Sunrise in San Jose, California, today was at 6:58 AM and sunset at 6:58 PM. Exactly 12 hours of day and night, although the autumnal equinox occurred 3 days earlier, on September 23. On that night, the big harvest moon had flooded the hills and the valleys with light while Jupiter sparkled under it as well. The dynamic duos were a sight to behold.
I woke up an hour before dawn. Orion was overhead and the stars were out for a celestial party. The brightest "star" was Old Jove yet again in the Western sky. Last night I saw him rise in the east. He made his majestic march across the sky during the night, outshining every other party-goer. The Big Dipper had turned "upside down" but, of course, was pointing to the Polaris as it had done for eons.
There is now a deep anxiety among Americans about jobs, homes, kids, the future. Democrats and Republicans are unnaturally polarized and public discourse has sunk to a level of meanness not seen in decades. Surely this state will pass but not before having taken its human toll. The harvest of bitterness is upon us.
That's why it is so important to surrender once in a while to what transcend us, this night sky, this ancient moon, the stars that not too long ago used to steer us to safety. We have technology to do that now but for calming the mind and regaining a perspective on life, there's nothing like looking up at the starry sky, to recognize that we are not alone, that we belong, that what troubles us today will not last forever, that they will be swept away by forces beyond our imagination, and that we will have become stronger for the experience.
Daytime temperature is expected to reach into the 90s this Sunday. But the signs of a mellower season coming our way are all there. Soon nights will grow longer and the weather will cool and we will be buttoning up against the chill. Let this, then, be our winter of content. It will be if we make it so, if we shun the superfluous and begin to cherish what gives meaning to our lives.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Mystery of Memory
Some nights ago, I received a frantic call from the daughter of a friend. "Daddy has lost his memory," she sobbed. "What?" I stammered into the phone. "Daddy has lost his memory," she repeated.
As I rushed my friend to the hospital, he seemed normal. "How was your day" he asked. A minute later, he asked, "How was your day?" I had a good day, I said. He nodded, then repeated the question. After the fifth time, I gave up counting and focused on getting to the emergency ward safely. The streetlights were getting blurry.
It was close to midnight but the waiting room was full. Afflictions know no time. A doctor - an elderly man with an assuring smile - took my friend's hand and led him through a double door into the machine-infested beyond.
I began my tense wait. My friend was in his mid-fifties, a widower. Apparently he had started talking incoherently several hours earlier. His high-school daughter thought it would pass but when he stared at her as if she were a stranger, she became frightened and called me, the nearest neighbor.
I looked around. A woman sat dejected in a corner, her shoulders slumped, her eyes without light. A baby slept in her lap. A boy and a girl - siblings - kept their eyes locked on the double door, expecting someone to walk out at any moment and relieve them of their pain. A family of four held hands and mumbled silent prayers. There were whisperings and hushed tones, broken by the impersonal voice of someone announcing over the sound system that the prescription was ready for number 322.
I wondered what it was like to lose memory, even if temporarily. Was the slate wiped clean? Where did those bits go, the ones that held life's snapshot in the mysterious folds of billions of neurons, to be summoned when needed? Could the archive be restored if it once vanished? Would it be possible to live without memory, to live only in the present, to know only the flux of now and never be burdened with the imprint of yesterday and the inkling of tomorrow?
About two hours later, the kind physician informed me that my friend would make a full recovery in a week or so. By then, another neighbor had arrived with my friend's daughter, as well as my friend's sister who lived in another city, a physician herself. We hugged. The sister gave me warm tea. They would keep vigil for the rest of the night and would take my friend home in the morning.
The streets were deserted but I drove slowly. Once home, I looked at my sleeping wife and son. What if I didn't recognize them tomorrow? What if a stray cosmic ray zapped a critical cell in my brain and my world became a mystery, my loved ones no different to me from strangers I see in malls and theaters? Would I still be me, or would I be someone else looking in from outside, seeing nothing but a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and a fierce yearning fighting to break free?
Outside, stars were shining with abandon and not a thing seemed out of place in the universe.
As I rushed my friend to the hospital, he seemed normal. "How was your day" he asked. A minute later, he asked, "How was your day?" I had a good day, I said. He nodded, then repeated the question. After the fifth time, I gave up counting and focused on getting to the emergency ward safely. The streetlights were getting blurry.
It was close to midnight but the waiting room was full. Afflictions know no time. A doctor - an elderly man with an assuring smile - took my friend's hand and led him through a double door into the machine-infested beyond.
I began my tense wait. My friend was in his mid-fifties, a widower. Apparently he had started talking incoherently several hours earlier. His high-school daughter thought it would pass but when he stared at her as if she were a stranger, she became frightened and called me, the nearest neighbor.
