A couple of seasons back in Alchemy 101 taught by , we discussed / debated the death of the author. In essence, is the author’s intended meaning and life circumstance relevant to the reader? Or does the reader have the liberty to encounter the author’s written word without any indebtedness or need to understand the author at all? After reading Socrates’ arguments I am now of the perspective that it is not just the author that is dead, the written word itself is dead.

In this past season of Alchemy 101, we read and discussed Socrates’ arguments against writing. At first glance I thought; ‘This is absurd! I love to read! I love the recording of words! I love reflecting on them, listening to them, memorizing them, “arguing” with them, and even burning them on occasion.’

However, with further reflection I am going to attempt leaning into anti-writing. Yes, this also implies anti-reading. Not gonna lie, every fiber of my being revolts a bit at even suggesting such an idea. And yet,

I must venture into that which I avoid in order to discover what I am not considering.

This is an attempt to discover the potential impact of what I refuse to consider, notice and ultimately be curious about. I am under no illusion that I will stop writing or reading as result of this exploration.

The written word is a form of attachment to a detached reality.

The written word is a separation from the ongoing flow of life. Once a word is written it is separated not only from the writer but also life itself! The written word is a one sided conversation within the mind of the individual consciousness. This act is a significant part of the creation and reinforcement of understanding (pseudo permanence). Understanding outside of an ongoing interactive experience of life becomes a forfeiture of a nuanced presence with the moment at hand. Instead of reading the moment, we read the dead written word. This separation / detachment from the moment results in the failure to discover the unforeseen. We illusorily think we possess a fuller understanding than we actually have. This results in a stagnant limited individual awareness over living in the flow of ever-evolving communal perception.

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When I was in grad school getting my Master of Divinity I stated,

All theology outside of relationship is heresy.

I stand by this still. Theology is by its very nature relational. To remove the relationship and have “theological truth” carved in stone is madness in its worst form. This leads to a violent severity that continues to violate the very essence of our humanity.

I now am considering how the written word is the attempt to understand life outside of the living experience of life. The illusion it takes to hold this form of understanding has a cost and seductive limitation that must be considered. The cost is most clearly seen when we violently think we are right and the other deserves to die. This also is the seductive limitation in its raw form; I will be safe, happy and secure in my own understanding. Ultimately, the written word is the grounding of interactive imagination. A separation from the living experience of an ever changing reality.

I will leave you with this:

Any written word that is worth its salt will leave the reader with some sense of misunderstanding, confusion and curiosity to engage with life more fully in the interactive present moment.

“Truth does not make sense!”

- from The Passion According to G.H. by Clarice Lispector p.11

“The Truth? The Truth! There is nothing more flimsy than the Truth!”

- Phillip Saurbeck

“And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.”

- from The Madman by Khalil Gibran

“The ties that bind become the ties that restrict.”

- mad atta

There is a deep cry in many humans to have a sense of clarity and understanding. We want to know the right way to do things, the correct answers and the certainty of being secure in our understanding. In order to fulfill our lust for such security we are often willing to sacrifice to the point of putting ourselves in a survivalist mindset. We forfeit on other ways of seeing and end up demonizing those who are different in their perspective. Threats to the disruption of our view of reality must be suppressed and banished. We want the truth and nothing but the stagnant truth. We want permanence. We believe our own bullshit to the point that we get sick. Harm to others and ourselves becomes par for the course as the price of being right.

Fortunately there is a tool that is here to help us with such toxic ways of perceiving reality. That tool is Tarot. Unfortunately many approach Tarot with the same vile perspective that they approach the rest of life with. They want to do it the right way, have the correct interpretations and the certainty of knowing what Tarot is saying about their future. Utilizing Tarot in this way is a complete forfeiture on the opportunity it provides for us.

You do not need this or any other philosophy to imaginatively read Tarot. In fact a philosophy is guaranteed to lead you down a path of limitation. While limitation is essential for understanding. It is just as essential to acknowledge that understanding becomes a closed casket if one does not relent on holding it.

Tarot is a tool to help us release from our understanding. Tarot is about the imagination and seeing ourselves & the world around us in a way our minds so feverishly resist for the sake of normal predictability. Tarot is about engaging with the absurd. To stretch our perception to see the opportunities that are hidden in plain sight. To loosen the restrictions that are causing such harmful contortions. To dance with the whimsical. To enjoy the pleasures of madness and discover the hidden value of misunderstanding. To let the truth of the moment be revealed and relieved through the flow of impermanence.

When I first got into Tarot I really wanted to write a guidebook. Why? Well I wanted to share my philosophy and love of Tarot.

Then I took a Tarology course taught by . Right out the gate she had us tear up the guide book to our deck. Both myself and the rest of the class were stunned and a bit horrified & terrified! This can’t be! How will we know what to say, how to interpret and what does this all mean?!? This act of destroying the guide book she lead us in was an incredibly liberating gift. was calling us to be present with ourselves, the cards and the person we were reading Tarot with. She exposed us all as Fools! And we were beginning our journey, the Fools journey.

And yet this exercise left me with a dilemma. I had been working on writing a Tarot guide book and now faced the problematic reality with such an attempt. Why create a book that will most likely result in the limitation of imagination when the great gift of Tarot is the flourishing of imagination?

I hold this in paradox with the experience that having a general understanding of Tarot is actually quite useful in learning to liberate one’s imagination. Although to be fair this basic understanding best comes not from reading about it, but actually playing with the deck.

How does one guide another on a journey that honors the process and beauty of experiencing one’s innocence and ignorance? How does one provide a philosophical structure that is not intended to portray permanence or static understanding?

So here I am with the paradoxical task of writing an alchemical informed philosophy for reading Tarot that ultimately needs to be released and recycled.

I will make an attempt.

1. Ditch the Guide Book. Just Spend Time with the Deck, Any Deck.

How much time? At least a week. No a month. Wait make that a year! At minimum spend as much time as you can with the deck until you start to notice details that you did not notice before. I invite you to write your impressions. Got a friend handy? Do a reading with them and just make it up as you go? Be the fool you are.

This period of learning Tarot is essential because you will say things that make absolutely no sense and in doing so you may just create an encounter with the truth. What truth? The truth of you. The truth of your situation. The truth of the one you are with. The truth that makes no sense and yet somehow hits on a level you did not anticipate. The truth of the moment.

