a snowflake for a diamond

"The white veil surrounds the nightly darkness

Pouring down from the hidden sky

A layer of innocence strewn across the earth

Silently it sits, waiting to be adorned

By the iris prism of our eyes."

Whoever has ever seen a snowflake cannot deny that it is a tiny miracle. The delicate and intricate details of this minute structure are a marvel of nature. What’s even more amazing is the way in which snowflakes connect with other snowflakes. The way they form a cluster…and simply stick together like glue, say for example when you make a snowball, and then separate again, after you have thrown it at a hard surface…it is utterly fascinating.

Once again, I found myself driving through the fields on a cold morning. The sun was just rising when I glanced to the side where the shining rays were meeting the snowy fields. And the sight of that special meeting between sun and snow (which in itself is slightly paradoxical, because sun ought to melt snow) is like seeing a heap of diamonds in one place. Nature’s treasure can be so simple and yet so beautiful.

This quality of a material showing different colours in different light is called ‘iridescence’. This phenomenon is found in many animals (especially the wings of butterflies, ravens or peacocks). The word derives from the Greek ‘iris’, meaning rainbow, which in turn comes from the goddess Iris. So, when we look at a snowflake, one could say one is looking at a microscopic rainbow, because it contains all the same colours.

Just like a human being’s eyes, every snowflake is unique and has its own life. Especially in this Christmas season, I wonder whether we, the little men, actually realize our potential to stand out and make our unique voices heard and use our unique abilities and talents. Something as tiny as a snowflake has the quality to unite with other snowflakes and become a powerful mass. Just look at the devastating effect of an avalanche.

Another remarkable creature I came across is the immortal jellyfish (Turritopsis nutricula), which cannot die. It is believed to be the first and only immortal organism in the world. There is a Japanese scientist, Shin Kubuto, who cares for the world’s only captive population of these “Benjamin Button” jellyfish. Well, they aren’t jellyfish, but rather hydrozoans. What is so incredible is that these creatures could lead humans to achieving immortality. However, Shin Kubuto, in a New York Times interview, said that “Human beings are so intelligent. Before we achieve immortality, we must evolve first. The heart is not good.”

This got me thinking. Apparently there is a shocking genetic similarity between the jellyfish and human beings. Yet, they have no brain and no heart. It makes you wonder whether we were created to spend our lives connecting those two organs with each…to form a distinct triangular relationship with our soul. We live under a tripartite regime: the physical, the emotional and the spiritual. Of course, one could also add the mental.

In a way, we already contain immortality in that our uniqueness cannot possibly be replicated. It will live on forever, no matter what. Like a snowflake that is created in the skies and sent down to earth to shine like a diamond, we have been assigned with an extraordinary genetic code which isn’t meant to just sit there. Snow was designed to be used…to make snow-angels in, to build snowmen (or women), to ski on, to have snowball fights…to be creative with…

Creation indeed was created to be creative. And as the end of the year draws near and we face 2013, we should be inclined to use our creativity and our unique abilities to add our flavour to the revolution of life. Revolution in that sense is the repetition of a life cycle, in which one does better than before. We are ever-changing and ever-developing. Our heart can grow, our mind can expand and our soul can shine brighter…and one day it will be as bright as a snowflake touching someone else’s life.

We are our own revolution!

Let us not give up on the best person we were designed to be.

a sinner called truth

more than often pictures can speak to you when all words just fail to express everything else. one of these moments were when in sheer and utter frustration with world news i came across one of these images that just got me thinking:

this picture depicts torero Alvaro Munera seemingly, in the middle of the bullfight, realizing that he is committing an act of injustice. much has been said about the false interpretation of this picture. my purpose is not to delve into the detail of what is going on here. what simply astonished me is that juxtaposition between the fighter and the ‘fighted’. the same could be applied to a picture representing a hunter (such as today’s rhino poachers) and the hunted (the innocent victim). it is the moment that i would describe as the final stand-off – the eventual annoyance with the status quo, which leads to an act out of despair, driven by hopelessness…or the belief that it is time to radically change the things that simply aren’t right.

