Grey

I am the shade of grey

The unpleased pleaser

The shadow of the sun

The nightwalker

Whatever takes place amidst the rubble

A curtain, that is me

A hollowed curtain

Which does not make premonition

Rather bleakly borders what lies in between

A rampage of minds that is

A disgraceful harmonious chaos that is neither black nor white

But a shameful tyranny of colours

An array of disheartened souls that will crush

Like a stampede of elephants they rule

Blessed with tusks that make Xerxes cower

They are the wolves I tell you

No longer blinded by humanity

Only guided by anger

Both are ashamed of the other

But what shame does it bring; if it was not unto 

themselves?

What shame if not the shame of ignorance?

The shame therein lies upon the mob

The believers

What do they believe? I can never comprehend

For they are non-existent

As come other prophets, carrying wine and words

‘Tis the irony of life

A Moment

And she looked at me. Still!

No. She dissected me with her eyes.. 

Scanning all my imperfections. She knew all about them without me ever telling her. Even if I wanted to I couldn't; for my breath was still in my lungs, trying to escape my ribcage yet embracing the moment fearing it might not come again.

I was not aware of anything except the silhouette surrounding her gazing face.

Everything around was a shade of grey. Everything around was disappointed in me as all the attention I gave at that moment was focused at her. 

They were jealous. All the objects and all the people.. 

They were jealous of me and her. 

Her eyes were not moving at all. The muscle that held her eyes was very powerful that I felt its presence. As if a tentacle grew out of that cave and grabbed my soul. 

But I feel alive. God do I feel alive! 

And on that moment, I am perfectly ready to fade away and die..

Image from Hannibal series

Fragment: A Poem

Whole, my son,

Accept it whole,

I beseech you; do not live in a hole,

Where you will find nothing but rot and pain,

Where you will find nothing to gain,

I come from a distant land where I was told,

That I will come across feats to behold,

Though I arrive sceptically to the consensus,

I will end up feeling reckless,

Albeit a new quest will arise,

If not, I might find it a pleasant surprise,

It will be a long tiring road,

Decided I to hop on its abode,

But fear not my loyal friend,

You will reach but a dead end,

As you stumble across and see,

That all of this is shaman mystery,

Driven by angst and pursuit,

You will find nothing but theft and loot,

People gathered at Doomsday will ask,

Who in his right mind would delegate such task?

That we all live in a hornet’s nest,

Where we all fight in a worthless contest,

It is He who would dignify such answer,

Before we all fall like a body infested with cancer,

Cremated beyond recognition; that is life,

Yet not fazed with such ill strife,

We carry along with no remorse,

As we intently grow more coarse,

Benign, adamant and content,

Turned malignant, sardonic and contempt,

Might we succeed in the end?

Or will we die as we contend?

It is the journey, the long walk,

That makes us endure such distant talk,

Yet the thing of which I am certain,

All will prevail, before the fall of the curtain.

 Jackson Pollock's Ocean Greyness

A Nameless, Countryless, Religiousless Post

This is going to be a short post that was aroused by the above posted image that has been circulating my facebook newsfeed today. I was put off by it and I thought that I could write about it.

Let’s imagine that you are a “Nobody.” You do not have a name. You do not have a religion to abide by. You do not have a country to seek solace in.

Let’s imagine that for some eleven or twelve years you are just a question mark. You are an enigma. Not only to society, family or friends (That is if you had any that is willing to befriend an anonymous entity), but more importantly to yourself.

That above picture when simply translated into English says: “After 5 minutes after you are born, they will choose your name, nationality, religion and sect...And you will spend the rest of your life stupidly fighting and defending things you have not chosen."

Surprisingly, yes you are powerless when you are a youngster. You have no right to have a power simply because you do not yet acquire the power to think. To process things. To feel things. How could you make such important decisions when you are still sucking on milk from your mother’s breasts? How could you fathom such big ideas when you take up to 12 hours nap everyday? How can you possibly comprehend to even choose anything? If you took a five year old kid to a clothes shop and told him to just choose one item, he will disobey you. Not because he wants to, but because he does not yet have the ability to differentiate between what is good or bad. Between putting away some money for a rainy day and between having enough money to buy a fancy villa somewhere in the Hamptons. So he will end up buying all what he likes.