2. Be Playful. The More Imagination the Better.

There are no rules. This is all made up! Be bold. Be present. Speak the absurd. Notice the subtlety of the images on the card. Feel the textures as you move them together. Put them in numerical order and observe the development of a process. Shuffle them and discover that when seen in random order a new narrative and process can be named. Be open to the unexpected. The truth of the moment will reveal itself. Most importantly, have fun!

3. Let Go of the Deck because Tarot is Everywhere.

Letting go of the deck is a practice in acknowledging Tarot cards are not sacred. It is a tool that can help you realize Tarot exists beyond the deck in the world around you. As you play with your deck lose the cards intentionally and unintentionally. Let them get bent, marked, stained and written on. In order to learn to use it you must be willing to playfully lose it.

Tarot is everywhere because Tarot is a way of being, seeing and imagining reality. Ultimately, Tarot is about being present and noticing. Noticing yourself, noticing the imagery on the card, noticing the other and noticing the environment. So yeah, not even the deck is necessary for reading Tarot.

In closing I want to mention that I have updated the subscriber benefits for this substack. Here are the three tiers and their benefits:

Free Subscribers:

• Essays, notes and podcasts. Plus occasional subscriber group chats.

Paid Subscribers:

• The knowledge of being a contributor in the holding of the holy unholy perception.

• One 1 card Tarot pull and message per month via email.

True Believers:

• The knowledge of being a sustainer in the holding of the holy unholy perception.

• One 3 card Tarot reading per month via 25 minute video chat.

Wandering light. Those words just popped into my mind. Light does not seem to wander though. Light seems to have a very specific trajectory. And when it reflects it seems to maintain a different trajectory that is correlated with its initial direction and momentum. Are my thoughts like light? Or do my thoughts have the ability to wander. It seems very clear to me that my thoughts do indeed wander as I can’t seem to stay focused without a great deal of effort. However, I must ask is the focus of my thoughts an attempt to resist wandering or is it a reflection of the initial trajectory? Now I feel I am approaching not making sense. Or trying to make sense when there is none to actually be made? Or am I discovering a new way of thinking, seeing and understanding? Who knows?!

I am currently in the process of deconstructing my views of psychology as I was formerly in the process of deconstructing my views of Christianity and the surrounding iterations of it. I did not go to college or grad school with the intent of becoming a therapist. Although to be honest there was a part of me that had a inkling of this trajectory my life would take. When I was a junior in high school I recall writing a paper on what I would do with my life and I wrote about becoming a christian counselor. I had never been to therapy mind you. I don’t even know if I really knew what counseling was other than I knew counselors helped people. I wanted to be of service in helping people, in particular I wanted to help them find peace with God. Wild how it all plays out, isn’t it?

So here I am at 50 years old having spent the first 25 years of my life having engaged and worked through Christianity. And now the second 25 years of my life have been spent working in a private practice as a mental health counselor. It took me 25 years to deconstruct Christianity. I think I am right on queue for deconstructing the mental health system.

Reading Anti-Oedipus by Deleuze and Guattarri is proving to be an exclamation point in my process. I especially resonate with how is teaching this text. I still do not feel like I can yet speak of what I am learning, however I definitely am feeling a connection or should I say flow of a powerful through line that connects my understanding of the personal, the political and the philosophical. All in an effort to bring about the practical shift towards releasing the limitations of the biologically driven colonial fascist mindset that is destroying the world one person and ecosystem at a time.

I want to purge all colonial fascist thought from not only my mind, but also my body. Over the last several years I have been learning about the biological skew that affects my perception that then reverberates back into my body. I now also focus on my philosophical perception to be aware of how my colonized fascist mind has wreaked havoc on my body. Causing my body to react in ways that reinforce the colonial fascist fear and desperate demand for security, comfort, and excess. It feels so embarrassing to look at my own internalization of these ways of limiting reality and how I have perpetuated them against myself and against the world around me. How could I be so complicit when I do not ascribe to these perspectives?!

This comes back to the strange and what I thought was random way I started writing today. Wandering Light. Yet light does not wander. Light is a trajectory flow that fills every direction. Light is like being in an ocean except that all it takes to exit is a boundary. A limitation. Something non translucent. The shadow always exposes the shape of that which is blocking it. I fear, no I acknowledge I hold the shadow shape of colonial fascist ideology. My body holds the contortions of limitations that I have held against myself.

In a very practical way I am going to the gym and meeting with a trainer twice a week. The current goal is to help grow my awareness of muscles in my back that are greatly underutilized. So much so that I even have a hard time feeling what it is like to engage them. With repeated practice and intention I am growing my awareness and engaging my back in a way that is bringing strength. In turn this is releasing the over reliance I have had on other muscles. My body is so used to avoiding certain aspects of itself that it takes having a trained professional to help me understand. This is the direction I am learning to wander and grow in my post-christian & post-mental health counseling self.

Tarot Card of the Day - Ten of Cups

Deep breaths. Drink a glass of water. Moments do not last. My mind knows this. No matter how much my body insists moments do last, my mind knows moments are change. They must change! My body thinks every moment will last forever. As I look at the 10 of Cups I see the moment my body longs to make forever. Pure solace. Everything is peaceful. The promise of eternal bliss. Everything is in its right place. Peace that passes all understanding that will never end. What my body desires as heaven my mind acknowledges as hell. Every moment to my body is an eternal moment. There is no past or future for my body. There is only the eternal now. And by the eternal now I mean the extension of now in all directions. When I am in pain the pain will never end. When I feel bored. The boredom never ends. When I feel pleasure, well however short-lived it may actually be, my body in the moment of now says it will be forever.

I am forever in a state of my body perceiving eternal now even when my mind knows the fuller reality of the cycle of all things. This is the great struggle of perception. The experience of being caught in an unchanging reality that is perpetually changing. My mind sees the change. My body is stubbornly and insistently demanding that change does not actually exist. For the body the present state is the eternal state.

This may be a good place to put an explicit and direct warning. In case you have missed all the signs up until this point where I am heading does not make sense. This path is heading directly into philosophical madness. It is a madness that I will guide you through. And in the end you will leave this path of madness and return to your everyday run of the mill sanity your body is craving. Your body will make sure of it. Your body wants this conforming consistent sameness more than anything. Even when your mind doesn’t want it your body insists this is what will always be. In this moment your mind will fight to cling to the belief that things will actually change and yet your body stubbornly and seemingly willfully refuses every step of the way.