no matter what situation we are in, humans always have a choice…and that choice is linked to a moral obligation…a universal code you can acknowledge or decide to neglect.

a tragic case of the latter occurred a few weeks ago when a woman decided to kill her three children (two 4-month old twins and a 6-year old) in a forest, before placing them in her car and driving at high speed on the local autobahn. she ended up flipping the car and fatally crashing the car. she was taken to the hospital and only later did the authorities find out that she had murdered her kids beforehand.

we can jump to conclusions and condemn the woman for what she did, but it will never answer the question of why she did it. the fact is that in her moment of hopelessness, she decided that this choice was the best for her – selfish as it is to take down three innocent lives, while surviving yourself. in the eyes of the majority she rejected our universal moral code. we stamp her with a label saying WRONG.

the other event that dominated this month was Gaza. the question of who started this or that seems trivial when looking at the loss of innocent lives. the people we hear of that die in wars and struggles and battles are faceless ghosts. as a society we hardly ever see the pictures of those who have fallen. it still baffles me how we care about the arbitrary matters, such as petty politics, rather than the morality of actions. and we all have different perspectives on what is and has been going on. after all, there are many different sources out there claiming to be the truth.
at the end of the day, we are all sinners of our own truth, for we are the ones who make the choices that (inevitably) will impact others. we actively have to pursue our own truth, whilst upholding that universal moral code which we all subscribe to.

coming back to the picture above – it reminds me that there comes a point in time where each one of us has this inner voice crying out "STOP", and we wish to do something, to let that voice shatter all that is unfair, and ultimately destroy injustice.

throughout his campaign, Obama stated that everybody ought to play by the same rules. indeed that is a noble statement to make. one must be completely naive to think that reality plays by the same rules. life is not a tournament. it is a constant final. there are two sides. you are either on the one team or the other. of course one has to await the blow of the whistle that ends that endless game to know whether one was on the winning side.

from what i can tell, we were created to be team players and fight for justice together. and sin – or the act of wrongdoing within a commonly perceive moral code – is merely a branch hitting you in your face as you gallop towards the battling field; it hurts nonetheless and leaves you with a scar. the sinner in us is a constant companion, but we choose how much exposure we give him. and sometimes, that sinner reveals a deeper truth that lurks within us.

at other times, we can just see the border on the horizon that divides the person we are from the person we could, should or want to be. we can choose to be the pawn or the rook – but one must be satisfied with the choice made.  

an outcast called different

“Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!
One for the master, one for the dame,
And one for the little boy who lives down the lane."

- Old Nursery Rhyme

e ach morning I drive past a field full of sheep. Today, as they huddled together to keep warm from the winter creeping in closer every day, several thoughts came to my mind.

First of all, it is beautiful to see a flock of white wool stand out in a barren wasteland that is the dying German autumn landscape. What is even more interesting is to see a caravan standing nearby, presumably belonging to the shepherd who keeps watch over his wooly creatures. Night and day, they are being watched. This is quite comforting for sheep. But human beings, if placed in a daily Big Brother like scenario, would be less amused.

These sheep do not face any threats per se. Wolves, bears and other predators that might harm them do no longer exist in this area. And yet they are looked after. Naturally, to keep check that none of them wander off from the path. This has often been regarded as a big problem for the shepherd. What do you do when one sheep goes astray? Does one go after it or stay with the whole flock? Logically, it makes sense to stay with the flock, because leaving them might put all of the others in danger.  

As humans, we tend to believe that there is nobody watching us – despite the growing numbers of CCTV cameras installed all over the world for “our security”. Being a Christian, I believe that God is as Jesus describes in the Parable of the Lost Sheep. He will go after that one sheep, which is lost. However, human beings have become overtly accustomed to letting logic dominate their lives.