What if he was asked about making up his mind about those big ideas when he hits puberty? When his mind is evolving? When he sees other people with names, with societal worthiness, with a nationality, won’t he be disorientated? Won’t he start questioning his family that raised him? Won’t he be harmful to even himself? And the list goes on.

If any of you guys who posted this image on their facebook or twitter or any other social mediums think that it is unfair for you to defend your names, nationalities or even your religion just because you did not “choose” them, then it is your own opinion. But again, do you really think that being without the aforementioned traits you are powerful and self-reliant and you are your own destiny-maker? I suggest you think again.

I for one do not see it as an attack on my freedom to choose. I see it as a start. I see it as the hand that pushes my boat out on the harsh sea. I see it as a guiding hand. I see it as the alarm clock that is beside my bed.

But I will gladly defend those “stupid” things till the day I die. Because I believe in each and every one of them. I believe that I am my own destiny maker. I believe in Islam. I believe in my country Egypt. I believe that my name is Yahia Ayman Gweifel. And that is not because they were chosen for me. But because I sought to hone them to be the best they can be. I choose to be a good practicing Muslim. I choose to be a good Egyptian citizen. I choose to be the best Yahia I can be. That is the true power of choice. And it does not, at all, belittle from your sense of freedom.

So my final thing that I want to say is that: For all you who posted this image, did you choose to live in this world? Did you choose to be born?

Let’s imagine that YOU ARE NON-EXISTENT.

My Own Refuge

                                                                             

The thing is I am never alone. Not without my fear. Not without a luring shadow attracting me to the dark. I’m never without that menacing voice in my head grabbing me by the neck, driving me by an insane and manic speed.

I’m never feeling any distinguishable light. There is no discernable exit from this puzzled existence. I can be at times claustrophobically-driven in my thoughts, if that is even a word. I’m even not entitled to describe myself as a well-brought up human being because I cannot differentiate between who I am and who I could be.

If I was asked a year ago where I could be in a year, I would have responded with a chuckle. A chuckle that would seem to the inquisitor that I am filled with hopes and dreams. To me, that chuckle is dangerous. It means that there is no knowledge within my mind as to where I can possibly be in a year. I don’t even know where I am now. I don’t know how I even got here.

But to me, it is part of being an idiotically idealistic person. How could I possibly know where I could be in a year or even a day? I enter the bathroom meditating on some thought. I get out thinking an entirely different one, mainly because I had already forgotten about the first one. You can’t even ask that question. It is not within any logical realm.

Whatever you may have that I do not have does not make me less important. In fact, it makes you more responsible. And with responsibility comes burdens. In essence, I am carrying a lighter weight than you do. Thoughts are the same. If you are mentally occupied by a certain idea, it will drive you crazy to the core. But if you are empty from the inside, like me, you won’t be having any trouble. The trouble you will be facing is society. Society orders you to be shaped into a certain form, which is illogical, yet necessary. See the thing is, if you do not obey society, society will disavow you. You will be the outcast. You will be shamefully painted as an unwelcomed guest who had overstayed his visit. That is a true fact!

Besides, who cares if I can be shaped into a form that is required by society? Haven’t you heard of that saying that goes like “No Man Is An Island”?  Well I am sorry to disappoint you. Man is certainly an island. He is an island of thoughts. An island of senses and feelings. An island of peace and perspective. An island that firmly stands alone by itself. So in retrospect, man can only be with another man only if their ideals and thoughts meet together. You can never force someone to be with another man unless they are compatible in a lot of humanistic themes and standards. Accordingly, let me introduce to you the modified version of the aforementioned saying. “Men Are Archipelagos”. Archipelagos are chains of islands collected next to each other, whereas men are defined by who they personally are, then by who they are with; not the other way around.

The result is you will be under the microscope for being defiant. But that’s okay. You will have your moments of declared defeat and you will choose to cower in and start going with the flow. You have to. That’s life! If you do not go with the flow, they will attack. If you go with the flow, others will attack. It is complicated. You just cannot satisfy everyone, which will mesmerize you all the more because you will always seek to fill that non-existent gap of always demanding people’s attention. But then you will decide to haplessly sooth yourself by admitting to yourself that one’s self is what is important and it is beneficial for you to pursue your own thoughts. At that point you will reach a crossroads. Which way will you go? Droit ou Gauche?! Food for thought!

