My Vision for Cairo and Giza, 4th February 2011…
A vision I had about what could happen tomorrow in Cairo. A way forward, not based upon violence or destruction or even opposition. Rather a way forward based on reaching back into the mists of time, of history and based upon flowing with, not standing against.
I saw that the men prepared for a Friday prayer that was bound to be explosive, given what has happened in the last 48/72 hours.
As the men left for the prayers, the women in their lives prayed silently for the hot, masculine energy to be calm. Even in the face of the most strident rhetoric. Even in the face of incitement, inducement or peer pressure, they prayed for their men to be calm.
Because they had a plan of their own.
As the men left, mocking the curfew and the display of military might, cocky in their strength, singly and in numbers, the women began to move, gathering neighbours and friends, told last night by SMS and hushed telephone calls about the plan.
They wore their Hijabs, with pride today. Today, they were going to gently de-stablize the centuries long hold of the “other” on their ‘selves”.
And this gathering sea of women moved, like rivulets, through the streets of Cairo and nearby towns and villages and they poured towards the most stunning and powerful symbols of Egypt, the Holy Nile and the Great Pyramid at Giza.
The children looked a little bewildered but the women were all so strong, silent, calm… carrying water and dry fruits for their ceremony.
As if by some unseen hand, the women divided according to their place of worship today.
One stream turned south-west, towards Giza. That great, mysterious and familiar structure, today a symbol of so much if they could do what they set out to do.
The other turned to the city center and away, along the banks of the Nile, the great mother. Terracotta cups in hand, they were going to begin to heal her today.
And the rivers of black , with brightly dressed children in tow, swept towards the Great Pyramid and the Nile.
Yet to be recounted history was going to get a new chapter today.
As the lead group neared Al-Gizah, everyone knew what their roles were. The hour of the afternoon prayer was growing closer. They gazed upon this symbol, finally understanding today what it really stood for. This giant, resonant monument, angular, flat, massive beyond belief was the Masculine, piercing out of the Earth and buried deeply in it…. it’s top, circumcised.
Today, this was the wounded masculine of the Arab world and therefore the whole world.
The dream teller had explained it all.
And so they began to form a great circle around it’s base. No one dared to stop them. Children in tow, holding hands, the river of black began to encircle Al-Gizah. The Four, chosen for their strength and their femininity, took positions at the four faces.
And the circle gathered, guided by an unseen hand. A knowing.
The first calls wafted through the hot air and the circle encircled this testament to the wounded masculine.
As the call of the imam of Al-Azhar wailed towards them, the girls on the four faces began to climb. And the river of black continued to en-circle. The symbolism was lost on no one. The wounded, circumcised masculine was being surrounded by the Dark, forgiving feminine. A womb around the ancient, the unknown yet so present.
And the four black figures inched their way up the faces and the women below urged them on. Circle formed outside the inner one. Then another. Three great rings of black. The children were mostly quiet, awed by the presence of the great one and the energy of their mothers/sisters.
Meanwhile, the cup carrying sisters reached the banks of the Nile. Today they had understood how Aswan had killed the Nile. How they had killed the Nile, without which there was no Egypt, no Cairo, no history. And they dipped the cups in, as they had been told, and poured them back, chanting under their breath any prayer they knew. Each cup, dipped and returned with gratitude and grace and the asking of benevolence. And some of them began to weep, softly. And they dipped their cups and poured them back, healing, healing….
Meanwhile the four figures had reached half-way and the afternoon prayers were upon them. In the mosques, the men felt a strange calm. They looked at each other in silent bewilderment. They’d come ready to fight. But all they felt was forgiveness. And strength.
And the four figures inched closer to the top. Suddenly a low hum began, spontaneously, in the inner-most circle. The four felt the sound, felt light, energized. And the hum began to gather. And the great one stirred.
Higher and higher the four swept.
The hum gathered force and the cup carrying sisters remembered an old song to the glory of the Nile. And they began to sing, softly at first. Together. Dipping, pouring, weeping, healing…..
And the first one reached the top, as a sigh arose from below.
Now they knew, as all four hugged themselves, why they were here. The wind was whipping them around but they felt planted, as if some deep magnetic pull kept them in place.
And they knelt, backs to the four directions and put their hands together in the middle. The hum from below resonated through their feet and knees. And the great one stirred some more.
As the hum rose, they arose, hands in perfect point, rising….. and to the onlookers, it became clear in an instant. This was the capstone the Great One has been waiting for. Black cloth, fluttering in the wind, eight eyes, looking up, eight hands… upward. Later, they swore Al-Gizah trembled under their feet.
The Nile-healers looked up and saw the black dot perched atop the Great one. And they intensified their work. Dipping, praying, pouring, weeping.
In the mosques, the Imam’s found their voices speaking of em-powerment, of solidarity, of community, of fairness and understanding. They spoke of history and the re-discovery inside each one present of the urge for Jihad. But the inner one. They spoke of cleansing, but of the inside.
Far away, the tyrants and the dictators sweated. Nervous. Something trembled. Maybe the gorund beneath their feet?
And the four were now fully risen, reaching for the higher way as the wall of sound swept up from below, amplified by the great one through their feet, their bodies…..
And in the water, tears mixed with pain and washed the layers away.
And the great one, so of the earth, resonant, misunderstood, sacred, geometric…… gathered and transmitted the energy. Ripples….deeper and stronger….
Can it be?
In-spired by Mayada Al Shereef