Let’s continue forward with what I mean by my mind? For me in this moment the mind is interpretation. My mind interprets between my body and the perceived external reality. My true opinion is that there is no actual difference between my mind and my body and the external reality. The body, mind and external reality are so deeply and intricately connected that they are all in essence the same. The only difference is perceived difference. The perceived difference is where we create the iconic struggle between the body and the mind. The mind wants separation. With separation there is the appearance that some form of control can be had. With a sense of separation I can curate my biological experience. Separation says I don’t have to feel the crushing reality that none of this actually matters and I can do nothing about it. Separation says I don’t have to face the process and just can live off of the fruits of the process of others. Separation desires connection only on its own terms. Separation wants one foot in and the other foot out. Separation wants to feel the rush of the unpredictable ever changing reality that can be seemingly be mastered to achieve the 10 of Cups. To achieve solace that never ends.

And here I have come full circle. Here I am speaking out of both sides of my mouth. I begin by saying the body wants and thinks that everything will be the same. If the body experiences trauma then every moment can become the moment of trauma. If the body acclimates to an experience of pleasure then atrophy can occur and the pleasure will never end at least in the moment. But then I speak out of the other side of my mouth and return to the trauma that comes from within the body. The body actually wants to stay in a position of survival.

I have now fully lost the plot. I want to delete all of this last paragraph. It is not making sense. It is confused. It is saying one thing and then meaning another. The paragraph is not manageable! It is defying the conditioned logic that says consistency must be had! See now it is not my body, but my mind that is demanding that things get back in line. My mind says what I am writing makes no sense! I need to make sense! Making sense is my most foundational currency! Without sense I can achieve nothing! Where is the store I can go to that takes no money? Or better yet where is the store that I go to and the price changes as I go through the store? I pick up an item and it is this price. As I walk to the cashier I look at the price tag and can’t tell if that is an 8, a 6 or a 5? The cashier says the number is something else entirely and I then pay another amount. As I begin to leave the store the cashier runs after me and says I have both over paid and now I owe more?!?! No Sense = No Cents

They stopped making pennies this year or was it last year? Quite literally the USA has stopped making cents. And as far as consistent prices go, well I heard recently that Amazon was using technology that charges different customers in different locations with different buying habits different prices. That’s right the prices are actually changing behind the scenes all the time. Like the stock market value fluctuates. As value fluctuates so does meaning. As meaning fluctuates so do rationality. No Cents = No Sense

So what is there left to achieve here in this moment of madness. Our realities are not the same. The moment that is called normal is only normal because that is what the dominant narrative says. The narrative that is not controlled by the mind, but controlled by the body. The body that is fascist. The body that says me over you when things get dark, and let me tell ya the closest true source of light is between 91.4 million miles at its closest point and 94.5 million depending on the ever changing eternal moment we appear to be in. All we can really see is the past. We only see what has already happened and our bodies convince our minds that it is what is also going to happen in the next moment. That is until the body dissolves back into the state of our true condition of perpetual vulnerability. Because isn’t that what we are really talking about now anyway. You thought you had found the exit to this madness, but no it continues on. Don’t worry, the safe exit is just around the corner. Trust me. This path always leads to where it is going.

Where were we, oh yes this is all really about vulnerability. You see that is the name of the game. Our bodies want to know 100% and without a doubt that we are safe and our vulnerability will be protected. We don’t want to be naked in the cold hungry with no shelter or sustenance in sight. We want to know where our bed is, where our food and water will come from and walls to give us a sense of security from the wild. Even when we are outside we build walls of orderly perception so we can feel illusory safety that we will not be hit by an oncoming car or attacked by a wild animal. We kill, banish or imprison wild animals. And yes, humans are animals. So our bodies can know that nothing will change and everything is gonna be ok. We will not have to survive. We will 10 of Cups thrive! That’s right! This is the allure of many religions and cults. You will find peace, heaven, dharma, sexual bliss and more money than one can imagine. All with the experience of not being vulnerable! That’s right survival is no more. Just content safe boring bliss forever. Any variance would on some level be considered a pain, a deviation, a mistake, an inconsistency, a problem or better yet madness.

So enters my mind. My mind wants the deviation, the mistake, the inconsistency, the problem, and yes even the pain. I am no masochist or sadist for that matter! I do everything in my power to avoid almost all pain and pain infliction yet there is that part of me that must admit I despise boredom. Without pain there is no change. There is no deviation. My mind defies the reality of the interconnectedness of all reality and I become a separate being. I now exist. And now with this existence I create rationality out of the madness of all things. And then I deconstruct rationality and dip into madness to start it all again.

And here we are arriving at the exit from the madness. Just go through the door and down the stairs. You will find the door back to your normal life where everything stays the same while constantly changing and you finding no issues of seasickness to this insane dissonance. Just keep perpetuating the mantras and the spells you have been taught in school, on tv, in the movies, on the music streamers and constantly being reinforced by your family, friends, coworkers and government. Your body knows just what to do. It has been conditioned and has acclimated so well that anything else would just be madness! Yes you again will start making sense and making cents. Everything is just fine. Just ignore those who aren’t playing along or who are being exiled, killed, imprisoned or silenced. What possible sense / cents could they be making anyway?

Just over a week ago I had the great privilege of going to see Iran and Egypt play a World Cup match here in Seattle, WA, USA. I entered the online lottery on the FIFA website several months ago and was randomly chosen for the ability to buy two tickets. The tickets were $500 a piece. At the time I thought if I won I would likely try to sell them and make a little profit. However, when I discovered the game was Iran vs Egypt, I immediately knew this was going to be an incredible opportunity for me to attend a culturally significant event that was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even though the tickets were expensive, I knew I had to go. The fact that it was a World Cup game was intriguing for me, but that alone is not why I wanted to attend. I wanted to attend because I knew it was going to be a rare occasion where I could be surrounded by people from Bilad al Sham, Persia and North Africa here in Seattle.

