The power of one

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Randal's other cheek

At the age of 10, it's very unlikely to have revelations. You have them later on in your life when you hear a sentence or see a scene that brings the memory back to you. Sometimes, when you reflect on these memories, you may come to a realization about what they really meant.

For me, this happened few days ago. I remembered my early school years, when I was about 10. Attending one of the best (and most expensive) schools in Egypt did not grant you a sweet escape from the strongest form of pet conditioning: Pain.

Pain is a the best teacher. And for us, pain took different forms, relative to our age. In our early school years, it took the form of a stick. Later on, an open hand landing on your cheek. And finally, a closed fist that would land in your stomach or if you were lucky, you would get you butt, literally, kicked.

I was 10 and I only knew level 1 of punishment: the stick. However, the stick took many forms and shapes that provided different sublevels of pain. A flat stick landing flat on your palm meant that the teacher liked you, but she would not like you to "do that again". A flat stick landing edge-down on your palm means that the teacher was really getting pissed at you. A round stick landing on your palm, hence increasing pain by limiting the contact surface, meant that the teacher had some problems in her life that she would rather not deal with at home. And a round stick landing on the back of your hands, the one that came right in contact with the bones, meant that the teacher should not have been hired in the first place to teach 10 year olds.

I tried to be good student so I did not get punished so much - mostly in "group punishment" where the teacher would make the whole class stand up, tend their hands forward, and she would dedicate a good ten minutes going around delivering the stick left and right like a skilled factory worker working her way through a conveyer belt. I was always curious to know what was going in her head as she walked between us. Instead, I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds : the "whoosh" sound as the stick cut through the air, the  "whapp" sound as it came in contact with a helpless palm, and the creative vowel sounds of painful reactions that some kids vocalized. I tried to imagine a symphony , with the teacher being a maestro instrumenting these creative sounds, and with each note playing closer to my ear meaning that my part in the symphony is approaching.

I learned from pain. And I learned fear.

However, there was a kid in my class who never learned. Or at least that's how I thought back then.

Randal was an American student who came with his dad on a temporary stay in Egypt. He came from a place where these small acts of violence were punishable by their law. On the other hand, our law was simple: "teach me a word and I'd become your slave".

It took Randal a while to get pet trained. He first screamed and yelled at the teacher, and he was thrown out of the class. We would not see him for few days after. Then Randal tried outsmarting the teacher by pulling his hand as the stick landed. She did not like that. And the result was that stick would land on its edge over Randal's palm. He screamed. He yelled. He cursed her in American words that I only learned the meaning of when I came to the U.S. few years ago, and he got expelled time after time.

Then one day, Randal was called to the teacher's desk for talking to his desk-mate. The punishment for this act was standard: a flat stick slap on the palm. Basic level 1-a. Randal walked to the teacher very calmly that day. I like to believe that he did not have any reason to talk to his desk-mate. He just wanted to do it. He wanted to walk the path to the teacher. And he did, with his eyes looking straight into the teacher's eyes. It was not a challenging look. It was not an arrogant or an insulting one. He just looked confidently into her eyes as if he was trying to make a statement that I did not understand then.

He made it to the desk and opened his palm forward. Though I could not see his eyes, I could tell by the teacher's look that he still looking into her soul. The stick rose up, then came down with the whoo and whaap sound, confirming the standard procedure. Usually, you tend to lower your hand as the stick comes in contact with it so that the impact is reduced. Randal's hand did not move. He received the full impact. What happened afterwards made the whole class speechless. Randal lowered his right hand and raised his left one, face up. The teacher looked puzzled, with her gaze moving between his hand and his eyes. For the first time in my life, I could see an expression that her eyes never had before: fear. It was her turn to answer the challenge, and she did. The stick did not make the whoo sound. Its edge came in contact with the back of Randal's little hand. I did not see his face then, but I could tell from the tense reaction of his shoulder moving slightly upward that he was in so much pain.

Without a word, Randal turned around to walk to his desk. And on his face, I was an expression that I would never forget for the rest of my life. With hot tears flowing down his cheeks, his face showed a faint smile. Not a smile of irony, or mischief. It was a different smile. A peaceful one.

Randal was in so much pain. I could tell by the tears flowing down his face and his shaking hands that he did not try to rub against each other like we always did to reduce the pain on our way back from the executor.

His act was not a challenge, but a statement. A statement that the teacher understood and feared.

Even though Randal was in pain, he was not hurt. He knew that the teacher's power can only inflict pain on him, but he would never get hurt unless he accepted it. And he didn't.

He never talked about it. He never even cursed the teacher behind her back like he used to do. And I think that he never even tried to forgive her, because to forgive, one must be hurt in the first place. And he was incapable of forgiveness because he was incapable of getting hurt despite his pain.

