239. The Liar

And I’ll read you this Sufi story that I call:

The Liar

There was once a farmer who had lived his entire life in the country and who knew only his fields, his hut, his cow, his wife and the countryside nearby.

One day a man approached carrying a large fish on his back.

“What is that on your back?” asked the farmer.

“A fish.. A creature which lives in the water.” replied the stranger.

“Impossible!” exclaimed the farmer who had seen in his lifetime no larger a body of water than that contained in his kitchen bucket.

The stranger then explained that the fish came from the sea, which lay beyond the mountain. He described the sea and told of the many creatures, which lived in it.

“You lie!” exclaimed the farmer, “I don’t believe a word of your wild tale!”

“Then come with me over the mountain”, said the traveler, “And see these things for yourself.”

“Never!” shouted the farmer; “If you cannot show me the truth here where I live, it is proof that you lie!”

The traveler walked away and the farmer remained unchanged.

...

238. American Green

Now I am going back to read something I wrote about good old green American dollars and put into my logbook

American Green

The province I cross is famine-struck
There’s nothing to eat, not a bean,
But I dine on steak and caviar
If I lay out American Green.


The border guards get irate
When searching my bags they’ve been,
But they wave me through with a toothy smile
When I hand them American Green.


I pass through a country struggling
With a dictator that’s mean,
But his wild and ornery temper’s soothed
With a heap of American Green.


The “Maitre D” is angered
By my tee shirt and patchy blue jean,
But better far than tux and tails
Is a wad of American Green.


Yes, I dig the Wonders of Nature
And Night Life too’s my scene,
So I swing like a king or a hermit
With some help from American Green.


Some say the Reich Mark’s “the answer”,
On Yen or Pounds they’re keen,
But from Timbuktu to Afghanistan
They love my American Green.


Now I’ve been all over the planet
And a hell of a lot I’ve seen,
But I couldn’t have got across the street
Without that American Green.


So if you want to travel far
With a mind relaxed and serene
Just carry a backpack stuffed to the brim
With dear old American Green!

…

237. Mountain Stream

That’s a poem that a traveler like me really appreciates, and here’s another entry from the slam book:

“A little sun, a little rain,

A soft impulse, a sudden dream;

And life as dry as desert dust

Is fresher than a mountain stream.

So simple is the heart of man,

So ready for new hope and joy

Ten thousand years since it began

Have left it younger than a boy.

A little hope and little trust

And life as dry as desert dust

Is fresher than a mountain stream.”

…

(For me, Uncle Mustache was about the only person that made the “Holy City” different from any other hot touristic property. By the way, maybe the cause of a lot of the fighting about who owns the Jerusalem turf is because the owner gets the tee-shirt sales!)(Cherchez le dollar!)

...

236. The Secret Gate

Some other things were there: This little benediction:

“May the long time sun shine upon you and love surround you and the pure light within you guide you home.”

~:~

And this poem:

“Still around the corner there may wait

A hidden door, a secret gate

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day will come when I take

The paths that run

East of the moon and west of the sun.”

...

…

235 Uncle Moustache

While I was in Jerusalem I met an interesting man called “Uncle Mustache” who owned a restaurant in the Old City called “Uncle Mustache Cafe”. He had a couple of “slam books” at his restaurant that he would let anybody that wanted to write in them and some of the things people had written were very good, I think. I copied some of the guest’s writings that I liked into my logbook

Here is a poem that a girl from Canada wrote in his book:

“It is now, without meaning to offend,

time to leave.

See, the mirrors are steaming and before

we finally become ourselves,

we should part.

Go, give my love to who you once were and

tread lightly on the grass so as

not to disturb the sleeping buds.

My nights are no longer spent in remembering

and it is too late to be playing at

enjoyment.

Write to me when I have time to read and

don’t forget when I need to remember.

Tell your reflection that time is a strange

thing, and go…..(because I loved)”

…

234. Golden

I wrote some other things in Egypt and Lebanon, like: “For a Golden Age, you need a Golden People.” and: “The Truth cannot be written since words are only crude symbolizations of even cruder concepts. Truth IS reality; not more, not less, but since we all have our own perceptions, I think truth is different for everyone and that’s why people never agree about what is true.”