Seattle is incredibly white. Among the 50 largest cities in the US Seattle ranks 7th with approximately 60% of the population being white. Our neighbor Portland, Oregon is number 1 holding a 72% white population. So to say I am surrounded by white people is not a stretch by any means. Thus having the chance to actually be in a stadium with 66,925 other people who were mostly from SWANA (SouthWest Asia North Africa) was an opportunity I did not want to miss. And yes, it felt worth the $500 a ticket price.

Part of Seattle’s celebration leading up to the World Cup being played here included them painting all of the participating countries flags on support beams of the Monorail. My office is located near the one that had the Iran flag painted on it. I was amazed that the flag was represented after the US began a war with Iran on February 28th, 2026. And even more amazed that the flag had not been tagged. My instinct that something would be done to the Iran flag ended up being correct, but not in the way I thought. I noticed one day that the central logo of the flag had been whited out. I was a bit confused by the tame nature of the change. And then a few days later I noticed a different logo image was painted on the flag. I am assuming the alterations were done by Iranians themselves who had very strong feelings about which version of the flag should be represented. This contrast could be seen in the stadium on match day as multiple versions of the flag were on display by fans. For more on the Iran flag history and evolution check out this article by Ajam Media Collective.

In the months and weeks leading up to the game no one really knew if the Iran team would even be allowed to enter the US or if the Iranian government would permit their attendance. The political intrigue around this game was palpable amongst World Cup fans and even society at large. How crazy that I would get to be in a stadium with Iranians proudly out and actively cheering for their national team in Seattle while the U.S. was actively bombing their homeland. The U.S. even bombed Iran just hours before the match!

And as it turns out this game had been preselected as Seattle’s PRIDE week game before the two teams were announced in December 2025. Both Egypt and Iran have governments that are known for being extremely strict on sexuality. Seattle was hyped to represent the spectrum of sexual identity while on the world’s stage. This potently contrasted with how the US portrays Iran and Egypt’s governments treatment of sexuality. There was an air of uncertainty leading up to the game of how PRIDE would be received by the fans. This match had so much current political and cultural relevancy that I absolutely could not pass it up.

Next I must choose who to go with. My first thought was my brother-in-law who is Bolivian. He has by far been the biggest soccer fan I have known and I would have loved to been able to attend the game with him. However, he does not live in Seattle and had work obligations that he could not escape. I next thought of my daughter. While I do believe she would have loved the experience for cultural and political reasons, she has very little interest in soccer. She was willing to go, but did not really want to attend. Finally, I realized the perfect person to attend the game with me. My cousin Jimmy. Jimmy is my cousin on my dad’s side. I am Syrian & white. He is Syrian and Lebanese. Jimmy has been a significant influence in my life and has in the past treated me to sporting events, dinners and introduced me to books that have shifted my perspective of the world and ultimately myself. I finally had the opportunity to return the favor and to share with him a once in a lifetime experience. He immediately said yes and it was on. I don’t think either of us realized at the time how significant it would be for us to attend this game together.

Jimmy arrived on the day of the match and after getting him settled in, we headed downtown Seattle. There was a definite air of excitement. While we saw several Iranian fans, the overwhelming majority of fans we came across were Egyptian. In fact while we were walking towards the stadium we happened to end up walking with the massive Egyptian March to the Match. The group of fans stretched for many blocks. Both Jimmy and I were in awe of their presence and excitement. And for the first time we felt the rush of being surrounded by a large group of people who looked more similar to us than any other we have been around in the U.S..

We marched with the Egyptians and entered the stadium rather quickly and with ease. There was a bit of hype in the months before the game that there would be an I.C.E. presence, but they were no where to be seen. Once in the stadium there were Pride flags being handed out. I saw several fans of both Iran and Egypt holding the flags in addition to some of the fans sporting Pride colors in their outfits for the game. All in all the Pride element was what I have come to expect at Seattle events; open, inclusive and supportive of all colors and identities in attendance.

For Jimmy and I the pride we felt was for our Shami heritage. With both a Persian and North African team on the field we decided to split the difference in our support. We braved the long line to the merch shop and got a couple of hats. He got one that said Egypt and I got one that said IR Iran. There was a part of me that took a lot of pride in wearing an Iran hat in the U.S.. By the same token I would have just as gladly worn the Egypt hat. Either way we were both happy just to be there.

When we were walking to our seats I was so full of joy seeing all the beautiful Arab, Persian and North African faces. In addition my heart was full of love and pride that Palestine was being represented by fans from both Egypt and Iran. I had a Palestine soccer Jersey on and my green keffiyeh. There were many fans with Palestinian flags. One moment that brought tears to my eyes was when I saw three young women sitting together each wearing a hijab. I said to them “It feels so good to be surrounded by so many Arabs, Iranians and Egyptians!” One of them replied, “Yes! It feels like we are in another country!” Being SWANA (SouthWest Asian North African) in the U.S. is not easy. The pressure to assimilate and to not be perceived as a threat is a very real and visceral experience that is constantly felt. So much so that it feels extremely normal. It was not until being surrounded by folks who are not white that the feeling lifts and a profound sense of joy and relief came over me and many others.

Arriving at our seats we were surrounded mostly by Iranian fans. There was a family of Iranians sitting right in front of us from Canada. They had two young boys who were thrilled to be there. Although the mother and father were even more excited. Finally something for Iranians to cheer about in the U.S.! There was such a collective feeling that this was a safe place to let our guard down and cheer. For a few hours all of the fear and tension had an outlet of joy and excitement. The father of the Iranian family in front of us was so into the game that he got our entire section cheering “In Goale!” when Iran had a corner kick in front of us. His energy and passion was contagious.

Our seats were close to the end of the row. There was one seat left and I was sitting next to it. I was hopeful that it would be an Iranian or Egyptian fan. Or at the very least a person who had heritage from that region of the world. Basically anyone but a white guy. Sure enough the only white guy in our section shows up and sits right by me. And he wanted to talk. Inside I was like goddamn! My one moment to enjoy being surrounded by other SWANA folks and I get stuck sitting by a white guy who just wants to talk about what he wants to talk about. If you are white and reading this you may not understand. You maybe confused. The guy sitting next to me was not a bad guy at all. He was talking about soccer which was very relevant to the context. And he was friendly. What possible problem could I have?