 

"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." (Matthew 5:38-42, NIV)

 

My religion instructors always told me that turning the other cheek was the highest act of Christianity: being able to forgive. But this is not about forgiveness, it's simply about being awake. When you are awake, no one can hurt you, and no one can cause you to behave in a certain way due to their actions or words. When you wake up, you will understand that you can live in a state of mind that is not in constant reaction to what others do or say. You'll be like a lake, with the winds only causing small waves on its surface, and its heart constantly still and undisturbed. Then you will turn your other cheek, not as an act of forgiveness, but as an act of strength. You will not resist your evil, because the more you resist it, the more powerful it becomes. You will simply accept it, contain it, and drown it into your deep consciousness. You will realize that there are things that others can never take away from you, unless you decide to give them away.

One day, a friend of mine told me "A predictable man is a dead man". Today, I know what she meant. And I hope that one day, you will also be able to realize it. Because I can only tell you the words, and the word is not the thing.

 

Image Courtesy of AshesAndSnow.com

Fear

Image Courtesy of AmirKhella.com

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously
give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others."

- A return to love - Marianne Williamson

I'm thinking

Image courtesy of SpiritOfBaraka.com

The alarm goes off.

I wake up and roll around in bed for a while. I'm thinking that I am still sleepy, but I should get up anyway.

My dog starts whining to go for a walk. I'm thinking that I should take her out, otherwise I will end up with a nice souvenir on my carpet.

I take her for a walk. The air is cold and fresh. I'm thinking about what my manager said yesterday, and whether I should say something back or not.

I go back home, shave and take my shower. I'm thinking about what I should have for breakfast.

I am eating breakfast: Scrambled eggs with goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes and a slice of french toast with butter. I'm thinking that there will be traffic on my way to work and that I should wait for an hour or so to avoid it, but I leave anyway.

I am driving to work. Everybody else is. I'm thinking that my boss might be already in and that he will probably stop by my office and chat as he does every morning.

I arrive at work. My boss is not in yet.

I reply few emails and start writing some documents. It's boring but I write them anyway. I'm thinking about lunch and wondering which of the five cafeteria meals I will have today.

I have a meeting. We never accomplished anything in these meetings. I am thinking that I should skip it and get some work done, but it's not about what you get done. So I attend the meeting anyway.

It's finally lunch time. I sit with some coworkers eating and chatting. I'm thinking that I still have lots of stuff to finish before I go home and excuse myself to go back to work.

I go back to work. I need to finish these documents before heading home. I'm thinking that there may be traffic on my way back today.

I finish the documents and email them to my boss. I'm thinking that I should take off before he reads them and replies.

I'm driving home. Everyone else is. I'm thinking about my dog at home, and whether she finished chewing the carpet, the couch, or her own tail.

I get home and take my dog for a walk. I'm thinking about tonight's episode of Lost, and whether I should have pizza or chicken while watching it.

I watch Lost and eat pasta. The episode is boring, but I watch it anyway. I'm thinking that I should open my laptop and browse the web for a while.

I go online and read the news. There is nothing new. There is never anything new, but I read the news anyway.

I feel accomplished. I'm thinking that I should check my email in case there are any urgent messages that need my attention. There has never been urgent messages, but I open Outlook anyway.

I read my email. I'm thinking that this way, I don't have to start my day tomorrow by reading and answering them.

I write replies to some emails. I'm thinking that many of them didn't need to be answered, read, or sent in the first place. But I feel productive.

I go to the gym and play squash with a friend. I'm thinking that I am not thinking when I play squash.

I go home, grab a snack and watch The Tonight Show. I'm thinking that what Jay Leno says is not funny, but the audience is laughing, so I laugh anyway.

It's midnight so I have to go to bed. I am not sleepy but I'm thinking that's when people should go to sleep, so I go to bed anyway.

I set my alarm and slide under the covers.

I grab a book and read a couple of pages. It's about the Zen mind and how to live in the moment. I'm thinking that I am always living in the moment, it's just that the moment is always few hours late.

I close the book and turn off the light. I'm thinking that I can't wait for tomorrow to come.

Something different may happen tomorrow.Hopefully not...

 

[February 2005]

Mr. Jones goes to heaven

 

 

"There's a little fable about a Mr. Jones who dies and goes to heaven. Peter is waiting at the gates to give him a tour. Amid the splendor of golden streets, beautiful mansions, and choirs of angels that Peter shows him, Mr. Jones notices and odd-looking building. He thinks it looks like an enormous warehouse - it has no windows and only one door. But when he asks to see inside, Peter hesitates. "You really don't want to see what's in there," he tells the new arrival. Why would there be any secrets in heaven? Jones wonders. What incredible surprise could be waiting for me in there? When the official tour is over he's still wondering, so he asks again to see inside the structure. Finally Peter relents. When the apostle opens the door, Mr. Jones almost knocks him over in the haste to enter. It turns out that the enormous building is filled with row after row of shelves, floor to ceiling, each stacked neatly with white boxes tied in red ribbons. "These boxes all have names on them," Mr. Jones muses aloud. Then turning to Peter he asks, "Do I have one?" "Yes you do." Peter tries to guide Mr. Jones back outside. "Frankly," Peter says, "if I were you... . " But Mr. Jones is already dashing toward the "J" aisle to find his box. Peter follows, shaking his head. He catches up with Mr. Jones just as he is slipping the red ribbon off his box and popping the lid. Looking inside, Jones has a moment of instant recognition, and he lets out a deep sigh like the ones Peter has heard so may times before. Because there in Mr. Jones's white box are all the blessings that God wanted to give to him while he was on earth... but Mr. Jones had never asked."

