The Old and the Restless

My experience of time – amongst other things – changed, as of about 15 years ago or so, when I became a Muslim.

I went from measuring a year as the time it takes for the Earth to rotate around the sun, to include another conception of a year – the lunar Islamic year.

The Islamic year is shorter than the solar one by around 11 days each year. If you contemplate this, you’ll note that you “age” quicker as a Muslim. I’m 38 sun years, but I’m 39 in lunar years.

Sure, this new appreciation of time may not be as profound as Einstein’s on relativity. And truth be told, it has only begun to pique my interest quite recently, as I approach 40.

You see, for many of us men, the proximity to 40 brings along the spectre of the mid-life crisis. I’m getting there much faster as a Muslim, and no man should have to visit the onset of his mid-life crisis earlier than he should.

The significance of 40 is highlighted to me as a Muslim too. This is the age of full maturity as told by the Prophet Muhammed – peace be upon him. It’s the day we have officially cast off (let slip?) the last vestiges of youth. Not that I’ve been called youthful for a while – in fact, last year for the first time I was called uncle (a sign of respect for elders in many cultures) by an old friend's grown son.

I’ve fought this idea of aging for a while now, relatively successfully. I spied my balding spot once in a photo taken from some indecent angle. But I convince myself it’s not there as I can’t see it in the mirror. And I keep my hair short to temper the contrast if people from a higher vantage point see me from behind.

I developed my first grey hairs even earlier, in my late twenties. They’ve grown on me progressively – biologically and as the pun intended.

When I see someone who’s about my age, I automatically think they’re older than me. If I unwittingly discovered they were in fact a little younger than me, the cognitive dissonance would kick in and push the epiphany promptly out of my memory. I carry on relatively un-scarred, despite the invisible internal injury.

But mostly, I’ve known that where I can put a three in front of my age, I’m in pretty good stead – at least psychologically.

But that’s about to end. Now I’m faced with peak Hisham – the trend will never incline again. That brings the idea of aging – or shall we call it mortality – starkly to life.

What many won’t and perhaps cannot understand – those that are young – is the closeness of death and your place within time and history, not outside of it. It’s hard to describe without the experience.

I once processed the moon landing as transpiring in another epoch, occupying a place before reality really became real for me. On the 50^th anniversary of it last year I finally realised that it had occurred only 12 years before I was born. So close! Yet it seemed so far that it was more folklore to me. 

And now I think about it, the hyper-colour 90s where I took my first year as an adult is not really real for the many millennials around me. I’m part of history for them, at one time outside their reality – and that is not something I contemplated before. I'm not the centre of the universe, not even mine anymore.

As I face mortality in the mirror and in my mind, I see death. This pandemic we are living through is a case in point. It heightens anxieties while we’ve largely been cloistered from mortality in this modern world. I fear for the vulnerable and question my own.

Along with anxiety, there is also something else I feel. A feeling not unfamiliar, though its current harbinger is novel. It's a deep, raw presence. A wisdom I feel I once knew - now freed in the time I now have to reflect, and on the quiet roads, and in the new way people look at me. Do you feel it too?

And while confronting, it's humbling and perhaps a source of comfort. While the Prophet Muhammed – peach be upon him – did talk about the end of youth at 40, he was signaling the start of something else much deeper too. He received his first revelation from God when he was 40, and that’s when his mission commenced. At 40 he was motivated by the Divine and that’s when he started to change the world.

For me, this coming of age presents both mortality and revelation. These ideas pose two very different questions. Am I destined to distract myself from the gaze of mortality or will I pursue my revelation? I sit here after another attempt to write this, and I hope it is the latter.

distorted equilibrium

In nature, God tends to ensure there is an equilibrium, in which animal and environment coexist. If animal gets beyond its means, it can rapidly get cut down to size, often through natural transformation; for example, disease, malnutrition and destruction of its means of existence and environment. This can sometimes lead to serious loss or even eradication of the species members.

However, humans have found ways to become resilient to natural transformation and even to exploit it. That is, medicine cures what ails you, safe and healthy environments increase our average ages, mass production, innovative means of travel and communication and globalisation have ensured we can develop and live off resources that we wouldn't have access to if we were another species.