And: “I’ve seen flies in my time, but I had to get to Lebanon to see a gold one!” (While I was writing this, a golden fly came and sat on the page where I was writing.)

...

233. Ashamed

You know one thing I am sorry about is that after he graduated Gaylord came to see me once in my classroom after school where I was a high school English teacher. He was home on leave from the army before he was sent to ‘Nam. He was a very dark-skinned Hawaiian, which, of course, made no difference as to how he was treated on Kauai in those old days.

He told me that he was trained in the deep south of America somewhere and one day he was downtown in uniform on a pass when a white lady standing on the street corner next to him got knocked over by a bus. He was the first person to reach her and when he bent down to help her she started shouting: “Get away from me you nigger!” He asked me why she had acted like she did and it made me (a white man) ashamed.

. .

232. Memorium

Here’s something I wrote when I was in Luxor, Egypt:

Memorium

Gaylord was a young Hawaiian American who was killed in Viet Nam.

You remember Viet Nam don’t you— that TV series that was shut down for too much violence?

Gaylord was a Kauai boy who grew up before the hippies grassified the island. He was a strong, skinny youngster. Smart like boys who grow up outdoors are: very gentle and kind—a kid familiar with tropical beaches and forests. Of course, he got put in the infantry and was the sort of guy they would have walk “point” on patrols and I suppose that’s what killed him. 

Well, Gaylord, you weren’t the first and you aren’t the last. I hope you enjoyed the bit of human life you got this time around.

Imua! 

(That Hawaiian word means something like “forward” in English.) 

...

231. Waitin' for the Visa

Well—here’s one I wrote about dying called:

Waitin' for the Visa.

Some of my best friends got theirs and left—

Split this meat house years ago!

I’m not too cautious,

No, I risked it same as them—

But here I am!

I see some hobbling around

Creaking and wrinkled;

Some sour, some sweet;

Some tired of waiting,

Some glad to be here—

And I sort of wonder

How long it’s gonna take

For my papers to clear.

No, I ain’t eager or anxious. I dig life;

The high times and low,

And all the critters and flowers,

These jammed-up cities

And April showers—

It’s an idle thought

For a slow Sunday afternoon;

I just wonder if

It will be late or soon.

...

230. Christopher Columbus

That’s my little essay. I thought it over quite a lot. I notice when I’m reading it that it’s so much different from the way I speak. Its much more dense because I thought a lot about it and then I wrote it out as compactly as I could, but anyway I use the term “gloss” which is a word I heard used by a student one time. I don’t know if I’ve used the definition that the sociologists in America use. I had to make up my own because I don’t remember exactly what the definition was, but I think I got it more or less the same as it’s used in America. Anyway, I wrote that essay and I’m passing it along to you folks to sort of let you know what I think about.

Before I arrived in Lebanon I had spent several weeks in Egypt. I had done a lot of traveling and was really weary and needed a rest. I thought it would be nice to go off in the country by myself and eat right and sleep and just take it easy, so I went up to a little valley a fellow from Beirut showed me. It’s only about thirty kilometers out of Beirut—up in the mountains—down in the olive groves and right beside a beautiful little stream. I spent a week there just mellowing out and while I was there I wrote some poems and I’m going to read you some of the poems I wrote. The first one I call:

Christopher Columbus

I was out in the woods and my campfire said to me:

“How ‘bout putting on a pot o’ coffee or some sassafras tea?”

I was out in the woods and a big stone said to me:

“I may be gray and mossy, but it’s all the same to me.”

I was out in the woods and a river said to me:

“If you want more life, man, just take a drink from me.”

I was out in the woods and a white star said to me:

“There’s nothing between us but a deep, blue sea.”

(Sail ho!)

...

229. Gloss Essay

Gloss: (Definition) the “social fabric” of a people—what they conceive of as “reality”.