I looked around. A woman sat dejected in a corner, her shoulders slumped, her eyes without light. A baby slept in her lap. A boy and a girl - siblings - kept their eyes locked on the double door, expecting someone to walk out at any moment and relieve them of their pain. A family of four held hands and mumbled silent prayers. There were whisperings and hushed tones, broken by the impersonal voice of someone announcing over the sound system that the prescription was ready for number 322.
I wondered what it was like to lose memory, even if temporarily. Was the slate wiped clean? Where did those bits go, the ones that held life's snapshot in the mysterious folds of billions of neurons, to be summoned when needed? Could the archive be restored if it once vanished? Would it be possible to live without memory, to live only in the present, to know only the flux of now and never be burdened with the imprint of yesterday and the inkling of tomorrow?
About two hours later, the kind physician informed me that my friend would make a full recovery in a week or so. By then, another neighbor had arrived with my friend's daughter, as well as my friend's sister who lived in another city, a physician herself. We hugged. The sister gave me warm tea. They would keep vigil for the rest of the night and would take my friend home in the morning.
The streets were deserted but I drove slowly. Once home, I looked at my sleeping wife and son. What if I didn't recognize them tomorrow? What if a stray cosmic ray zapped a critical cell in my brain and my world became a mystery, my loved ones no different to me from strangers I see in malls and theaters? Would I still be me, or would I be someone else looking in from outside, seeing nothing but a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and a fierce yearning fighting to break free?
Outside, stars were shining with abandon and not a thing seemed out of place in the universe.
Nicholas Kristof's Big-Hearted Apology
In today's New York Times, the columnist Nicholas Kristof offers an apology to Muslims "for the wave of bigotry and simple nuttiness that has already been directed at you. The venom on the airwaves, equating Muslims with terrorists, should embarrass us more than you. Muslims are one of the last minorities in the United States that it is still possible to demean openly, and I apologize for the slurs."
It takes guts to write a column like this. Muslims today are going through what Japanese Americans did during the Second World War. A vast number of Americans seem to think that Muslims are driven by sinister motives to overturn all those values they hold dear - freedom, equality, rule of law.
It is, of course, not true. What is true is that in challenging times it is often convenient for people to find scapegoats on whom to vent their fury.
At the same time, I will request my co-religionists - the Muslims - not to play victim and to have the self-assurance to acknowledge that we also need to put our own house in order. There are fanatics among us - it simply will not do to say that they are not Muslims - who are driven only by blood lust and by their obscene certitude. We moderates must do everything we can to convince them to mend their ways, or report them to authorities if we cannot.
Extremists of all faiths are uncannily similar but while Christians and Jews are often quick to condemn theirs, some of us are sometimes reluctant to, thinking that as a minority we must band together, no matter what. We must banish this mentality.
The majority of Muslims are dedicated to doing good for others, and are kind and generous, as are the majority of people of everywhere. Let's have the wisdom to use our innate altruism for the good of all, instead of looking down on those different from ourselves. I really hope Americans will travel to Muslim countries more frequently and see for themselves how much we are alike in our aspirations and in our humanity. Misgivings vanish when we share meals and laugh together.
It takes guts to write a column like this. Muslims today are going through what Japanese Americans did during the Second World War. A vast number of Americans seem to think that Muslims are driven by sinister motives to overturn all those values they hold dear - freedom, equality, rule of law.
It is, of course, not true. What is true is that in challenging times it is often convenient for people to find scapegoats on whom to vent their fury.
At the same time, I will request my co-religionists - the Muslims - not to play victim and to have the self-assurance to acknowledge that we also need to put our own house in order. There are fanatics among us - it simply will not do to say that they are not Muslims - who are driven only by blood lust and by their obscene certitude. We moderates must do everything we can to convince them to mend their ways, or report them to authorities if we cannot.
Extremists of all faiths are uncannily similar but while Christians and Jews are often quick to condemn theirs, some of us are sometimes reluctant to, thinking that as a minority we must band together, no matter what. We must banish this mentality.
The majority of Muslims are dedicated to doing good for others, and are kind and generous, as are the majority of people of everywhere. Let's have the wisdom to use our innate altruism for the good of all, instead of looking down on those different from ourselves. I really hope Americans will travel to Muslim countries more frequently and see for themselves how much we are alike in our aspirations and in our humanity. Misgivings vanish when we share meals and laugh together.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
'Fahrenheit 451' and the Quran Burning Issue
Ray Bradbury’s famous 1951 novel uses ‘451’ in the title to denote the temperature at which book paper burns. Who would have guessed that fateful number would compel worldwide attention in the early 21st-century?
The pastor from Florida (he will remain nameless, for he has had far more than his fifteen minutes of fame already) who threatened to burn the Quran seems to have had a change of heart. He and his flock of fifty will not burn copies of the Quran after all on the ninth anniversary of 9/11.