And what if one isn’t lost, but seeking a different path? After all, individualism is what we breed in the 21^st century and we encourage everybody to mold their very own life model from an unlimited amount of choices. We have become the designers of ourselves, rather than acknowledging the designer who modeled us to fulfill a specific role. Most of our time is spent searching for our purpose in life. If not that, then we spent a lot of time with other distractions, rather than focusing on the dilemma facing our world: Uselessness.
Feeling useless is what keeps people from believing in real change…that they themselves can make a difference, by being different.

This brings me to my second thought:

Why is the black sheep a negative connotation? Primarily, because the black sheep would produce black wool…and when one has a huge pile of white wool, what would one do with the tiny bit of black wool? I’d have suggested that one makes a few polka dot pullovers with the black nicely blending in with the white.

But over time, somehow, we have been taught that one shouldn’t stand out. And this is the case in most institutions starting from school to the working place…and life in general.

Standing out makes you vulnerable. It weakens the crowd. And the crowd does not like to be weak. The outcast is called ‘different’. But it is the outcast who has brought about change in this world, and guess what: made a true difference, by being different! One shouldn’t be different for the sake of being different. Rather, one should strive to recognize what is wrong within the crowd and the way the crowd operates. Keeping an open mind is not always a healthy thing. Lots of crap flies in when it’s not closed.

However, as I was reading an incredible lecture given by a media critic called Neil Postman, we must learn to be ‘crap-detectors’ and see bullshit for what it is: bullshit.

One of the things bringing this concept home to us all is the upcoming US presidential election. Politicians, as a friend of mine pointed out, must lie. If they told the truth, they would never be where they are. I’d prefer to be a black sheep cowering under a tree all by myself, knowing I stand for honesty, than being surrounded by a bunch of liars.

That is precisely what most significant leaders in our history did. They first had to stand alone, before others realized that they ought to follow the one with no crap on his hands…or mouth.

And lastly, my third thought was: whatever happened to the human being as a communal figure? The most communal young people get today is jumping up and down at some rave in some club with a horde of drunk and high people who don’t really care whether you’re there or not. Over the last centuries, with the rapid influence of technology on our lives, we have lost a massive past of our humanity and the way in which we used to interact. But again, as Neil Postman declared, there will always be winners and losers when it comes to a new technological advancement.

Think about it: who on earth is there that you would follow…right to the battlefield…where your life is at stake?!?

The one idea that is so very clear to me with every new day is this: as humans, we would do well to stick together and work things out on a grass root level. In an endless pyramid-structured hierarchy, it is those at the bottom who are indispensable. Power and influence must be used to further the cause of those at the bottom and bring about an equal playing field.

Which is to say: we need more black pullovers to have more black and white polka dot pullovers!

a shell for a house

The snail he lives in his hard round house,
In the orchard, under the tree;
Says he: “I have but a single room,
But it’s large enough for me.”

far too often we tend to forget how blessed we are. if you are reading this right now you probably own a device that can access the internet. if you do, then you are one of those fortunate few who have access to global information 24/7. that is to say, you are not oblivious to the going ons in the world around you. therefore, you witness our planet as a stage upon which tragedy, beauty and comedy are mixed together at the same time. and you watch…and wonder whether you are able to influence these going ons, to eradicate the tragic element.

at least i do!

far too often, you’re just too late to do anything about it. and it starts with the tiniest creature that you find helplessly and cruelly crushed in the middle of the pavement. you might laugh (which is the comedic part), but this snail simply wanted to cross over this concrete desert to enter into his very own promised land. it’s not like he took all his belongings, like the tv set, computer, ipod, ipad, clothes, food etc.

he simply took one thing: his home.

how often do we wish we could just take home with us?

immigrants and asylum seekers from around the world are forced to take only what’s necessary with them. for most of them, their homes were crushed long ago. some carry a reminder of that distant place known as home, like a talisman made by the daughter or son. like the snail, the immigrants travel on their own, eventually meeting up with fellow travelers.

there is a certain beauty in their struggle to leave their loved ones and risk everything to simply get somewhere where they can LIVE…and work to feed their families. the snail, with the morning sunrays shining on its awesomely constructed, glittering shell, is beautiful in its own way. the slime signaling the path it has travelled, like an airplane leaving patterns in the sky.

