace to my race and gender. What would my husband say if he saw me now? What would my father say of he saw me now? What would my co-workers say if they saw me now. I could imagine everybody that I have ever met in my whole entire life standing there pointing at me and laughing. At least the gallery was nearly empty. Surly only a few people saw me with the zipper undone. But still, how embarrassing. Luckily there were no children in the gallery. Imagine how their parents would have felt about their children seeing a lady with unzipped pants? They would have been offended that their children are being exposed to such a sight.

I thanked the security officer and walked away in a hurry so that he wouldn’t see my face red with embarrassment.

And so I walked over to the Smithsonian. They had an exhibit of American first lady dresses. O how kitsch? they are just dresses. Other people were ogling them in admiration. There were other kitsch Americana exhibits that I didn’t care about. Then I walked into the science and technology exhibit. They had the first computer, the first IBM mainframe other cool old machines ….. oh my god! ….. what do I see? …. Apple IIe on display in the Smithsonian. “Hello old friend”, I wanted to say. Apple IIe was my first computer. I bought it when I was 13 years old, as a hobby. Never expecting that computer programming would become my life long profession. I can’t believe that something I used is on display in the Smithsonian as a historical relic. I am not even that old. Yet an object with fond memories from my teens is on display in a museum. Now the embarrassment was replace with depression. But that computer was state of the art back when I got it. The was the bestest and the greatest and now it sits like a monkey on display in a zoo to be ogled by the same ignorant masses that just finished ogling Jacky Kennedy dress. What is happening in the world? How much things have changed? When I graduated from university there was no internet ….. can you imagine life without internet? …. I can’t ….. yet it wasn’t that long ago that it didn’t exist at all. How much my life has changed. Growing up in Kuwait then moving to Canada, moving to Israel then back to Canada. Learning different languages, adjusting to different cultures, marriage, motherhood which hit me like a hurricane. How I have changed in very short years. I have lived a life at the speed of the internet. Each coolest technology made obsolete within a few years, constantly learning new things, new buzz words, are there any constants? Where am I now? Where did I come from?

revolution
revolution
always painful
always blood shed
somebody always gets his head chopped in a revolution
What bits of myself have been assassinated in the last few years?
Discarded away, extra baggage that was thrown overboard in order to preserve life?
I don’t believe in the revolution any more.
From now on I will walk the path of evolution.
Old things will be recycled into new things.

“The revolution ate its own children” – said Maximilien Francois Robespierre, referring to the  French revolution. Had he been talking about the battle of Karbala he would have said, “The revolution ate its own grandchildren.”

The Battle of Karbala is a bit of historical misnomar, since it actually was a murderous assault on a defenseless caravan of the Holy Prohpet's family which merely had few dozen able bodied men. It took place on October 10, 680, in Iraq. The battle saw the large and professional army of the ruler at the time, surrounded the family and few friends of Imam Hussein (grandchild of prophet Mohamed), which, consisted of 72 men a number of children and women. The moral stature, charisma and popularity of Hussein was so tremendous that there was a serious chance of a massive revolt against ruler at the time.  A massive army of 30,000 was sent to nip the rebellion in the bud.

Massacre in the name of power is nothing new. But the interesting twist in the story is the people of Iraq. Having urged imam Hussein to travel from Mecca to Karbala promising to support a rebellion. Imam Hussein risked his own life and the life of his family and few supported to stand up for the revolution. For the principles of Islam that prophet Mohammed stood for, for the people seeking a ruler that hasn’t seized power by force.

Upon arrival
People ran out to greet the Imam only to see a huge army camped behind him. All but a few ran back home and negated on their promise to support their king in his hour of need.
Massacre followed and all was crushed.
Forever doomed to shame, forever cursed, forever haunted by the heroes of the olden days.

There is a way between voice and presence where information flows. In disciplined silence it opens. With wandering talk it closes. .... Rumi