So what can you do when you are faced with that futuristic question? Do you know how, why and what will you be in a year? You do not. You can however set a goal for yourself and strive for it. You may or may not reach it, but at least you gave it your all.

The last paragraph was pretty lame wasn’t it? Some sort of pep talk you hear from your mother or your father on a daily basis. Honey, you have to set a goal for yourself in order to become successful and make us proud of you. Let me strike upon you some realistic facts. Set a goal. Don’t set a goal. You think your parents or friends would care if you succeed or not? Of course they would. But they will get over it. They might get suicidal or negligent. But hey, you did what you wanted right? NO!!

You do not do it for them. You do not maintain an image of yourself you have been keeping for the past twenty odd years just so you not to piss them off. Piss them off. Fight. Agitate them. Face them off. Be scared from yourself. Decide that you do not want to decide. It is a decision that you have to live and deal with. Be able to do it now against others before you have to face your immortal enemy, that one that’s inside you. I know I know, again with the clichés. But clichés are there for a reason. They are here to represent  common occurrences that we all face regularly. So zip it!

Bellowing beneath that calm body you have is another person that is waiting to depart that box that is embodying it. Let’s call it “The Refuge”. Now the Refuge can take off at any given second. This can be caused by societal pressure, peer pressure, anxiety, illness, relationships, love and so on. Find whichever trigger, whichever catalyst you have to nudge that Refuge inside you. I might not know all of you who are reading that post. You might be friends. You might be past acquaintances. You might be distant online peers. But if you are still reading the post, by now it is safe to think that you are intrigued by the prospect that makes you think: “Yeah, I do want to change a couple of things inside me.” And I kid you not, obviously so do I.

It is Aching.. Lamenting.. Waiting..

Regardless of what you think of me by now, you have to ask yourself this question. Can I apply what was written on me, or was it just some rants that are posted and that’s it?

Looming behind that question is either an angel or a devil.

It only depends on your answer.

The God Connection

Do we generally feel a Godly connection? Is it something that we harness on a daily basis? Can we achieve a mental, or rather a metaphysical transformation to be connected to a higher entity? Do we have to be prophets or elected by God to earn such position?

Questions, questions, questions. People might think that topics such as God’s existence, His methods, His choices of articulating the universe should undoubtedly be dissuaded once they arise. Those topics, some might argue, would eventually lead the inquisitor to the land of confusion and alienation, which will then cause the end of his faith.

There is an Irish saying that goes like: “If you aren’t confused, you don’t know what is going on. “

This saying should not be taken at face value. It has a certain moral behind it. It does not mean that you have to be confused in order to collect knowledge about something. It means that you have to be in a process of constant and rigorous questioning in order to hold a firm grasp on the wider aspects of a certain topic or issue. Naturally, with the complexity of the topic grows the confusion, and vice versa. So practically speaking, the God issue, it being an overly complicated and sophisticated one, will ultimately result in a confusing and, one might add, a disorientating debate.

The God connection that I am talking about is not derived from the practices of religions (Judaism, Christianity or Islam) that occur on a daily basis. The connection that I am speaking about is literal. To simply touch the hand of God. I might be insane to try and tackle such crazy topic, but I will try my best.

Let me dishearten your eager minds to say unto you that you cannot, in fact, touch the hand of God. Then why did I say it? To me, to touch the hand of God is to simply acknowledge the fact that your life, your existence, your conception is practically in his hands.

We were subjugated since our birth to think that religion is salvation. We were driven to think that we are Jews or Christians or Muslims by birth, not by practice. We were not given the option to think and contemplate about our choices, but simply be de facto Jews, Christians or Muslims. We simply inherited religion from our ancestors as if it was a written will.

But what if this “will” ceases to exist? What if our ancestors stopped the flow of religion? Would humanity be faithless? What would happen one day if you raise your kids haphazardly without any basis to raise them upon except logic, common sense or basic human knowledge, which are not sufficient in the first place?