the majority of immigrants do not make it to this promised land. or they come to the realization that the land they arrived in is just another version of the hell they’ve been through. there are some places where they are forced to live in old shipping containers.

now try telling yourself that you are a much higher life form compared to snails. as humans we might not be crushing another human beings homes (though that frequently does happen!). as humans we crush other people’s hopes. and a life without hope is truly worthless. it’s a brutal murder of dreams, desires and the belief that beyond the concrete desert there IS something better.

i did not see a living snail this morning. i saw a crushed shell with the remains of once was a snail with the most basic dreams…perhaps. i prefer to see my day start with something else than the encounter of death in its tiniest form. however, the sunrays did still shine on this creature and allowed me to ponder the meaning of tragedy when all hope is absent.

the truth is that we can lose everything…our home…our belongings…our excess of stuff…but we just cannot lose hope…in whatever it is that drives you to crossing that concrete desert EVERY day to move one step closer toward your dreams.

and so this is why, whenever i see a snail that is alive and making slow progress toward where it wants to get to, i pick it up and place it where i think it might do better. as humans it’s difficult sometimes to drop our arrogance. our lives should be a journey in which we learn to listen to the stories of others and give them a continued reason to hope!

change begins with writing a new story for mankind, where tragedy only features as a catalyst to bring us all closer together.   

To read up on a recent immigrant story, follow the link: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/23/world/europe/malta-struggles-under-wave-of-african-migrants.html?_r=0

a stone for a pillow

A Mirror for the Twentieth Century

A coffin that wears the face of a child,
a book
written inside the guts of a crow,
a beast trudging forward, holding a flower,
a stone
breathing inside the lungs of a madman.
This is it.
This is the twentieth century.

A Prophecy

To the country dug into our lives like a grave,
to the country etherized, and killed,
a sun rises from our paralyzed history
into our millennial sleep.

A sun without a prayer
that kills the sand’s longevity, and the locusts
and time bursting out of the hills,
and time drying out on the hills
like fungus.

A sun that loves maiming and murder,
that rises from there, behind that bridge…

Both poems written by Adonis.

A Stone for a Pillow

At dusk

the day kisses me good night

and beneath the sands of time

a stone for a pillow she finds

to fall asleep.

With only darkness left

wild dreams spin around above the world

but a ladder of hope rises up into the skies

where she meets

the dawn of a new chapter  

for our lives.

Generally, September carries dark notations, especially for Europeans. This has to do with the start of autumn and the realization that another warm, sunny season is over. The trees begin their own shedding process and leaves change colours as if they were being painted by angels. Eventually, the wind sweeps them off their branches and they fall upon the earth. This fall is significant…why else would the alternative name for autumn be FALL?

Each season has its ups and downs - an old cliché. Yet this September we are drawn back to the reality that change always comes at a high cost. And more than often, change is accompanied by a drop…or rather drops of blood…and a fall…a decline…a painful rejuvenation process that takes its toll.

This month, attention has been drawn towards the Arab world once again. And once again, the Western world does not receive a well-balanced perspective on why things are spiraling out of control. Indeed, one may ask why days that began with hope face nights with bloodshed and other aggressions.   

The above poems by the great Syrian poet Adonis reflect the faint pessimism embedded in a people who are going through a process similar to that of the autumn leaves. And it comes without saying that any revolution in the books of history faced similar trials and tribulations. Hence one could even call it ‘The Mirror of the Twenty First Century’. A revolution can only succeed if there are leaders willing to take responsibility and people, who are willing to place their faith in that leadership and collectively believe in the same values and ideals.

I stumbled upon an article by Fouad Ajami, Senior Fellow at Stanford University, in which he attempts to explain “why the Arab world is so easily offended”. In it, he reminds the reader of the proud Arab history…the momentous contributions that the Arab people made to the world...and how, after many centuries of cultural domination, they were overcome by the relentless Western colonialism.