- Bruce Wilkinson, The Prayer of Jabez

The eagle who lived as a chicken

Here is a story that I remembered after posting my previous entry about the circus elephant:

(Photo courtesy of birdsasart.com)

Once upon a time, there was a large mountainside, where an eagle's nest rested. The eagle's nest contained four large eagle eggs. One day an earthquake rocked the mountain causing one of the eggs to roll down the mountain, to a chicken farm, located in the valley below.  The eaglet hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them.

   All his life the eagle did what the barnyard chicks did, thinking he was a barnyard chicken.  He scratched the earth for worms and insects.  He clucked and cackled.  And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air.

    Years passed and the eagle grew very old.  One day he saw a magnificent bird above him in the cloudless sky.  It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its strong golden wings.

    The old eagle looked up in awe. "Who's that?" he asked.

     "That's the eagle, the king of the birds," said his neighbor.  "He belongs to the sky.  We belong to the earth-- we're chickens." 

So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that's what he believed he was.

The circus elephant

(Photo Courtesy of Sequential One)

When I was a kid, my school used to host a circus every summer. In the morning, I would sneak behind the circus tent and watch the trainers feeding and training the animals. That was one of my greatest joys.

I remember peeking at the elephants and noticing something that fascinated me and kept me wondering for a while: knowing how powerful an elephant is, I was surprised to see a thin rope tying the elephant's leg to a pole, and that the elephant never tried to escape even though it would take no effort to pull the rope and walk away.

After a couple of days, I gave up thinking and went to ask one of the trainers. He smiled and said:"It wasn't always a rope, you know. When the elephant is young, we put a hard chain around its leg so that whenever the elephant pulls, it would feel the resistance of the strong chain and know that how far it can go.".

"When the elephant grows up", he continued, "there is no need for a chain anymore. We just put a rope around its leg and the elephant stops pulling whenever it feels resistance. The elephant doesn't know anymore that the chain is gone, and that the rope tying it to the pole can be easily broken as soon as it decides to walk away. The only limitation that elephant has, is in its own mind."

"For the elephant," the trainer concluded, "all that remains is the memory of the old pain from the chain, and the resistance of the thin rope... The elephant doesn't know the difference. "

The journey

Last year, I went with my girlfriend on a snowmobile trip on the Cascade Mountains in Washington. As these machines can top 40 mph on snow, we had a guide with us to teach us how to operate them and lead our way through the woods and narrow roads up to the summit.

After testing the limits of my snowmobile, I started driving a bit slower so that I could enjoy the scenery and make the most out of the three hours that we booked. My behavior did not please our guide so much, and she kept signaling me to keep up with her 35 mph speed and not lag behind. She was starting to get stressed out when I stopped her halfway through our ascent:

- "Why are you in such a hurry?", I asked

- "Because we need to reach snow cone (the peak) and return before your three hours expire", she answered, "and with this speed, we may not make it".

- "Why do we need to reach the top?", I asked

- "Because this is the goal of our trip. This is what you paid for!", she answered impatiently.

- "I don't think so," I said, " We paid to have fun. The goal of this trip for us, is to have fun. For me, to have fun is to enjoy everything around me while I am riding the snow mobile. That's the goal of my trip. A possible outcome might be reaching the top, but we'll probably spend few minutes there to head our way back as fast as we came!", I added.

For the rest of our trip, we went at a speed that allowed us to enjoy the scenery and the ride, and we ended up reaching the snow cone, which was almost deserted, and made it on time back before our time expired.

This incident made me reflect on life, and how many of us, including myself, are oftentimes in a hurry to get to the top, wherever this may be, and forget that the whole purpose is to enjoy the journey itself, since this is what lasts the longest. It might be actually a frustration if one reaches the top so fast, since they would be missing the most enjoyable part of the process: the journey.

To make it simple, imagine reading a book where a map leads to the treasure in the first chapter, or watching a movie where the climax happens after 15 minutes. How frustrating would that be?

Well, someone out there wants to enjoy watching our journey, and what we make out of it, so better make it enjoyable, exciting and worth living :)

No one summed up this concept better than Kavafis, and here it is in his own words

As you set out for Ithaca
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - don't be afraid of them:
you' ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbours you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind -
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.
Keep Ithaca always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.
Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The Crazy Ones

Starting over

If you are looking for the old blog posts about WPF and Expression, these posts will not be moved to the new blog. The old blog will not be maintained or moderated anymore.