But, resilience is not necessarily adaptation, and can be short sighted - this, not so resilient in the greater scheme of things. Importantly, what it also does is build up reliance on the systems, technology and infrastructure that we have developed to prop us up and keep nature at bay, so to speak. These systems, technology and infrastructures are not features of our species – that is, they are not part of our natural bodies and we are not born with them in our natural systems. They instead can take us away from our base capacity to survive, and should they be removed, our capacity to survive may be diminished or lost, just like a muscle that hasn’t been used for years. These things also enable us to distort the natural equilibrium and live well beyond our ‘natural’, base capacity means, in a anthropo-environment with an anthropo-equilibrium. 20 million people can live in New York, only because of technology and infrastructure to support an economy and livelihoods. The warm clothes, heating and shelter maintains this mass amount of people in the same area, for an extended time.

Anthropo-equilibriums have several thousand years of experience, compared with millions of years experience by natural equilibriums. Anthropo-equilibriums change decade by decade these days (contractions perhaps?), each iteration new and untested. Each iteration, much more reliant on unnatural features of our species. What is more, while anthropo-equilibriums currently must reside within the wider natural environment (we cannot change the temperature of the Sun for instance, even if we wanted to), they often detrimentally impact the natural environment at the micro-level, leading to loss of biodiversity, erosion, climate change, to name a few.

We strive to find comfort and security in our environments. Unfortunately, at the same time we run the increasing risk of having our balloon burst. Over reliance on un-inherent features of our species increases the consequence of great adverse event/s, while over-exploitation of the natural environment increases the likelihood of these happening.

While that may be an intractable problem and risk, what we have not done is nearly enough to compensate nature or reduce the tension between natural and anthropo-environments. Nor have we really considered our reliance on things (unnatural features of our species), let alone what we might do about it. Although we are arguably more resilient, the degree of resilience required may be many multiples greater than what we have now. We need to do much more than contemplate this. And the rest will be up to God.

The Connection

Something happened on the way to work this morning, but nothing much at all.

Last night as I was walking home under pink clouds and retreating skies two brothers skateboarded by me. As they kicked and pushed up on the road behind me, I watched as they rode past, gliding every now and again while grinning at one another. The wilder one's smirk was his trademark; I could tell he wore it often. His energy came from the exhilaration left in the wake of car that he purposefully pushed past as it streaked around the bend. The other one glided along behind him, less concerned with beating the car. His expression was in concert with his mate but he seemed happy enough to play backing vocals. They were off to the park.

I got there a couple of minutes later. I had chosen this route to the train station and back because I it felt quicker in the spatial part of my mind. But I soon realised it was by far the best choice because of the stroll through Elsternwick Park.

Every time I walk or cycle through Elsternwick Park I look for a certain tree. How I will find it I don't know, and this is not my great concern. This certain tree entices me for a reason. A couple of years ago the drummer from crowded house tied a rope around his neck and hanged himself here. I heard it on the radio and on the tv. His listless body was found hanging there in the morning. I always think of who might have found him and I hope that whoever it was, it was not a young child walking to school. I remember a fog that descended here one night cycling home. I imagine the discovery of a dead man hanging from a tree near the small lake in the eerie mist of an autumn morning.

As I look for the tree I wonder why he chose this place. There aren’t many trees to hang a whole body on and those that are strong enough can easily be seen from one of the four surrounding streets. Did he do it because he wanted the attention? I don’t know. But I am sure he found this place beautiful just as I do.

It is almost surreal; stuffed here in inner-suburbia. And as I pace through it I feel that if I willed it enough I could take a step to the left and find myself in the countryside in another world. As I near the skate bowl adjacent to my walking track I wonder why someone decided to fashion a nice little lake over there only a couple of hundred metres from Port Phillip Bay to the West. Flood plains...

Arriving at the skate bowl I see the two skateboarders weaving up and down and along as two little boys, themselves on skateboards, with helmets that make their bodies look even smaller – they can’t be more than 10 years old - watch on in anticipation. For some reason I think about professional skaters. I think about skating and the lifestyle that they chase on those four small wheels. I wonder about all those people that I have known who skate. I know the scene. They have fun, they likely drink, laugh, take the piss and make jokes. My thoughts continue on; I wonder if there would ever be some Muslim pro-skater. But not just some ‘muzzie’ on wheels, but a pious, quiet practising Muslim kid who doesn’t drink or party but goes home to pray. Could someone with anything but an excitable and social disposition be a pro-skater, or a serious skater at all? I have never seen a guy skating to the mosque for Friday prayer, kickflipping along the way. I picture them all getting along cordially, even fondness and enjoying each others company, while watching what they each might say out of respect. But when the shows over, their ways part with a smile and wave, but they part nonetheless.

