Back in Kuwait
Today the sky is gray and somber, putting gloom in Kuwait on the cutting edge of depression. It's been a Zoloft kind of day.
On TV, the bodies pile up; everyday there is fresh kill, more and more corpses, arms and legs retracted into fetal positions from Thailand to Fallujah to Peru.
Let's face it. It's World War 3. It may not look like the third one we'd expected. I mean, we aren't living in some post-apocalyptic Mad Max Thunder dome world, but if you open a map and start sticking red pins into all of the countries in the world that have been rocked by explosions, have seen gun battles in the streets or have dispatched soldiers to some place other than home to shoulder a weapon, I bet you'll see that probably just as many countries are involved in this one as the last one; and I am sure more countries are involved this time than the first one. So what's the problem? Strip away the banner of religion.
The dead in Thailand were not necessarily disaffected Muslim youth; they were disaffected youth who happen to be Muslim. And there ain't much any of us can do to stop it. This summer, when I go wandering about third world shit holes, I will over tip my porters, bellmen, waiters, waitresses, guides, translators and the sisters of mercy. I don't need a swami to tell me that this is all I can do. Turning off the television helps.
There is an integration of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts." (Voltaire)
I just finished paying for Julia's film camp, so for my three day weekend, instead of flying south to Bahrain or Dubai, I'm going to gas up the rented Nissan and head north to Umm Qasr on the Kuwait/Iraqi border. I've heard from a few sources that it's possible to drive there. My students tell me Bubyan Island is within shouting distance of Umm Qasr. I doubt if I'll be able to cross over, but it will get me out of the apartment.
"And God has put us on the earth in order to be pleasant to each other." (EM Forster) Those weary homeless cats death strut past us at a quicker pace. The evening traffic brakes, halts, dashes forward a few inches, stands still again, new lanes quickly merge, then just as quickly divide; drivers square off like gangsters giving each other the evil eye trying to claim the most important prize ever--a gap up ahead that will move one of their cars at least a half meter ahead of the other. Here we are, deteriorating in our fuming cars, battered by the excesses of affluence, demanding to know why it has come to this. Who's at fault? Who do we murder? A breakdown? A collision? A checkpoint? No excuses.
The hand of God is absent at the Sheraton roundabout in Kuwait City on a Wednesday night. Shaytan indeed walks the earth. Forgotten in all of this are these final days of serene breezes and an affable sun.
This could be time for a meditation, a chance to quiet the mind. Make oneself comfortable. I'm driving over a mountain thick with silence,forgotten by time.
On TV, the bodies pile up; everyday there is fresh kill, more and more corpses, arms and legs retracted into fetal positions from Thailand to Fallujah to Peru.
Let's face it. It's World War 3. It may not look like the third one we'd expected. I mean, we aren't living in some post-apocalyptic Mad Max Thunder dome world, but if you open a map and start sticking red pins into all of the countries in the world that have been rocked by explosions, have seen gun battles in the streets or have dispatched soldiers to some place other than home to shoulder a weapon, I bet you'll see that probably just as many countries are involved in this one as the last one; and I am sure more countries are involved this time than the first one. So what's the problem? Strip away the banner of religion.
The dead in Thailand were not necessarily disaffected Muslim youth; they were disaffected youth who happen to be Muslim. And there ain't much any of us can do to stop it. This summer, when I go wandering about third world shit holes, I will over tip my porters, bellmen, waiters, waitresses, guides, translators and the sisters of mercy. I don't need a swami to tell me that this is all I can do. Turning off the television helps.
There is an integration of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts." (Voltaire)
I just finished paying for Julia's film camp, so for my three day weekend, instead of flying south to Bahrain or Dubai, I'm going to gas up the rented Nissan and head north to Umm Qasr on the Kuwait/Iraqi border. I've heard from a few sources that it's possible to drive there. My students tell me Bubyan Island is within shouting distance of Umm Qasr. I doubt if I'll be able to cross over, but it will get me out of the apartment.
"And God has put us on the earth in order to be pleasant to each other." (EM Forster) Those weary homeless cats death strut past us at a quicker pace. The evening traffic brakes, halts, dashes forward a few inches, stands still again, new lanes quickly merge, then just as quickly divide; drivers square off like gangsters giving each other the evil eye trying to claim the most important prize ever--a gap up ahead that will move one of their cars at least a half meter ahead of the other. Here we are, deteriorating in our fuming cars, battered by the excesses of affluence, demanding to know why it has come to this. Who's at fault? Who do we murder? A breakdown? A collision? A checkpoint? No excuses.
The hand of God is absent at the Sheraton roundabout in Kuwait City on a Wednesday night. Shaytan indeed walks the earth. Forgotten in all of this are these final days of serene breezes and an affable sun.
This could be time for a meditation, a chance to quiet the mind. Make oneself comfortable. I'm driving over a mountain thick with silence,forgotten by time.
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