The Visit
I
step on dead pigeons
and
broken
rotten
e
g
g
s.
The
climb to the top of
the
tall
and
nar
r
o
w
minaret
was
a continuous desecration of life,
I
am afraid.
(For
quite unlike the ambiance
of
the
e x p a n s i v e
courtyard
below,
so
seemingly
alive
with
the teaming crowds of worshippers and tourists alike,
here
I
rise sur round ed by the serenity of death).
The
Bride’s
veil is
torn.
The
Bride’s body is torn.
Cobwebs
and holes fill the place.
The
Forever Pregnant Bride is a victim.
The
Forever Aborting Bride is a whore.
She
cannot be at peace with her body, it seems.
Nor
with the World.
And
the Man who came to make peace between
the
churches and
religions,
between
him self and
GOD
is
still w a g i n g a war
against her,
a
rather old and sinister
holy
war.
“You
cannot abort life, o maiden/whore.
You
can only
Step
on
it.
Life
is made to be step
ped
upon,
just
like the pul ver i zed bones of our ancestors.”
O
hear the clanging of armors.
O
hear a young and
foolish
Lion
roar.
"Israel
is wrong because it is Jewish.
Israel
is wrong because the Jews say:
'We
are God’s Chosen People.'"
-
as
though Christians and Muslims don’t make similar claims,
as
though
r
e
l
e
a
s
e
from
oppression is not
a
legitimate and sufficient goal
for
which
to
aim,
as
though we are all destined
to
be
re
m a d e
in
the
image
of
the
enemy.
-
The
Enemy.
The
Enemy.
Who
is the Enemy?
Note
The Bride is the name given to the second tallest minaret in the Umayyâd Mosque. We were
allowed to climb to its top to take some shots of the courtyard below as part of our
coverage of the Pope’s visit to Damascus. I was working for a foreign TV crew at the
time.
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