For the members of a society, which can be as small as a tribe of a few dozen people to a civilization of millions, the gloss is a complete system of philosophy, usually including acceptable patterns of behavior, a language (or dialect), a religion and a history.

A gloss must be self-consistent and cohesive, with rules for every contingency, policy for all social intercourse and answers for all philosophical speculation.

Once a “hole” is punched in a gloss; once a question arises which cannot be answered satisfactorily in terms of the gloss’s closed system, the fabric is weakened and if another gloss is handy which more reasonably or forcefully answers the question, plugging the hole, (and introducing an element of an extraneous gloss into the previously self-sufficient system), it will serve as a “patch”.

For reasons of security, all members of a gloss system strive to keep their philosophical parameters inviolate. Aided by the basic conservatism of the human organism, this trends to system stasis.

But it is our duty, of course, as creatures worthy of “The Experiment” to poke holes in each other’s glosses; to encourage drafts of cross-cultural knowledge to circulate through the openings and to expect the discomfort and unbalance thus caused will eventually lead to a more successful, perhaps truer conception of reality.

…

228. When in Rome

Part of the Moslem tradition is hospitality to strangers. They tell stories of the days of old—when the men vied with each other to see who could be the most hospitable, and when a stranger came, they would all want to have the stranger stay with them. Part of their tradition is to have the stranger sleep in their bed and wear their night clothing. They fed the stranger the best food available and generally made a great deal of him—and it has been my good fortune to meet men who still believe in these old traditions. Because of this I have been treated extremely well here—been babied and petted and pampered and just generally treated awfully well.

I’ve tried to keep the scale sort of even by drawing pictures for people as gifts and taking photographs and giving them copies and generally being agreeable; teaching a little English and playing with the children when I’ve seen them and things like this. But the scale is heavily off-balance on their side—they’ve been so extremely generous and kind to me.

They are a bit possessive though.

I guess they sort of feel like I belong to them. I’m their American and they want me to follow what they want me to do. I’m generally willing to do this because I learn so very much and its better to go along. You know, when you’re in Rome, you do like the Romans and I’m in Tripoli so I do like the Tripolitarians, or whatever they call themselves, do. It’s been a very interesting time, and I wrote a short essay about the situation. I wrote it in December on a cold day when I was indoors—there was nothing much else to do. I think this is a good time to read it. I’ll pick up my logbook—(this is in my new logbook. I’ve gone thru the old one—filled it completely and I bought a new one, which is very large. It will last a long time!) I wrote this in early January 1975.

...

227. Letter Home Continued

I’m here by myself all day and then most of the evening. Then it’s used by a group of Sufis who are of the mystical branch of the Moslem Faith and they’re my friends. They come in every evening about five and leave between eight-thirty and nine-thirty. What they do here is pray in the Moslem style with bowing to Mecca. Then they chant chapters from the Koran and then they chant all together the Name of God: “Allah, Allah, Allah…”

They chant this over and over for about half an hour and get very “high” doing this and I look around and join them, of course, because I figure that is part of the trip, to observe what’s happening and generally see if I can get off like they do. I really can’t, it’s so alien to me. It’s just curiosity rather than a deeply religious experience, but it has opened my eyes to the way these Moslems think a little bit.

Of course, their minds, being conditioned from the time they are children, I’ll never be able to completely understand them and they certainly don’t understand me, but they have been very, very kind to me.

...

226. Dead Neighbor

I told you about the room where I live. The other room to this mosque is a tomb. There is a woman who built this mosque especially for herself to be buried in and her body is in the next room; but she seems to mind her own business and evidently has very peacefully gone on to the Great Beyond because I haven’t noticed any rapping or squeaking or anything else like that around here—much to my delight.

There are windows into her room and I peek in occasionally. It’s very dusty and dirty and I’ll probably clean the place if I ever find the key to the door. I’ve been sort of cleaning around here to pay for my keep. I’ve done a little work out in the garden. It’s a small, walled garden that belongs to the mosque and one of my greatest pleasures is to go out into the garden when I eat.

The garden is all cemented. There are four or five pots with weeds growing in them and I’m going to try to plant some flowers there before I leave and since I expect to leave pretty soon I really have to get on with that project if I’m ever going to do it.