As a Muslim, let me take an example from my own religion to better illustrate my argument. Till now, it is widely acknowledged that the technological advance the West is currently living in is mostly owed to the efforts of Muslim scholars who lived in what was called “The Era of Islamic Enlightenment.” Medical, social, political, technological and scientific breakthroughs that are still talked about to this very day. But let’s regress. Let’s not live in the wisdoms and triumphs of the past. Let’s get back to the present tense.

Islam nowadays is viewed as a religion of terror and violence. A religion of backwardness and uncivility. But do not blame religion, I beg you. Blame whoever dropped his balls and courage (Excuse my foul language) and decided to raise the white flag. Blame whoever decided to stop thinking and building over the schools of thought that were accumulated over the ages of Islamic victory. Blame whoever stopped thinking and relied on their “ancestors’ will” and was apathetic and indecisive. Blame whoever lost this Godly connection.

The God connection is a state of spiritual practice that is aimed at questioning, not your God, but your faith. A state in which you know how it will end, but within this process, will know its means. We the believers know that God exists and we obey His rules and words of guidance. But then, where is our human side? How can you recognize yourself as a true believer if you take what has been told to you at face value without arguing? Without asking questions? Without seeking answers that are supposedly, and in some countries, lawfully out of your reach? In the Torah, the Bible and the Quran, God aggressively commands us to think. Think. Not be led like sheep. Otherwise, he would be a dictator. And that is not the case. Far from it.

To touch the hand of God is, then, a matter of constant contemplation, in which all the equations, thought processes and mental and physical practices lead to one result. Some might argue that God truly is evil and omnipotent as He is holding us like puppets and swaying us wherever He wants and pleases as long as He is obeyed and prayed for. There is a flipside to that narrow-minded coin. Let me demonstrate it by presenting a simple mathematical equation.

1+9=10

2+8=10

3+7=10

What we understand is that it is true that God is the definite end result. But we all do it in our own ways and methods. We can be from different religions and still acknowledge God’s existence. We can be of different colours of backgrounds and still define God as the ultimate higher entity. I can be of no religion and yet at some point arrive at a conclusion that there is indeed a god. The saying that goes “Seeing is believing” cannot be applied to God. You cannot just rely upon logic or materialisation in order for you to know that God is there. You have to use emotional belief and not attribute everything to its logical genesis. People sometimes lack that leap of faith, which they understandably do. Yet they do not try to enhance it and simply take it for granted as non-existent compared to their rather shallow and obtuse angle of looking at things.

In my solitude when I am all alone, I sometimes write thoughts and doodles in my personal notebook. Things that will never see the light except that of the lamp that I turn on whenever I feel down or gloomy. I write and write till my palms grow sore and my heart pleas. I write sometimes till the morning beaming sunlight when I finally go to sleep, feeling care-free, rested, and spiritually released.

If you, the reader, understand and fully grasp the concept behind the previous paragraph, then you can begin to understand the God connection. What it truly feels to touch the hand of God.

The Magic of Books

I remember the day quite vividly when I first entered a proper bookstore. I was around 14 or 15 years old when I was at my Grandma’s in Heliopolis. Before she passed away just a couple of weeks ago, we used to have regular get-togethers at her house where we had lunch with my uncle and his family. Those were simpler times. Good times.

I had just finished eating lunch and there I was sitting next to my mother and sister. My father and my uncle would go have their usual after lunch cigarette along with a good dose of black coffee. My grandmother would enter the kitchen and start scrubbing away effortlessly at the dishes and spoons. We the kids would endlessly wait until all the grownups have went out to the living room so we can play hide and seek. It was a big apartment yet filled and stacked with chairs, chinaware and other stuff. Needless to say, there were a lot of hiding spots. But I was tall enough to be spotted from a mile away. Till the moment I published this blog, I kept thanking God that I did not go play hide and seek with my nephew and nieces that day.