Without contemplating the generalities of it all this is what I thought to myself. Then I arrived home, exited my working apparel, being careful to hang my pants up without compromising the crease. I cooked dinner, talked rubbish with Dan, watched tv, went to bed, then got up in the morning. This is where I tell you about something that happened, but nothing much at all.

It’s cold in the mornings these days, but a brisk walk makes it bearable. I step onto the short, dress shoe-beaten dirt track that leads from the roundabout onto the walking track in the park. This must have been the place where my imaginings had stopped last night as I approached the traffic to cross back over the roundabout. From my headphones triple J was rambling on. Lupe Fiasco was on the air. Myf, J and the Doctor had him on the show. If you know him, you would know his track ‘kick, push’ about the kid on the skateboard. At this time, the reference was meaningless.

I walked along and listened to their banter as my brain slowly defrosted from the cold winter’s night that lay behind me. But then Lupe said he didn’t drink alcohol in a passing thread of a passing conversation. I was amazed, although a passer-by would have noted absolutely no change in my expression at all. I didn’t know whether he was the Muslim in my mind or not. Nevertheless, spurred on by the coincidence and crisp air, I had processes the event into something meaningful. I walked on; the lucid world of my cosseted imagination finally connected with another world – the real world? – the ensuing metaphysical, quantum collision perhaps even let a little light escape. It was something alright, but nothing much at all.

rainy

Just a little rain that's all. Or so I have been told by a certain zeppelin made out of led. That's right, it is raining here in the algid depths of Melbourne's winter. And also in my soul.

The reasons are perched high atop the languid canopy of this disinformational blog and its throng of heady onlookers and can not be confabulated within this medium. This is no insult to you, my gracious reader, as I split the infinitive to wholsomely relate to my cyber compatriots that their worth is great to me yet the content I wish to express convenes precariously between a social deliverance of sorts and that of personal, benevolent council. Other reasons may include laziness, paranoia, cards, electronic pool cues and even the unconsummated fates of and between loved ones, both brotherly and other respectively.

None to the less, unemployed and with little exciting news to share with you after my delicious escapades around the globe I have resorted to promiscuous verbs and hearty adjectives to fill this literary void in our lives.

Today is my dream brother Omar's birthday. 19 is an eminent number and I pray it has healing properties too. We will find what Harry Potter has to say on the matter tonight. And regardless of what I may have previously thought of this young man, any friend of Omes's is a friend of mine.

Up North...

nothing has come to mind to write in the last couple of weeks despite plenty of thoughts swirling around up here. I simply havent managed to make any of it really coherent or directional. i might start with a phrase, get nowhere, attain a certain level of frustration, then pick up my screen, scrunch it up and throw it in the bin. don't expect any direction here, but maybe some semi-coherent ramblings.

and this is where it has got me. I am back in Australia. When i arrived home, no one was there to pick me up. i caught a bus, then a train, then picked up my feet to walk the last kilometre to my empty house. once there i basked in the vast personal space of my home that i would shortly endeavour to clog up with luggage, clothes, letters from the mailbox, dishes, empty recyclables, and various other assortable phenomena.

lurking in the shadows of one of the smaller bedrooms, i discovered Chen the Chinese student boarder. truth be told, i did expect him to be around, but he had the habit, which i would later discover, of being either holed up in his room or being out. Like an electron which is simultaneously at different places until it is measured, i would not know where Chen was until i dared open the door to his room. But whatever, Chen has little significant place in this particular wayward story.

For the next week and a half I got back into soccer and found myself back at Choice, my old work, for a little pocket money. I also applied for a few jobs on the side and attempted to accost John Howard outside the Casino - more on that later. I have so far been unsuccessful in these two regards, although at least one of them is pending...

today i am in Townesville, QLD. after tracking my brother Omar up here to my sister and brother-in-laws place, i did decide to accept the pre-booked and paid for trip up North. Away from the suddenly dreary, wet and cold Melbourne up into the tropics. bbq's to make up for my missed aussie summer and some lessons in the local flora and fauna from my brother in law and his best man.

tomorrow maybe out to magnetic island. will give you some pics soon enough.

hisham

narita tokyo

fatigue is setting in... its stuffy in Narita airport, Tokyo. strange, for some reason there are a lot of japanese people around here.