Here is one example. Two Egyptian fans, a man and a woman, showed up at our row and realized their seats were at what we thought was the other end of the row. The woman was in front and was trying to figure out where their seats were. The white guy sitting next to me was thinking he was being friendly and kept forcefully encouraging them to go through our row and not worry about making everyone stand up. The Egyptian guy was trying to tell her to hold up and not go down the aisle. She was torn and because the white guy next to me kept insisting she proceeded to make everyone stand up. As the Egyptian guy entered the row he looked frustratingly at the white guy and said “You pressured her into that.” Turns out they were not even in our section. The white guy next to me then starts to vent about the Egyptian guy being rude and I did not want to hear it. I just told him “it’s a thing” referring to the fact that he did pressure her. He was just completely unaware of his privilege and that there could possibly be other perspectives that were perhaps more valid than his own. As the game went on I acclimated and was ok with chatting with my white seat mate. Like I mentioned earlier, the pressure I feel to assimilate and please white people is pervasive in my life here in Seattle. I have to hold myself in such a way that can be understood. It was attending this game that highlighted for me the amount of energy and effort that I constantly put out just to appease white people.

The experience of attending the game was magical. I have been to many sporting events in my life, but none quite like this. The difference was the spirit of the fans. They were all so welcoming and just excited to be there with something to cheer about. I remember earlier in the day when Jimmy and I were getting ready to head down to the game there was a breaking news alert that the U.S. had just bombed Iran again. To have this knowledge in such close proximity to cheering with Iranians for their national team was very surreal. Iranians are not the gay hating anti-Americans the media portrays them as. In fact the first thing the Iranian family did when they got to their seat was to offer to share their popcorn with my cousin and I. The kindness and the camaraderie expressed was both heartwarming and like a healing balm. It made me crave more time with other Arabs, Persians and North Africans.

The match itself was incredibly intense and went back and forth. The Egyptians had already qualified for the next round and did not have as much to lose. The Iranians on the other hand needed a win to make it to the next round. They also needed a win for morale. The US treated them extremely poorly and with a profound amount of distrust. They were required to fly in and out of the U.S. before and after each match all the while enduring intense security checks. They were not treated with the respect of the other teams. The Egyptian team was also treated with disrespect by the U.S. and Seattle. When traveling back from a game in Vancouver, they were required to stay in Spokane (several hours away) for security reasons. And yet even through all of this both teams and all their fans held themselves with such dignity and respect. They played their hearts out. The game ended in a tie after Iran appeared to be robbed by a highly questionable call that took a game winning goal away. There were ups and downs for all the fans. And at the end we all walked out cheering for both teams. Yes it was quite surreal hearing so many cheering for Iran after the game in the streets of Seattle. This occurring as the U.S. became the first host country in World Cup history to bomb a country on the same day it was hosting them in a match. What a surreal reality this is!

What I learned most from attending this game is that the people are not their governments. Governments wield the power, but the soul is held by the people. The people aren’t the media narrative. They aren’t the laws of their homeland. They are in fact beautiful and work to offer peace, joy and love. All that is needed is an opportunity to express it. And self expression is not something the Iranian or the U.S. government is fond of. Except there is this loop hole of sports, in this case the World Cup, where you can actually get a glimpse of what not only is possible, but actually exists. A better world exists. It is already here. We just need to create more societal spaces for its expression. And we must continue to demand our governments stop the violence, hate and misrepresentation. Like Public Enemy aptly stated many years ago “Don’t believe the hype!”. And if you are white, take a chill pill on the ‘I am white and I am right’ attitude. You have a lot to learn. And what you have to learn will lead you to a place of communal joy that transcends the fears and violence of a very unjust world.

And for me personally, I remembered the importance of my connection with my family. I have many Arab relatives and most of them have been disconnected with our Shami heritage. Being able to be in this environment with my cousin Jimmy will be a moment I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life. It was both our first time to be in a U.S. setting where the way we look was normalized. We were a part of a greater Arab, Persian, North African community. This moment was so sweet and one that I hope we both get to experience again as it is our heritage!

Tarot Card of the Day - The Tower

My early childhood was split in a biracial reality. I was born in Appalachia (SE Kentucky, USA) to a white European mother and an Arab Shami father whose parents came to the US from the area of land today called Syria. To be clear this split was not 50/50. I am 100% of both as they are inseparable in me. At the same time experientially the split was more like 90% white European and 10% Arab Syrian. It feels like I may be being a bit generous to my Arab Syrian side with this ratio as I don’t speak Arabic, grew up with no Arab friends and only interacted with other Arabs at family weddings, funerals and graduations. On the flip side my name is distinctly Shami and my body looks and reacts strikingly similar to my Arab Syrian father. So in this sense I perhaps have greatly underestimated the percentage of my Arab life experience.

Growing up I always thought of myself as white. And I was not wrong. And I was not correct. My mindset was definitely conditioned to be white. I assumed the privileges and the burden of a white person. And yet I never quite fit in. Even in my whiteness I was not as privileged because in the 70’s and 80’s the people of Appalachia were stereotyped as hillbillies with no shoes, overalls, being ignorant and not talking right. Arabs during this time were stereotyped as terrorists and religious fanatics who wanted nothing but death to America. When I was in the second grade I moved from a super small Appalachian mountain town to the “big city” of Lexington, Kentucky. I was constantly made fun of in school for my Arab features and my Appalachian accent. I did not fit in. I was white, but not one of the good whites. I was Arab but had very little point of reference for what this even meant other than the portrayed horrors and mockery. So I instinctively chose to continue to try to assimilate. I found a track to this in religion that I dove into with all of my being. I will perhaps discuss this more in a future essay.

In the early 90’s the Gulf War was happening when I was in highschool. I remember being very disturbed by this. Even though I was well into my attempt to assimilate, I still knew on some level that it was people like me who the US was against and actively killing. I was around 16 at the time and remember being terrified that I would get drafted and have to go to war in the “Middle East”. I did not want to kill anyone, especially those who looked like me. I doubled down on my assimilation strategy by using God and Christianity as my ticket out. “He must become greater, I must become less.” John 3:30. In my mind I was thinking of God. In reality I was trying to become a white man.

Next came college. I went to an Evangelical Christian School in an extremely small town in Indiana. I remember one white redneck dormmate saying they saw my name on my dorm door and wondered “what kind of person is this?” This caught me off guard because in my mind I was just another white country boy. To assimilate well one must fully mentally buy into the narrative identity one aspires to be. And for me it was to fit in with the good ol’ boys of the midwest. As hard as I tried and as fiercely as I believed that is who I was, I failed miserably and was in fact miserable.