225.Old Mosque

I was going to tell you about this mosque but I got into another subject.

This mosque has two main areas. The room where I live is about 16 X 20 feet and it’s floored with carpets. There is a small entry area where you come in and take off your shoes and then step on the carpets. The carpets are, of course, very beautiful and also very expensive. We sit on the floor here in either a kneeling position or in a cross-legged posture and there are several cushions in the room so that those who don’t like just sitting on the carpets can use the cushions. I usually grab a cushion because my legs aren’t quite used to sitting for the long periods of time that my friends enjoy sitting.

The mosque is built of stone. The walls, I guess, are three or four feet thick. The ceiling is arched and the whole interior is painted white with blue trim. This is down in the old section of town and there is a farmyard—it’s odd—on one side there is a city street and on the other side there are a bunch of chickens—so before this tape is over you may hear some chickens crowing.

...

224. French Legacy

Most of the large homes here—the wealthier people’s homes—have a special room set aside like a parlor which is usually decorated with period furniture and tapestries. It shows a heavy French influence. France controlled Lebanon for quite a while and the people’s idea of gracious decorations in a room is about Louis XIV to Louis XV period. One of the biggest industries in town is making copies of period furniture—it’s beautifully done. The wood in the furniture is carved very deeply and the upholstery is tapestry or something very valuable looking. Part of the furnishings are marble-topped tables. The marble comes from this part of the world and they polish it and put it on carved legs and it’s really quite attractive in its own way, but to me it’s very over-done.

The houses of the wealthy reach for a style of living that is practically regal and, of course, being an American from a democracy, it seems a little bit pretentious, but that’s the way they like it here and I am not here to teach but to learn so I just keep my eyes and ears open and my mouth closed. When I do say things they listen patiently but I can tell that they feel that their way of life is so superior that they’re not much interested in learning.

...

223. Cultural Differences

The sexes are totally separate. I never see women when they get together—just the men. And in the homes, when I visit, the women are always carefully hidden from me. Only their near relatives, their brothers and fathers and men like that are allowed to see the women. I’m talking about the traditional Moslem family.

I’ve asked the young men who are my students how they ever make friends with girls in order to marry them and they say that it is quite a problem, but there are ways—you know love will find a way, and they meet one way or another.

I went to a Moslem wedding and it was really fantastic because I never saw the bride or any women! It was just men. They sat around smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. This seems to be their biggest thing. They love to do it. They’ll do it by the hour.

Of course I don’t speak Arabic. I can just understand a few words but they all seem entertained by what’s happening and they’ll sit for maybe three or four hours talking. There’s usually a leader and they call them “sheiks” here and a sheik is just a wise man or an educated person and he’s usually the leader of the group and everyone listens to him and asks him questions. They spend hour after hour talking like this. To me it’s been intriguing. For one thing, it gives me practice hearing Arabic even though I don’t understand what they’re saying. I just pick out a few words now and then. But I also get to watch their reactions and watch their way of life.

 ...

222. A Letter Home

And now, dear and respected reader, for your delectation and edification, you are going to be exposed to some printed “spoken American” language of the late twentieth century. Here following, almost unedited, is another facet of your writer, a transcribed audiotape that I mailed to my parents from Tripoli, Lebanon in the winter of AD 1973.

I borrowed this little tape recorder from a friend of mine who teaches English here in Tripoli. He has helped me quite a lot. He and a friend of his got me a little class of students to teach English.

Three boys. All of them want to go to America and they’re kind of interesting for me to talk to. They speak English pretty well. Well, anyway that’s how I got this tape recorder and it is not a topnotch tape recorder but it seems to be doing OK. I just checked the playback and its working so here goes:

Let me tell you about this mosque first because this place is probably the strangest place I’ve ever lived in my life. It’s in the old section of Tripoli. I guess its about eight blocks from a crusader’s castle that was built here when the crusaders came through. It’s a huge castle and this building where I live is about six or seven hundred years old so that makes it the oldest place I’ve ever stayed. I’ve been in this mosque about two weeks and before that I was living in various places in Tripoli.

