An astonishing transformation happened to me this January. I allowed the bioenergy of the Lebanese land to transcend into my biopsychology... The result, I'm in a complete tune with the absolute chaos that IS the Lebanese land and still if all countries were to run a holistic beauty pageant, Lebanon would be the absolute winner. If you want to love Lebanon, you've got to embrace chaos or what my Mother-in-Law advised me at my wedding - if you want to love the rose, you've got to love its thorns first.
Growing up in Eurasia, the bioenergy of Caucasus meant that one ought to be aware and in tune with with the East, e.g. Asia, e.g. think emotionally - act calmly and with the West, e.g. Europe, e.g. think rationally, then refrain from acting until there's a reason to act...avéc grace et élégance even if its outright harm you're causing (hence my hatred to the overweight of "please", "hello", "sorry", "excuse me" and other associated blah, which Europeans genuinely believe to be an added value).
Well, from all the above structured restrains one simply HAS to for once experience some chaos and what better place than the birthplace of nearly anything and everything valuable the human civilization has thus far come up with - the land of all extremes - the Middle East.
Bit by bit, drop by drop, I let the chaos in. I'd go to business meetings with no expectations, no set goals and meeting agenda. I only knew we'd start from coffee and unlike Europe, THAT particular cup of coffee, e.g. the very FIRST cup of coffee would be more significant in its role as a sort of a ritual for all parties involved to silently observe one another, looking for hints of the possible routes further negotiations would take. When trying to drive in Beirut, I let the chaos in and refrained from sticking to the lane according to the speed I was driving by and started to enjoy the Rally and visualize myself like I was Shumackher. I let the chaos in by eating dinner at am and breakfast at pm... and so on and so forth...
All these forms of social interactions were merely the first spreads of steam lifting off a mirror where I could barely see myself... The Lebanese mirror...
- INTERLUDE - Each form of bioenergy demands a specific strategic method. Once you find the key method, you're safe. Confucius used to say if your opponent is unpredictable, simply do the mirror reflection of what their doing. I found this to be the perfect key to settle myself calmly in Lebanon and identify so much with its chaos that I no longer see it as chaos. KEY TO SURVIVAL - A human nature at its core when acting fake is going to crash the person/carrier of a certain strategy. Hence, the bioenergy and the method aren't enough if while acting upon it, one is not entirely happy, authentic, direct and pain honest to himself/herself...
Now, busy doing the Lebanese mirror, I'm quite happy with all the chaos I've been digesting... Thus far, the constipation rate is at 0, yes, zero.
However, when looking into the mirror for long enough a period, you learn the cracks of the mirror, the uneven curves on its surface or at times, the plain absence of transparency because of an old and unrepaired scratch...
That unrepaired scratch is the Lebanese Civil War, supported by mini cracks of painful history, filled with other precedent-wars. On a normal chaotic day, the Lebanese may express their thoughts in brash body language or pretend they could drive you over, yet chose not to...But you talk back the same way at first, then both of you start to decrease the pitch in your voices, then take a cup of coffee and straighten your differences in a masterful negotiation (in Europe, they pay a lot to get such enviable crash-courses in negotiation). Men, women, children of all ages behave in this manner if there's a cause for high pitch, if not you simply walk through one another with clear cut expression of your best 100% attitude you can reproduce and you'll be fine...
But then there are extraordinarily chaotic incidences... In communicating with women I couldn't at first establish any patterns of Lebanese mentality. It's a known fact that no woman is like any other woman. In Lebanon's case, no Lebanese woman is like any woman. Incredible individualism, extreme sense of competition, magic ways to always look at their best and non of them smile like any other. Their smiles have at least three emotions in one each and every time - happiness, sadness, love, hatred, inner frustrations, hesitations - all packed in a single perfectly tooth-polished, lip-filled smile.
Gradually, in this extraordinary, I found one single pattern in their smiles. There was sorrow in every smile I've seen thus far. Sorrow of what these talented superbeautiful superwomen could achieve yet this wouldn't let or that wouldn't let - the war, the political situation, the parents, the siblings, the husbands, the children... In all their glory of running a constant high speed marathon to reach out to all groups mentioned, they had to keep their heads down, sort of cede power the moment a man was in the picture.
