Today The United States of America is bombing Yemen, and it's attacking something deep in my core, I don't quite understand.
An essay I wrote back in 2020 about my love for Yemen. And 8 years old Karla Maria.
By the year 2025, the world opened up to us like a cell. Without politics and religion dividing us, we took to traveling everywhere, meeting new people, eating their food and listening to their music, participating in religious ceremonies of others and praying to their Gods; as well as ours. It is estimated that 4.5 billion people were outside of their native country every single day in a single calendar year. Our new mantra became GO OUT & SOCIALIZE.
The first country I visited was Yemen, a land that has fascinated me from the time I saw the first picture of their mountains. Shaharah, with its geometric shapes carved right off the mountains, and its spectacular 17th century footbridge that join villages and span across mountains defying gravity, held together only by the grace of mathematics. The Bridge of Sighs, how is known, stood before me like a reminder: that I’m alive, that life is short, that I ought to be listening to a song. Stairway to Heaven immediately came to mind but before I knew Smokey Robinson was singing My Girl. I stood there thinking: “I've got all the riches baby one man can claim/oh yes I do.”
I visited Shibam; its anil colored skies met by green at the horizon, and land carried to the forefront of our mind by its beige pastel tones. Buildings made of mud and earthy tone turned orange by a sleepy sun. You can see its colors on the painting “Three Reds” by Brennie Brackett, another place I travel to in meditation.
Unbeknownst to the painter, I lifted the vase and replaced the white cloth with one of my grandmother's embroidered work. I can still see her sitting there, mid afternoon, quietly embroidering. My grandmother was peace itself.
Shibam, under the light of a retrieving sun, is an unforgettable site. The Yemeni women heading to pray and giving thanks to a new life, dressed by their own choice in my favorite color,
black
like arrows that
fell from the sky;
their voices like songs
in flight
forever kept in my heart
And mind.
Henry, my goodfellow, forever standing by my side. Come, let us visit the Sufi monasteries and sit down for some coffee, while we make our way to Mecca, Cairo, Istanbul, Egypt..The coffee trail.
After religion and politics were put aside, we had to figure out a way to come to terms with our differences, and we did; we simply agreed that we believed in different things. Yes, I disregarded the complexity of the human condition, it was prejudicial to a solution. Imagine a world where we can be free of the voices in our head, the tantalizing voices telling us that all the problems are derived from other people. If other people behave the way we want all will be fine, “I have the right way. I am certain it would be best for everyone,” thinks each single person.
A virus has a single program once infects someone: invades the cell, changes it, multiplies itself. Unless it is killed or it kills the host, will continue with its course of action without deviations.
I know that we are not viruses, but I am sure that sometimes we behave as one without knowing, think of a kid | Part 3 | falling in love with someone and walking away from that person not knowing why for almost 35 years. So we might as well commit to one single action everyone would follow. Each religion and every religion is right, if God wants someone killed he knows how to do it himself. Our agreement is that, for the 100 years we each spend on this earth we will not hurt each other. If God decides to punish all of us when we die, so be it. God will judge us all in the end.
Out of all the people in the world, if the religious people are right, there will be no forgiveness for the people with no faith, the atheists. I am willing to take this chance if everyone just put their god damn guns on the ground; break some bread, some coffee. I will even drink tea if that's what it takes.
It took me long to post this. I read it over and over again, and the only note the key on my piano played loudly and repeatedly was:
the human condition, the human condition, the human condition
I thought about asking God except that I don’t believe He exists; so I went to see a girl I love when I was 9 years old. I sat there for the longest time. She caught me staring: “ Eyes on the blackboard, mister.” she gestured to me and I did what she told me to do. I always listened to every word she said. Tia Zelia was enumerating the responses available to us; she wrote the number 2 on the blackboard, corresponding to the second answer. Karla Maria got my attention again. The light coming from the window, bouncing off her hair was mesmerizing. The number 2. Light. Particles. Traveling. A 9 year old child. Love.
God, how does all of this fit together?
the human condition, the human condition, the human condition
It is ludicrous to think of a simple agreement that would allow us to share this world in peace and cooperation,
the human condition, the human condition, the human condition
It is naive to think of a simple agreement that would allow us to share this world in peace and cooperation,
the human condition, the human condition, the human condition
I looked at Karla again, smiling at something, and everything slowed down to flow. I thought about Newton and the time he forgot to listen to his inner child and mistook love with an ether; until a little boy came along following a beam of light, in possession only of a child's imagination and a few numbers and letters. E=mc ²
The pundits looked at his clothes, his social status, his jewish heritage, looking for a way to dismiss the imaginative simplicity of his idea. Mathematics is not dissuaded by politics, religion or the human condition; it sustains its truths and holds our material universe in place, unimpressed by the egoic monuments we create to ourselves.
I thought of Esperanto, the most beautiful and simple idea of an universal language and yet, no one has accepted. I know precisely why. We like ourselves the way we are: we like our heritage, our culture and the way our name sounds when it's called by someone who loves and accepts us. We like our music, bread and butter, coffee, tea. We like what we like, and the only way all of this works is by accepting and sharing.
Our name is the first note we hear from our mothers and fathers and that becomes our music. The soundtrack that codes our life programming.
The experiences we have make us unique, and it represents the particular place we come from. You wouldn't think of building a house in California with the same materials they use in Niterói. You wouldn’t think of never hearing the italian idiom again, or french or never again seeing the majestic Arabic script on white paper; how could we ever replace any of that with Esperanto.
We are different. We like different things. We believe in different Gods. Or no Gods at all. Let us agree to that and share our beliefs in communion.
While you read this, millions of doctors around the world are out there risking their lives to save our loved ones. They don’t see color, creed, or death itself. They are risking the only lives they have because their piano key plays one simple note over and over and over…
the hippocratic oath the hippocratic oath the hippocratic oath
Three words. One simple idea. One agreement. Enough to make doctors, nurses and staff risk their only existence for us. Worldwide. As my beloved Renee did.
This is the complete series of essays.