I met a Moslem teacher and he invited me to stay for the winter and he’s introduced me to his circle of friends and it’s really quite interesting. They’re trying to teach me all they can and I’m learning. I knew a little bit about the religion before I got here just from reading though I had never met any Moslems before. But what I am learning mostly is their way of life just by observing. They’re really quite gracious livers.

...

221. More Experiences

.

I attend some special night meetings with the sheikh where perhaps twenty men would stand in a large circle in a room chanting “Allah, uh! Allah, uh!” with the “Allah” being exhaled and the “uh” being a deep inhalation. The black-clad participants would simultaneously bend forward at the waist in a bobbing motion, with each “Allah”. (I irreverently thought they looked like a flock of penguins.) Then some of the men would then begin slowly revolving in place—and then begin to spin like tops, faster and faster, circling the empty space in the center of the group.


Of course I was free to join them spinning, but I only observed and never joined these “whirling dervishes”, which is exactly what they were. 



One evening some worried parents brought their six-year-old daughter to the sheikh for a consultation and he asked me to join them. 

To me the little girl seemed to be “inhabited” by a very mature and very wickedly sensual spirit—she was not at all the “little girl” she should have been at her chronological age. 

The sheikh asked me what I thought about the girl and when I told him what I thought, he said that WAS her trouble. She had been taken over by an evil spirit—a seeming case of “spirit possession”.


He gave the parents instructions for prayers and gave them a charm, which he said would induce the evil spirit to vacate the body and leave the child alone.

...

220. What Does God Think?

And does God really care with whom we hold hands or how we dress?


If you think you or anyone else knows what God/Gott/Dios/Jehovah./Allah thinks, you are probably deluded and had better think again.


And if you think that your favorite prophet, "son of god", teacher, guru or “spiritual leader” has the definitive answer for everyone on earth for all time, I think you have misjudged the comprehensive wisdom of your oh-so-human-just-like-you-are fuhrer even if your particular guide has misguided millions of people for centuries!


It does seem to me that such things as drinking alcohol or teetotalling, holding hands with the opposite sex or not, wearing bikinis or veils and such only exemplify “cultural” differences and are probably not worth killing or dying for!


And if your spiritual exemplar happens to be a warlord—well, how many soldiers have you known that were enlightened?

...

219. Dress Code

In a culture where men and women are totally separated from each other and only a few years before all women were veiled and hidden away, I didn’t expect a lot more from my guru, but it does seem that even some wise and devoted spiritual leaders are also victims of their own culture.


Two young men often hold hands as they stroll together down the street here in Tripoli, but the same men wouldn’t dare hold hands with a girl! 

I don’t know if holding hands means the men are gay or just friends, but I suppose that where females are strictly off limits and when the hormones rage, young men will find some release for their sexuality if not in outright homosexuality than in some other bizarre form of behavior.


I suppose a boy holding hands with a girl here in Tripoli would be considered a disgusting pervert and not just a fool in love.


In Rio de Janeiro I saw “normal” young girls and boys wearing nothing but mini-bikinis on the beach in public and here young people are more at ease wearing yards and yards of cloth, pants, shoes and veils—well, which way is “wrong”? Would it be “better” if everyone were alike? Should the dress of a person in a scorching desert be the same as the clothing of a person living on a tropical island?

...

218. Fire

The sheikh was very interested in the fact that I was keeping a diary and one evening, when Adam and his wife were visiting and could translate, he asked me if he could take it to look at overnight. I said, “Of course.” since I thought it was only fair that, as my “spiritual guide” he should see my inmost thoughts as I recorded them and also take a look at the other interesting stuff; tickets, receipts and things, I had collected during my trip and pasted into my diary.


The next day he thanked me for allowing him to look over the diary but asked me why I had a couple of “pin-up” girl photos from a magazine pasted in the book. I said it was because I liked to look at beautiful women and he warned me against that kind of thing. He used one of his only English words to describe their effect on a viewer: “Fire!” he said. I guess he meant that viewing such stuff could only make one burn with desire or burn in hell, perhaps-- so I tore the offending pages from the diary, threw them away and he was satisfied..