He writes:

“In the narrative of history transmitted to schoolchildren throughout the Arab world and reinforced by the media, religious scholars and laymen alike, Arabs were favored by divine providence. They had come out of the Arabian Peninsula in the 7th century, carrying Islam from Morocco to faraway Indonesia. In the process, they overran the Byzantine and Persian empires, then crossed the Strait of Gibraltar to Iberia, and there they fashioned a brilliant civilization that stood as a rebuke to the intolerance of the European states to the north. Cordoba and Granada were adorned and exalted in the Arab imagination. Andalusia brought together all that the Arabs favored — poetry, glamorous courts, philosophers who debated the great issues of the day.”

Personally, I know little of the Arab world and I do not profess to be an expert. Nonetheless, I find it fascinating how the Western world, after an entire century filled with wars and radical technological, historical, and scientific advancement, still acts like the Great Inquisitor with the mind-set of a crusader. There is no way to justify what is going on in the Arab world at the moment, but one cannot just sit and let things pass you by. One must question the process of revolution and how it can be successfully carried out…and then establish a structure in which people are treated with their God-given human rights.

Too many times, I fear, we forget that the ordinary person is at the mercy of the big boys’ gambling table. Diplomats put on a poker face hoping that the other won’t call their bluff.  Gaining the trust of the people is something every leader has to go through. Nowadays it is difficult to tell whether the person is genuine and will follow through on his/her promises. The revolution ultimately comes down to the people and their vision. In the Arab world, this is a highly strenuous task, due to the tribal and religious background. Not all Arabs are Muslims. Vice versa, not all Muslims are Arabs. And when one does a little research one will find out that, despite what Muslims may or may not believe, there is a profound truth which stands out: The prophet Mohammed united a divided people and led them away from idol worship towards believing in one God.

In that sense, there was once a great Arab revolution. And I believe people everywhere in the world often place their hopes into the wrong hands. We must be careful who we share our dreams with. At the end of the day, any of us can begin a revolution. That isn’t the point! The start of something is useless without an ending which makes it all worthwhile. We have got to remember that there is always a lengthy process involved and one must be adequately prepared. One has to be in it for the long haul.

The leaves they fall. They are covered by snow. They decompose. With the first sunlight, the spirit of the past returns and with it, the trees bloom again and beauty lives on.

Nature can be the blue-print of the present and the future. And we can only pray for a better present and future for those who have the guts to stand up for their rights…and fight for the freedom they deserve.  

an enemy called identity

Yesterday, after a very hot afternoon I decided to go outside and water the garden. Like most people, I used to love jumping through the sprinklers and play water games on those long summer days. The feeling of cold water cooling your body is probably one of the best associated with childhood. And so I took the hose and watered the dry, thirsty plants and trees. While doing so, you feel like you have an infinite power…like you’re God and have control over this tiny patch of nature called your garden.

Funny thing is, I told my fiancée about that strange experience and, once I was lying in bed, I could hear a strong wind rushing through the open windows. A flashing light entered the room and a roaring sound could be heard far away. However, in what seemed like a very short time, the powerful thunder and lightning and hard rain and strong winds were right above the house. It then dawned on me that God decided to show me how one waters nature properly. And I could hear him say:

“Son, good try…but this is how it’s done!”

All of this really inspired what is written below…that we too often let our purpose be clouded by our struggle (and/or search for identity), when all we need to know is that we are God’s children. We may have a grand plan for the near future…just like my small, simple plan was to water the garden, assuming and speculating that it was going to stay hot and dry all night. But out of nowhere, a storm may arrive and you will have to adapt to those new circumstances. More than often it’s a sobering thought that we are not really in control of our lives. And to trust is something we cannot and don’t always want to do.