Fast forward to my junior year of college. I was studying the Bible and took an opportunity to study abroad in Jerusalem for a semester with several other students from my school. I had never been to a place where there were so many Arab people! I remember so clearly being out shopping in the old city of Jerusalem with my white midwestern friends. We would go into an Israeli shop and the employees would speak to my friends in English and then to me in Hebrew. I would say, “no I speak English”. I was completely confused. Then we went into a Palestinian shop and they immediately spoke to me in Arabic and my friends in English. I was like “what? I speak English!” I had no idea why they were speaking to me in Arabic. Then one of my friends said to me in a strong Indiana country accent “Auuuttta! They think you are one of them!” My mind was blown. And so was my cover. Turns out I was hiding behind a very sheer cover that could be seen right through. I had nowhere to hide. My white pose was enough to convince Israelis that I was one of them, because what kind of Arab would hold themselves as a privileged white European like they do? And I obviously looked more like them than my other friends. I must be Israeli! And yet the Palestinians saw right through all the facade and welcomed me because I was indeed one of them. I am Shami. And they were as well.

The next significant event of my Arab acceptance was when 9/11 happened. I remember being stunned that one of the bombers was named Mohammed Atta. My name which is so rare in America was now all over the news. No one ever came at me directly for my name being the same as the “terrorist” but I felt extremely exposed and vulnerable. I had to keep up my white assimilation efforts! Now is not the time to be more Arab, and yet ironically that is just what I did. In 2003 I went to New York City with some friends. It happened to be over the Halloween weekend. Me in my genius self thought this will be a good time for me to try on the Syrian Keffieh that I got in Jerusalem. I had never worn it. I thought Halloween would be the perfect time for me to explore my Arab identity. So I was walking down the street in Manhattan with my Keffieh just two short years after 9/11 and boy did NYC let me know it. I got several shouts from the locals that were not, let’s just say pleased, with my choice of attire. The one that sticks out most vividly was a guy yelling “Goddamn Taliban! Get out of here!”. I definitely picked up my pace and considered this a firm reminder of why I needed to not be Arab, but a white man. The Keffieh went back in the closet and did not come out again until 2023.

The Iraq war was going on and it was definitely a time of suppressing my Arab self and also a time of it beginning to boil over. I remember getting very upset at white family members on my mom’s side who were pro war and the destruction of Iraq. They very much had the perspective that it was us or them and fuck them. Them being the Arabs. Of whom I was one despite my best attempts to deny it within myself. However, when the Arab blood gets hot, it boils over. And I could not hold back at how hurt and upset I was that they were pro destruction of the Arabs to keep their illusion of safety alive. And it was an illusion because they were never under threat. There were no weapons of mass destruction. I could not stand this and became utterly disgusted with the Republican Party. When Obama came around and ended the war I was so relieved and thankful! I thought he was here to save us. What he did was restore the illusion. In reality, Obama dropped over 92,000 bombs. He authorized over 10 times more drone strikes than the George W. Bush administration. The vast majority of these bombs were dropped in Iraq and Syria. Many also were dropped in Libya, Yemen, Somalia, and Pakistan. Obama was just as bad for being a destructive force against Arabs as George Bush, but I bought back into the illusion.

The illusion was rattled though in 2011 when Syria went through a revolution. Over 13 million Syrians were displaced and over 500,000 were killed. I remember this period as one where I felt numb and in profound denial. I did not understand at all what was happening in Syria, why it was happening, or what to do about it. I just focused on my white assimilation, but was deeply haunted inside. I felt so powerless. It may seem a bit silly, but in 2015 Adidas was offering the ability for custom shoes to be made which included being able to write something inside the shoes on the soul cushion. I decided I wanted to be more mindful of Syria and all that was happening so I had the shoes made in black and red with the words Remember Syria printed on the soul cushions. This was a small but significant step of intention that I made to remind myself of who I am. The change was subtly happening in me, but it would take almost another decade for it to come out.

It was unfortunately not until the active genocide against the Palestinians and the utter destruction of Gaza that I was feverishly awakened to the fact that I am Arab and that I am Shami. This ongoing genocide and destruction of Gaza, the West Bank and Lebanon has permanently removed my ability fully to assimilate into white personification. I still am going through the process of accepting who I am as Shami. The layers of impact and contortion of my perception run deep from such long term commitment to white assimilation. When I first began to see the full and indiscriminate murder of the Palestinian men, women and children alongside the complete and utter desecration of the land and culture, I committed to myself that I would let it change me. I did not want to look away. What I was seeing was far too precious to just ignore or suppress. I wanted it to burn away all of my fear and shame of being Shami. I wanted it to disintegrate the self-emposed restrictions of my thoughts and expressions. I no longer wanted to hide who I am because of fear of offending others, fitting in or self protection. What is still happening on a daily basis to the people and land of Palestine is the turning point of my self acceptance and expression. I continue to learn to stand more proud of who I am as a Shami. I will continue to speak up for justice and calling out the utter cowardly ignorant violence for exactly what it is until it stops and Palestine is free from the river to the sea.

My name is Atta Dawahare. I am an Arab man whose paternal grandparents were born and immigrated from Bilad al Sham. I am Shami. I am Syrian. As a mixed race person of Arab and white, I am the colonized biology finding restorative justice over the colonizer. I have for too long attempted to perpetuate the colonization of my own body by trying for white assimilation. I now reject that assimilation. I accept who I am and where I am from. All of me. However the white part of me shall now submit and become the part that takes the back seat. My Arab self shall lead and contrary to all the stereotypes he does not bring terror and fanatic religiosity. My Arab self brings knowledge, patience, wisdom, accountability, passion, creativity, movement, flow, generosity, well being, hospitality, understanding, strength, passionate love, anger and a drive to make the world a better place for all. My white inheritance has a lot to learn. Best for the white aspect of me to stop bringing judgement & shame and get to work on learning what it means to bring the restorative reparations for all the senseless harm done to preserve an illusion.