...

217 Guru Doings

My guru is himself a highly respected leader or he would not have such a responsible job as judge. I think he is not just a “knee-jerk” believer either, but a deep thinker, believer and practitioner of his faith: the “Sufi” movement in the Moslem religion. His example, seems to me to emphasize a more personal and dedicated spiritual development..


So, to me he is more Yogi than Sheikh.


An example: when he is deep in prayer his upper body throbs—and not with a heartbeat rhythm, but with a very peculiar rapid pulsing movement. I have never seen anything like it. It definitely sets him apart—in a class by himself.


Another example: he forbade me to take his photograph but I slyly did one evening when I thought he was not noticing. Later when I had the film developed, his image was not there! When I mentioned this bizarre effect to him he just laughed merrily.


Later, when he gave me his permission to take a photo of him, the image was where it should be!


Since then I have learned that this “trick” is one sometimes performed by advanced yogis.


Again, once when we were about to have lunch and I was very eager to drink a glass of hot sweet tea with him, a glass of tea in front of him slid  across the glass-topped table to my place without being touched. When this happened, he was watching me with narrowed eyes. I did not react to this unexpected event with surprise, but merely picked up the glass and drank as if nothing unusual had happened, which I thought pleased him.

...

216. Freedom

Every Friday, before the noon prayers, I sit listening with the brothers in the mosque to the “for men only” sermons and exhortations.

I understand none of the words, but the cadence is familiar; the same monotonous droning of the Christian pastor or priest. I wonder if all humans are susceptible to this hypnotic, repetitious rhythm of a speaker’s voice? Falling under the spell of charismatic orators is not new and is not limited to these Moslem men. Maybe it is human nature to be attracted by this kind of speech and to respond like zombies.

To me, the dogmatic and repressive nature of all these big old religious organizations as they direct their minions, most often seems a barrier to human consciousness and yet religions, such as Judaism, Christianity and Islam may be important factors in social stability for us masses.

I personally prefer more independent freedom of thought and action, but for an individual to be “free”, his actions must also be socially responsible and in the direction of common good and peace or his personal freedom quickly leads to chaos.

If large numbers of people wish to be “free”, they must act thoughtfully and responsibly and respect each other’s “freedom”.

...

215. Differences

I see that the Islamic community here is monolithic in religious belief and will tolerate absolutely nothing in the way of independent thought or expression. For example: I am shown the precisely correct way to place my fingers on my thighs as I do some of the exercises of prayer and, when I close my fingers one morning because of the extreme cold, I am reprimanded.


Experimentation or being different is not simply forbidden; it is not even considered. Everybody is not only equal, but identical in belief.


Is this the ultimate Democracy?


Or is there perhaps more than one way to skin a cat…more than one way to place your hands when you pray? Perhaps when you think you or someone else has all the right answers straight from God’s mouth, as it were; you are just plain wrong—even if there are millions of you.

...

214. More rules

If it is at all possible every Moslem must make a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once in his lifetime . After he has done this he is respectfully called “Hadj”, along with his name, like “Hadji-baba” in the “Arabian Nights” stories.


A Moslem must drink no alcoholic beverage. Some “Moslems” do, of course, but the reallio trulio hard core Moslems don’t—they smoke hashish instead! 

 I discover that there is no salaried “priesthood” in Islam, but good teachers, inspiring orators or gifted singers of chapters of The Koran are given due respect. Most of the Moslem brothers have memorized the Koran and must correct each other if any mistake is made during a recitation.

The typical Moslem believer here in Lebanon is, I think, at least as conforming and conservative as his typical Christian counterpart in America. The brothers here obey the rules of their religion and do what they have been taught to do from childhood without much thought as to “why” or to “where it is all going”.

...

213. First Moslem Rules

There are some formal rules which one must obey if he calls himself a Moslem and, of course, hundreds or even thousands of “proper social behaviors” which are observed throughout the life of a Moslem—and which differ considerably depending on the country where one is born and lives.