***

an enemy called identity

stepping out of the house from my childhood

a scent of freshly washed nature hits my nose

reminding me of the many times I smelled a new morning

with a new face

with new thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams.

as I climb into the car

there is a passenger joining me

a faceless figure without voice

who just stares at me

and the person I have become.

without judgment in those blurry eyes

i feel his presence close to me

and a telepathic communication ensues

where neither of us speak

only silence pervades the space between us

we are one

and yet not the same.

without realizing it

the figure tries to force me out of the car

to push me off the road on which I’m travelling

he is angry for no reason

and it consumes his every pore

like humid, sweltering heat

drawing out the sweat

he cannot shake off the pain and hurt

that is tightly stuck on him.

resistance is the only way to stay in control

or so it seems

and so I push back

using force against force

and we are caught up

in a deadlock of confusion

who is who

am I him

or is he me

and the truth is we don’t know

but we are just focusing on each other

and the things we hate

the things that make us fight

and I can only see how the car is driving towards a cliff

or, more realistically, into oncoming traffic

my hands are off the steering wheel

both of us start to look ahead

and we anticipate the crashing together of metal.

but the cars move out the way and let me pass through

against all belief

the fighting has stopped

i am holding on to the steering wheel

wanting control

i look to my side

trying to identify the figure in the passenger seat

where did he come from and why is he still here

it suddenly occurs to me

that he is an enemy

and distracting me from driving in the right direction

an enemy called identity

who messes with my brain

incepting my dreams

altering the understanding of who I am

who I have become.

a soft voice enters my heart

telling me to let go

to let myself fall out of this car headed for

an unknown destination

a place far away in the past

where nothing grows

a desert without provision

a sea without a breeze.

with one last glance at my foe

i open the door

lean over the side

dropping down towards the moving ground

in a flash my body spins, tumbles and rolls

through a poppy field in bloom

i watch how my car drives off into the distance

my soul waves goodbye

to a part of me that will keep coming back

to check whether I know and remember

that someone greater now holds his hand over me

protects me from the storm.

a stranger called familiar

the rising sun tickles my waking skin,

tired eyes are slowly opened by piercing gold-crusted rays with a soft filling of fiery red,

clouds have escaped those thousand arms lighting up the land,

and with a look to my right i'm confronted with more than one beauty.

as i peek outside the frosty airplane window to admire the colours and contours of God's great planet
the past catches up with me faster than the stuttered beats of my heart.

as i peek outside that frosty window, a stranger called familiar stares straight into my eyes.

and that stranger can see into my heart.

and that stranger knows everything there is to know about me.

He offers me a glimpse at a not-so-distant past.

the three islands of Malta lie proudly asleep, tucked into the humble royalty of the Mediterranean Sea.

the pillows of memory surround them.

when you travel and settle, and travel and settle, you forget your starting point.

sooner or later you must come to the realisation that God has created with a purpose.

He knows it.

you may know it.

He knows what it is.

you may be searching for it.

if you found it, then you are probably one of the fortunate few who wake up with a drive to make the world a better place.

or a worse place.

the corrupted soul knows no bounds.

yet, what happens when you return to the starting point.

like Theseus returning to the beginning of the labyrinth, without having slain the Minotaur.

perhaps one isn't ready to face the evil beast just yet.

perhaps there is always more to learn and what you encountered on your way were tiny Minotaurs.

you just didn't see them.

that's how small they were.

minute minotaurs.

nonetheless, you are full of a raw energy that wishes to be released.

the wild has challenged you to make your move.

a stranger called familiar knocks on the door of your heart's desire.

he walks into the chamber of dreams.

like a library stacked with purposes and passions.

he lights a match and sets the whole room on fire.

and you

you cannot stop him.

instead, you scramble to retain some of the pieces

some of the wishes you engrained on the highest shelves.

familiarity can become a very scary monster and force you to go back home for more ammunition.

the worst part is to return home a lone soldier without his gun

without his pride,

without a cause.

however, the truth dawns on you the most when you stand naked before that stranger.

bare skin exposed, you realise that the wounds are real and you received them from fighting for something greater than yourself.

you realise that people want change (for the better!)

you realise that it's not too late for a revolution

you realise that the labyrinth does not disappear and you can go back inside.

and most importantly, you realise that a tiny stone can set off a massive avalanche.

a tiny revolution is still better than no revolution at all.