The pastor is claiming that his decision is based on a quid pro quo: Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf has agreed to move the Not-At-Ground-Zero mosque farther away from Ground Zero, and therefore, he will not go ahead with his planned bonfire.
Imam Rauf has denied any agreement with the pastor. It now appears that this was yet another attempt by the former hotel manager from Gainesville, Florida, to focus media attention on him.
There are two points worth noting about this Quran burning issue.
One is that the pastor and his likes do not represent America and its values, a point emphasized by both President Barack Obama and secretary of State Hillary Clinton. This includes the few thousands who befriended the pastor on Facebook and who mailed him copies of the Quran to create a bonfire.
The other, the more significant point, is that the threat by the pastor to burn Islam’s divine text should motivate Muslims to reflect on their own relationship with the Quran.
Lunatics and extremists have in the past burned, and will no doubt burn again, sacred texts to draw attention to their delusional and psychopathic mindsets. We shouldn’t really get worked up over this.
But where do we Muslims stand with respect to the Quran? Do we not dishonor the Book through negligence and indifference? How many of us dust it off only when a loved one departs the earth? Do we set aside time to read and understand it every day, even if for a few minutes? Does the Quran speak to us equally when we experience both joy and sorrow? And what about those Muslims who, responding to the pastor's threat, incline to violence? Do they not read in the Quran that "Nor can goodness and evil be equal. Respond to evil with doing good deeds to the evil doer. Then will he, between whom and thyself was hatred, become as though he was thy friend and intimate!" (41:34)
The Quran is a guide for the living and not a trope for the dead. The power and the beauty of the Quran becomes manifest only when it becomes an intimate companion to the living.
Some of us have a habit of acquiring multiple copies and translations of the Quran. We proudly display our “collection” on the shelves in our personal libraries or on our smartphones. But when it comes to actually studying the Book with seriousness and concentration, on or off Internet-enabled gadgets, suddenly time becomes scarce.
In contrast, there are Muslims who can afford only one copy, and a tattered one at that from overuse, that they study with awe and reverence every day. They read and they ponder and they give thanks for all the blessings they enjoy from the Creator, even if these blessing are not apparent to their affluent co-religionists.
In these challenging times, Muslims must remain patient, respond to what is bad with what is good, and rely on God for help and guidance. That is the surest way to defeat fanatics and extremists.
The pastor from Florida (he will remain nameless, for he has had far more than his fifteen minutes of fame already) who threatened to burn the Quran seems to have had a change of heart. He and his flock of fifty will not burn copies of the Quran after all on the ninth anniversary of 9/11.
The pastor is claiming that his decision is based on a quid pro quo: Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf has agreed to move the Not-At-Ground-Zero mosque farther away from Ground Zero, and therefore, he will not go ahead with his planned bonfire.
Imam Rauf has denied any agreement with the pastor. It now appears that this was yet another attempt by the former hotel manager from Gainesville, Florida, to focus media attention on him.
There are two points worth noting about this Quran burning issue.
One is that the pastor and his likes do not represent America and its values, a point emphasized by both President Barack Obama and secretary of State Hillary Clinton. This includes the few thousands who befriended the pastor on Facebook and who mailed him copies of the Quran to create a bonfire.
The other, the more significant point, is that the threat by the pastor to burn Islam’s divine text should motivate Muslims to reflect on their own relationship with the Quran.
Lunatics and extremists have in the past burned, and will no doubt burn again, sacred texts to draw attention to their delusional and psychopathic mindsets. We shouldn’t really get worked up over this.
But where do we Muslims stand with respect to the Quran? Do we not dishonor the Book through negligence and indifference? How many of us dust it off only when a loved one departs the earth? Do we set aside time to read and understand it every day, even if for a few minutes? Does the Quran speak to us equally when we experience both joy and sorrow? And what about those Muslims who, responding to the pastor's threat, incline to violence? Do they not read in the Quran that "Nor can goodness and evil be equal. Respond to evil with doing good deeds to the evil doer. Then will he, between whom and thyself was hatred, become as though he was thy friend and intimate!" (41:34)
The Quran is a guide for the living and not a trope for the dead. The power and the beauty of the Quran becomes manifest only when it becomes an intimate companion to the living.
Some of us have a habit of acquiring multiple copies and translations of the Quran. We proudly display our “collection” on the shelves in our personal libraries or on our smartphones. But when it comes to actually studying the Book with seriousness and concentration, on or off Internet-enabled gadgets, suddenly time becomes scarce.
In contrast, there are Muslims who can afford only one copy, and a tattered one at that from overuse, that they study with awe and reverence every day. They read and they ponder and they give thanks for all the blessings they enjoy from the Creator, even if these blessing are not apparent to their affluent co-religionists.
In these challenging times, Muslims must remain patient, respond to what is bad with what is good, and rely on God for help and guidance. That is the surest way to defeat fanatics and extremists.
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