My uncle’s wife kept on going about this new bookstore that had just opened around the corner of grandma’s street. She was talking to my mother about how she and her daughters entered it and how they were fascinated by it and how the design helps customers to be further attracted to buying books. She had also mentioned that there is a huge collection of books where all tastes could be met. Whether you like fiction or politics, science or classic literature, you will find your preference there. On my face there was nothing to be said. I was just focused on what she was saying as if I was bedazzled. If anybody could see me at face value, they would not know that I was interested in any of what was being said. I kept a good poker face. But in mind, there were roller coasters roaring through the labyrinths of my mind. The sound of their engines was so loud in my head that I could not help maintain my poker face. I looked at my mother instantaneously after my uncle’s wife finished talking her sweet sweet talk. My mother looked back. She knew what was going on in my inquisitive head and she smiled, yet she was initially resistant. She kept saying “Some other time” and “We have to be home at a specific hour.” She failed in delivering her message. Miserably.

Next thing you know, we were on our way to the bookstore. Now you ask yourselves “What was the bookstore’s name?” To which I respond “Diwan Bookstore. “You might have your reservations regarding that particular bookstore but hear me out till the end.

If anybody of you went to their branch in Heliopolis, they would be fascinated by the place itself. The bookstore is a humongous villa that is located in the heart of the neighbourhood. We entered it and I was suddenly overcome by this beautiful scent. It was not organic. It was not artificial, i.e not Glade or deodorants or otherwise. It was the scent of thousands and thousands of books stacked atop the hundreds of shelves in the bookstore. If you did go to any bookstore in any place, you would definitely know the scent I am talking about.

Books I have never seen before in my life. Authors I would never fathom knowing. Titles that made my heart leap out of my chest. I could not believe that still after 6 or 7 years from that day, I would remember the books I bought from there which were “Robinson Crusoe “by Daniel Defoe and “Around the World in 80 Days” by Jules Verne, both of which might I add have not been fully read to this very moment.

To me, a bookstore is not where I go to buy books. A bookstore is where I find my muse. I go there if I am feeling down, and it sometimes happens a lot. I often go there to ponder and just look at the racks of books just sitting there waiting to be taken away from their families, waiting for me to just look at them. To reach my hand to touch them and hold them in my palms. I sometimes say to myself or my friends when we go to a bookstore “We are JUST going to take a look around.” Those nine words rarely take place the moment we enter the bookstore. To me, bookstores are therapeutic in so many different ways. They ease my mind when I am angry and lift me up when I am sad or happy.

Before anybody would hasten to assume that I am talking specifically about Diwan bookstores, this is not the case at all. There are other bookstores, street ones even that have clicked with me instantly. Diwan was just the beginning of a series of maniacal money-spending frenzy on books that I still had not read, and probably won’t in my lifetime. I kid you not when I say that I think of books as my inheritance to my children, that is if I had any.

Let me slightly deviate from the main aim of this blog to say that used books are, to me, a double-edged sword. On the plus side, they are cheap. I mean DIRT cheap. You can find old books and possibly rare ones. Nearly all bookstores have them on special racks. On the down side, they are possibly torn and misused. But most importantly I WOULD NEVER SELL MY BOOKS TO ANYONE. REPEAT, I WOULD NEVER SELL MY BOOKS TO ANYONE. Those who sell their books are not fully sane or thinking properly. But Alas, cheap books for me. Thank you O YE KIND PEOPLE WHO SELL THEIR BOOKS.

I am still young to achieve something big in my life. Up till now, I am proud to say that my biggest achievement is that I can read and I have enough money to pamper myself with loads of books. I thank God, my father, my mother and my uncle for instilling this insane affection towards this mesmerizing entity.

I had a lot of arguments with my sister, who is five years younger than me, about the power of books and reading in general. I failed the first time. I did so as well the second time. Third time. Fourth time. A couple of months ago, she opened her first book and started reading it. Granted, she still is reading it and she still has a long way to go to read other books. What I want to say is that, to start reading a book is daunting at first and sometimes even repulsive to some. But believe me, if you give yourselves the chance to buy a book in your area of interest, however minute or complex it is, however small or big, however cheap or expensive, I promise you, the best feeling you will have is when your fingers turn the page before the last one and you start reading the final words of that book. By the time you finish it, you would have earned a new lifetime friend. An honest one.

Now go grab a book and start reading it!