I feel off and a bit irritable today although I am starting to feel slightly better as the day goes by. It is 11:08am currently. I went to an appointment with my natural path dr. and she preformed manual therapy on my back. It is like a massage but different in approach and intention. It does help me as I tend to carry so much stress in my back. I need to learn about knots as Alejandro Jodorowsky prescribed in the tarot / psychomagic reading he gave me. I need to learn to tie knots. I end up in more of a tangled knotted state as opposed to having an awareness and intention of how the knot is being formed. Learning there is a process to untying the knots is also a practice I would like to be intentional about. I keep trying to resolve the unresolvable in my brain. This just makes things worse and makes the knots tighter and last longer. I am unintentionally working against myself in this way. Turns out some knots are best handled through manual therapy and stretching. I want this focus of learning knots to become an intentional effort for me in the coming weeks and months. I am already on it in that I think I have most of the pieces on the table. I just need to pay attention to how I can put them together in a way that works for me now. I need a routine to flow with. This is an adjustment of focus.

Adjusting focus in part what I mean by owning my perception. I sometimes wonder if that all power really is at its core is focus adjustment. One of my foundational views of reality is represented in this statement: All life grows and behaves according to the environment. Our focus is a way of creating an environment. It brings awareness to whatever we are looking at. That awareness begins to interact with the operating system of our mind. And from there our actions flow.

There is a line of thought out there that says our actions begin to happen even before we consciously choose to act. This makes sense to me. Although the idea of learning to control one’s focus is a game changer for me when it comes to the idea of free will. At this point I want to lean into saying there is no “free will”. I say this for two reasons. One, as I just mentioned, our actions begin before we realize it. Two, our will is interdependent on the wills that are around us. My will is not an isolated power that is unaffected by the wills around it. So my will reacts to the wills in its current, past and perceived future environments. A reaction is not a choice. Reactions are more akin to a forced dance.

However, I do at this point think we can develop the ability to have influential wills. What do I mean by influential will? As I grow my awareness I am creating a new environment that will affect the way I react to the wills around me. And ultimately if I am able to bring conscious intention to my ability to focus I am now beginning to curate the internal environment of my will. This then causes a ripple effect to my reactive body and it begins to react according to an environment that I have “chosen” / developed over time. Thus the focused curated will becomes a force of influence on my will and the wills around me. The influential will can be joined by other influential wills to become a collaborative will. The collaborative will is the calibrated joining of multiple individuals intentionally focused and curated influential wills.

To bring this back around the only place that we need to be concerned about developing our power is around our ability to adjust and calibrate our focus. This is the place from which all of our reactive action flows.

One essential part of focus is realizing the structure of our focus. What is our focus looking for? Why is our focus looking for this? What is our focus willing to do to get it? What is our focus forfeiting on? Why is our focus forfeiting?

As I write this I am realizing I may have taken all of this too far. I am ok with that as I think it may not be about the thought I was trying to work out. It may instead be about the view I created by taking a thought too far.

For instance I stated “ the only place that we need to be concerned about developing our power is around our ability to adjust and calibrate our focus.”, I am not sure about this other than I do realize that when I use words like only or all I am assuredly eliminating other legitimate paths that I may or may not be aware of. This is a problem and a sign that I have come full circle from an attempt to liberate back to an effort to contain.

So I relent on this view and stop to take a look around. What thoughts opened up because I was willing to take a thought too far. In this particular case I look around and notice that I now feel less pressure on myself to change my actions. I now see that it is not my actions fault. If I do have fault at all it is in my underdeveloped ability to calibrate and curate my focus. I have been really hard on my body throughout most of my life as it carries so much stress that is not actually mine.

Developing my ability to focus my perception is something that will allow my body to get a better return on my efforts. If I focus on what I have the most ability to influence, I can set my body up to be a more stable environment for navigating my focus. My body will always be reactive. It reacts to the environment. My ability to adjust my focus is my ability to create an environment that my body will react in more sustainable and effective ways.

Again, I may be going to far, and that is ok. Better than that, it is ideal. It is ideal as long as I have the ability to release my focus from having to prove my thought at any and all costs. The benefit is when I let go of the idea and look around. They view is incredible and there are so many other directions to begin to explore. Not to mention the pathways here are getting brighter. We are showing each other the way. Keep going. Don’t be afraid of getting lost. We are in an orbit and will inevitably be coming back around. And when we do come back around let’s take the time to notice. As my instagram bio states: Life is repetition. Notice the part that is the same to see who you have been. Notice the iteration to see who you are becoming.

There were 4 days between post 40/?? and 41/??. I successfully wrote one thousand words a day for 40 days. And then it took 4 days to write the 41st day. The past 4 days have held more intensity and potency than the last 40. And that is saying something. I am not sure yet how much I am ready to write about the past 4 days directly.

For now, I begin with the film Backrooms. I have seen it twice now. Never has a film visually unnerved me in such a way. Regardless of the plot, this film visually took me to a place of memory and yes even madness. Things being the same and different simultaneously. The non-sequential nature of narrative pieces showing up in unpredictable and distorted ways. This is the undoing of fascism. This is the undoing of the imposed psychological structure of our perception. This is release of our coded desire. And it is terrifying.

How does one rest when there is not a sense of continuity to ones surroundings? Will we not immediately and instinctively start to create familiarity and predictability once again? This was the difference between my first viewing of the film and my second. The first time I was viscerally unnerved. The second time not as much because I knew what was coming. The predictability was much less terrifying and more, well, boring. Not that the film was boring. I just did not feel it as much in my body and I wanted more. I wanted more liminal terror. Liminal terror is the feeling of the unfamiliar, the unpredictable and the unknown taking place in an environment that is familiar. These feelings we do our best to keep locked and in the back in favor of everything being in its right place.

Last week I packed my bags the night before leaving for my trip to Lexington, Kentucky. I was taking two bags so that I could take extra items for my family. One of the bags I took had a built-in lock. This bag had some excess room in it and I forgot to pack something. When I awoke on the day of my flight I went to put the item in my bag and I could not get the lock to work. I tried. My partner tried. I looked up videos online. Nothing worked and it was time to go. I thought oh well, maybe security will check my bag and in doing so they will undo the lock. Sure enough, when I arrived in Lexington at the airport the lock was released and I could access the contents.