The first rule is to say (and believe): “There is one God, “Allah”, and that Muhammad is His prophet.” In Arabic this phrase sounds to me more or less like: “Lei-hee-lei-hee-eee-Allah, Muhammad rasool-Allah.” though I am absolutely certain lots of Arabic speakers would write it with different English letters. Everybody seems to like to argue immediately about such things!


(By “lei”, above, I mean a word pronounced like the Hawaiian garland of flowers or like “lay”.)


A “Believer” is also expected to pray five times daily, in a mosque if possible or wherever he is if that is not possible. Faithful Moslem men also attend a weekly service for the entire congregation in a mosque on Friday, which is their “Sabbath” day, so I am kept quite busy with my new religious exercises.

...

212. Tripoli, Lebanon

As the days pass I get better acquainted with this old town. 

The regular, on-time meals provided by my host, and the friendship of the Moslem “brothers” has a beneficial effect on my body and spirit.


As I gather physical strength I learn a little about Islam, “The Way of Submission” as it is explained to me.


Moslems claim to have a newer and better “revelation” from God than Christians (or anyone else)—and the way I came to this place at this time is certainly “in the flow”.

Submission to exactly what is not so clear, but the guru says it is “submission to the Will of God”, whatever that is. And I guess that is where the problems come in because so many resolute men have discovered that they and usually only they really know what the will of God is! This can of worms has cost a lot of blood in the past and will undoubtedly cost a lot more before the drama is played out


I often visit the mosque with the guru and, after I have the routine well in hand, go by myself since the guru has a daytime job. He is a judge in a Moslem court. (In Lebanon, Moslems have their own courts and legal system, which is parallel to the State’s legal system.) 

...

211. Basic Islam

The morning of the first day with the guru, he takes me to visit a silent, carpeted mosque. This beautiful old building has the same peaceful, soothing effect on me as a familiar old church, a feeling I have always liked.

Then, in the mosque’s entry-hall, fitted with benches and low faucets, he shows me how to perform the ritual pre-prayer washing of the hands, eyes, ears and feet, which I find interesting and symbolic; then he demonstrates and teaches me the ritual genuflections toward Mecca: the “Quiblah”, or “Point of Concentration” which he says is the same for all Moslems everywhere. I accept these posturings as being good for one’s mind and body perhaps like basic Tai Chi or Hatha Yoga forms.

As we move about the neighborhood, the Sheikh introduces me to many of his friends. Everyone tries to help me speak Arabic, but it is not an easy language for me to learn.

Curious people constantly surround me and it is not an easy thing for me to be an alien on display. But though I am certainly not comfortable here, I have been looking for experiences like this ever since I left Hawaii and I am curious to know what this religion, “Islam” is all about. 

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210. Who Can You Believe?

Next evening, when we return from Beirut to the teachers’ apartment in Tripoli, there is another meeting for men only in progress. After a long talk by the guru which I follow as carefully as only a stranger in a strange land can, the teacher pauses and asks me, through Adam, if I have any questions. I say, “Yes” and ask him about the truth of the “horror stories” Adam told me during our drive.

The teacher replies, “These stories are true.” and proceeds, through interpreter Adam, to recount the long history of a Jewish conspiracy against the non-Jewish world. History, as he tells it, is mostly a “Zionist mafia” plot to control everything.


Well, I am 100% sure that Adam and the guru are sincere in their belief, but I doubt if this Lebanese Moslem history lesson would be considered very accurate outside of this particular culture. Still, if they think it is true, believe it is true, than it is true for them! Historic perspective is a peculiar thing because who knows the true facts of history? In school I was taught to honor Abraham Lincoln as one of the greatest of Americans, yet I also recall a little ditty my “Confederate” mother used to sing when I was a little boy: “Jeff Davis rides a fine black horse, Abe Lincoln rides a mule. Jeff Davis is a gentleman, Abe Lincoln is a fool!”


Just WHO you gonna believe?


Still, I promise to stay at least a week with the guru to learn more about “The Way” as he calls it.

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