In conversations I noticed that if women wanted to get a point across...now, not just a point, but their very one, spark-of-a-moment thought, they always resort to quoting the first male character that arrives to mind. Of course, there are rare powerful exception, who form a minority, at least on the map of my own acquaintances for the past year. I absolutely cherish my friendship with them and find them to be pure oxygen I run to when the smog of Beirut gets to me literally and metaphorically.
I'm talking about the women caught in opposing extremes, run down to fundamentalist waters just so their husbands wouldn't be upset, just so their husbands - themselves affected from all the wars - can extend the empire of their manhood over the opinions their wives hold, be it politics, shopping for clothes or home appliances, books and literature etc. Discussing politics is a delicate subject overall. In the West they undergo professional university education of nearly a decade to be able to talk politics. A day in Beirut is enough to gain a diplomatic clout in any political debate, and of course moreso in any debate on the subject of religion. The exact feeling can be visualized in the following way - imagine your brain - naked, all by itself waking over eggshells with a task not to crack any.
This is especially so with the men. But women...in the privacy of our associations, classes, offices, dining tables, libraries, cafes and even bathrooms are freer in expression, a priori DNA-ed to be social butterflies. The talk flows, the atmosphere is warm and suddenly she remembers she forgot HIS presence... The HUSBAND ought to be quoted now and then. She'll say something and then continue with a "My husband said it", or "My father said it", or "My husband's uncle is a priest", or "My uncle is a priest", or "My husband has been to Mecca". Well, we all quote our dearly beloved now and then, but the quotes above are done deliberately and I've noticed they're laughing about something, having a warm conversation and then suddenly seriousness breaks in onto their faces, seriousness in their voices, the tone changes, the expression changes and THEN they shoot the line...
I've even noticed the many many many maids from Sri Lanka, Philippines and ethiopia have learned this pattern, too. When the "Madame" asks "Can you please arrange these socks by color", they sleep on it until the "Madam" gets a serious face and voice and whispers "Mister likes it when he opens the drawer to have the socks arranged by color". THAT's when all alerts hit orange and the maid finishes the task with the speed of light.
I call this phenomenon THE BENAMUKI BIG GOD syndrome.
- INTERLUDE - in the film "Senior Robinzon", a European plumpy short man is thrown onto an inhabited island until he runs into the tribal chief's girl and falls in love. But she won't let him near unless he undergoes a wrestling match with the tribe's most gifted wrestler, walk through rocking rocks, followed by a walk on fire, followed by resisting to burn while sitting in a giant caserole of boiling water. Senior Robinzon hears the proposal and cautiously, remember - avec grace et élégance, asks "Please, tell me why?". And she changes her face from loving to serious, adds sorrow to her smile and says "Because Benamuki says so". He asks, "Who's Benamuki?". She points to a giant piece of rock nearby and says, "BENAMUKI BIG GOD. EVERYONE TELL HIM WOOOOOOOOOW".
Conclusion
While I'm enjoying the chaos by my reflect the mirror strategy, I can't copy this articular crack, it'll cause me wrinkles on the outside and a broken heart on the inside. But I do have to advise all those women and no - it's not an advise my husband or any other man told me, well except for the genius Aristophanes of the ancient Greece. Ladies, by all means, when in privacy of your kitchen your dining or cafe table, library, why not, of your bathroom, read Aristophanes' "LISISTRATA".
Here's a hint to the story - "The Peloponnesian War has been dragging on for eighteen long years, and the beautiful Lysistrata, in common with the other wives of Athens, is heartily tired of the intermittent absence of their warrior husbands. She decides that it is time to bring an end to this situation. The only solution, she concludes, is a boycott to deprive the husbands of their wives' love."
The clue? The cause of their husbands' macho behavior was the ongoing war. What the husbands were doing or saying in those circumstances were merely the effects of that war and instead of patching up the effects with worn out, non-matching pieces, Lisistrata commanded the women of BOTH warring sides to target the cause itself. And to do so, she studied the bioenergy of her land and learned that the land would only flourish if there was peace and accordingly she designed the right key method - to deprive men of a wife's love for that man to feel the significance of his love to her above all else, even above war. Yes, we'll all enjoy everlasting peace in a unique Lebanese way of artful chaos if our husbands treat their love to us as above all else, even be that war.