3 hours to go before boarding the qantas flight back home. my stomachs getting annoyed with me, telling me to get some proper sleep otherwise it'll stop working and and threatening to keep me in the ole bathroom no doubt (don't read that). i wouldnt mind the peace and quiet. anyway, i dont listen to it and instead spend my remaining 10 yen on a crab croissant and some internet time.

i had a nice weekend in NYC. jazz on saturday night, walking and taking in the city on sunday. spent some time with daisy and audrey, and took little 2nd cous Nicholas to the park. felt like a surrogate dad and amused myself with idle chitchat to other 'real' parents; 'oh the weather's a bit chilly...', 'yes, but it's nice when the sun comes out.' how wonderful.

back a few days and i was in washington. i really did not spend enough time there, but i did enjoy it. one week on the riz khan team and i was just working out where to tread, how to say what, and when. good experience nonetheless. i did go for an impromtu interview on friday at al-Arabiya news channel. they broadcast only in arabic. i thought it was a horrible interview, primarily because of my lack of arabic speaking skills, and it didnt take long to convince Sara to agree with me. but it was a good experience. i do not like interviews, but who does? however, i like to see each one as being a work in progress, and ill improve the next time. wise words.

Spent some time visiting the city after work with Sara. this was good for the authorities however, cos we halved the surveillance costs by being in the same place. me, a suspected Ghaddafi conspirator (yea, im sure he's still at it), and Sara being the little hijabi renegade she is. we tried to blend into society and fit within that great iron cage but we stood out apparently and the police not so stealthily parked on the grass directly behind us pointing some sound tech stuff at us. so we moved 50 yards along and stuck it to them. that'll teach em.

not to worry, i made it out of the country after a brief bomb inspection at customs.

oh my god. more japanese. they just keep coming out of the woodwork. and i keep forgotting the greeting here. origato mr robato, sayonara... no probs. ahh. konichiya. but its too late for formalities. im tired.

My place is only a ten minute walk from the Capitol Building at one end of 'the mall' here in DC, the centre of town. The weather has been warm to hot, up in the 80+ degrees farenheit. Not as I expected.

So, I met John the other day. He is, but won't be for long, the executive program producer for Al-Jazeera English in the Middle East, and he is the guy that invited me over here. Sunday night at his nice 5 star hotel, with a few of the crew he says. few of the crew means little to me, in fact I was thinking some of the production fellas would be keen for a drink in the lobby, but no. No, not at all. It was one of John's seniors, Paul; the director, Rick; the young sound and light director, Jamie; and the host of the show Jasim al-Azzawi. there they were all astonished I had made the trip to DC. Was I crazy?

So Sunday was the beginning of a very long, very interesting, few days that culminated in the 2 shows on Wednesday. It has been an amazing experience and I have met people that exist only in this political world that may as well be fiction (cos it goes like a story), but is actually very real.

I watched Jasim interview Colin Powell's ex-chief advisor (Wilkerson) push the buck and condemn all the top neocons and CIA leading upto the Iraq War. He also said something about some tree or Bush being too light up top to grow any seeds - off record.

Today, I watched Scott Ritter and Joshua Moravchik slam it out verbally, scoring extra points with the flambouyant hand waiving and face clenching. I also watched Tony Benn explain to us how he would throw a grenade too and how churchill would have done things alot different (that guy should have his own show - a Commonwealth treasure).

I ran around George Washington University telling people about al-jazeera and iraq and to come to the show (or did the bastards hear al-qaeda in Iraq? cos they didnt bother coming). I asked General Kimmitt a nice little question on international television that he answered way to easily. straight out of the script!

so much going on in the last 3 days it felt like 2 weeks. tomorrow, ill be seeing DC with Jasim, Rick, Jamie and John. hard work i guess. after that I should be helping out on the Riz Kahn show for a week. that'll take me upto friday next week and then upto NYC and then back to melbourne thru tokyo on the following monday.