To prevent myself from dealing with this again, I decided to buy a different luggage lock. In theory this is a good idea. However for it to actually work I need to not misplace the new lock I just purchased. I did not end up finalizing my packing and looking for the lock until just before I left. And guess what? I could not find the lock. I looked in all the places I thought it was and could not find it so once again I am going to the airport with my bag having lock issues.

Fortunately though my other bag had a lock and this one worked. At least so I thought. When I arrived in Seattle I went to the baggage claim to collect the bags from the luggage carousel. I had a spot to get the bag right where they came out and slide onto the carousel. My bag came out, slid down and off popped the lock and it landed right at my feet! I immediately turned to my kid and said, “You saw that, right?” And she replied yes and was amazed. She had been witness to this journey of me being stuck locked in Seattle, coming unlocked in transit, the lost lock in Lexington and then the lock just popping off and landing at my feet back here in Seattle.

All of this as I attempt to unlock the coding of my mind and release a bit of the madness. And by madness I mean the untamed. The instinctual. The misunderstood. The imagination. The brilliance. The new familiar. The future mundane. This is an attempt to enter my backrooms. To reveal them to you. To allow you the space to bring your own resonance and projection to these walls that are not quite how you remember them being, but yet are still recognizable.

Yes this is unnerving for yourself and for me. I don’t like it anymore than you do, at least not at first. Then once you start to find your footing, well, we both have a lot of exploring to do. I encourage you to bring yourself as you read along with me in these essays. Listen to your body. Notice your feelings. What backroom lights flicker in you as we venture forth in the undoing of narrative and indulgence in process. Terror is to be expected. This is just excitement for the unpredictable or is it for the predictable. Either way, enjoy the rush.

If you happen to find yourself bored, note the opportunity you have to push the limits. What are you craving in your boredom? This may be the space you need to say fuck it and jump in. Let yourself write without reservation, hesitation or censorship. Allow your voice to flow with whatever comes out. And then keep going.

As I have learned recently, it is a good practice to allow yourself to just express until you discover what it is you are wanting to say or to explore. Starting to write with no direction is like starting to open the door or pass through the wall to an unexplored backroom. Yes some of the doors are locked until they are not. You can do your best to unlock them yourself, but as I have learned sometimes the locks have minds of their own.

I am in transition. I am currently living in my past, present, and future all at the same time. I am where I was, where I am and where I will be. None of this is in order. None of this is sequential. I orbit my life and lived reality with speed that is so fast it feels slow. My body shows me the signs of the speed. And yet it simultaneously mocks these signs with a reactiveness that takes me back to the very beginning. And truth be told there is no beginning. At least not one that I can be sure about. For the stories change. The memories morph. Even the images do not appear as they once did. For what am I seeing in the image now is not what I saw before. And yet it is exactly what I saw. This makes no sense. None of it makes any sense! Both the comfort and the discomfort are palpable. My mouth utters the phrase “I am scared.” compulsively throughout the day. I don’t know how to rest. How do I relax?! My stomach holds a rebellion and I hurl and then hurl again. My daughter looks at me and says your eye is bleeding! My eye is bleeding! And this is not a big deal. It looks worse than it is. It will go away in one to two weeks. It is caused by the pressure from hurling last night. I am old. I am young. No I am old. Not that old. Not that young. But I am old. Which makes me young. For I am older than my mother and I am younger than my sister and my daughter. There is an arc to life. I have passed the tipping point.

I perhaps crossed this threshold just before the pandemic in 2018 or 2019. I think it was when my dad died. He died just down the hall from where I lay as I type this in bed. It was a Sunday after post church family dinner. I was in Las Vegas (the city of Lost Wages as he called it) at a metal music festival. I had eaten some gummies and was about to see the most intense band in the lineup that day; Indian. My dad once said that in his family there were 7 chiefs and 1 indian. He was the indian. And I got a call from my brother in law as Indian was about to take the stage. He never calls. I let it go to voicemail because it was so loud. I stepped out and the message said to call back as soon as I could. My dad was / had died. Now I am here and my mom is across the hall in their / her bedroom. It is 8 years later. I am now 50. My daughter is now 20. So much has changed and yet it is all just as it was only completely different.

The physical world is the most linear of all reality. It is the slowest to change without brute force. And yet the change is constant and consistent. You would not know the world is spinning at 795 miles per hour here in Lexington, Kentucky. Did you know the Earth spins at the equator at 1,040 miles per hour and at exactly 0 miles per hour at the North and South Pole! I wonder if a person can feel the difference between the world spinning and not spinning. I doubt it. We are so small we can barely notice anything. And yet it is all happening all the the time. Like the movie title of that film that won best picture at the Oscars in 2023; Everything Everywhere All At Once.

So my stomach spins when I lose my faith and acknowledge that all of my core beliefs are in fact fictional. I hurl from the awareness and the blood vessel in the corner of my left eye can’t take the pressure and decides to explode and I am not even aware!

I get so upset at madness. I disdain the madness in me and in others. I want order. I want predictability and understanding. This is the way of fascism. My body is an aspiring fascist. And yet the madness of my mind saves me once again from the tyranny of the lust of such comfort in predicable familiarity. So I indulge my madness and play with the absurdity of all things all the time. Yes I do trust in science and use it to spring myself into the air of the inevitable as I pretend I can fly while I am simply laying in this bed across the hall from my widowed aging mother and down the hall from the spot where my father died. I am in transition. I am in between. I am so old that I am actually growing younger. I have passed the point of peak sanity and now get to return to the delights of the playful imagination. I get to indulge my madness because I am both old enough and young enough to accept the absurdity of this existence. I yawn and a single tear slides down my cheek. My stomach feels off still and I wonder if I will be able to sleep tonight.

Tomorrow is another day of facing how much things have changed and stayed the same all at the same time. My daughter and I will visit family members I have known my entire life and she will ask them about their experience as an Arab American and what it was like to grow up and be a part of the Dawahare family. I will be with her to facilitate the meetings and to observe. I will pay attention to myself, to her and to them. And hopefully if I am lucky I will catch a glimpse of who I was, who I am and who I am becoming.

aiming for just enough conformity to loosen and disrupt your convictions

pro-collaborator / anti-follower

free palestine from the river to the sea

eliminating the patriarchal colonial fascist capitalist system one philosophically aligned breath to thought to action at a time

misunderstanding is valued here

unbuckle your seatbelts cause nothing is sacred

process is in / narrative is out

let’s do this