I have mostly half-written unedited chapters from last time. Along with a pile of notes. I shall finish them of course. I am hoping that soon.
My writing is unfinished. Just like me.
In the end, perhaps that is what ultimately consciousness is about. The realization that we are an unfinished business. An incomplete creation.
We might have passed the concept stage, but we are definitely still in beta testing.
The atheist would say that that alone is a big argument against God. How can such a perfect existence create such a failure as humans?
The believer would say that we can never know the mind of God. Even incomplete, we are here for a purpose. The beta testing will be over when we die. The rejects will get eternal damnation, and the good concepts will pass quality control and will be integrated in the final product forever. It will be perfect.
The problem is that the Judaeo-Christian/Islamic spiritual metaphor has no place for other modern business management concepts like continuous improvement, product innovation and so on. Maybe Hinduism and Buddhism do, since they believe in Karma and reincarnation.
The best that an agnostic like me can hope for is that the doubt of being in a continuous dream (perhaps in the mind of the Creator) will be dispersed or confirmed one day.
I am in Armenia again.
This time, it is a real fast forward. I am back again, yearning for what I left behind.
I am Bilbo. The ring that has become my curse is what I experienced in Armenia, what now seems like ages ago.
Endless inspiration.
How did I get here again?
My friends, the wonderful couple Sam and Silva, have decided to invite me to the opening ceremonies of their great gift to Armenia, the Tumo Center.
In April of 2009, I gave a lecture in Montreal about this uniquely inspiring man. You can watch it here.
I guess they think I am not Armenian but have learnt to speak the language. They are being courteous.
The mother is screaming and crying. The father raises his voice and threatens the two Dutchmen with violence. They hold him down. The flight staff rush to the back, airport security comes in. The situation is getting worse by the minute.
A passenger pulls out a video camera and tries to film the incident. He is immediately chastized by the head flight attendant. She tells him to switch it off.
-Չէ՞ք ամաչում: Սա ձեր գործը չի: Ահա այս է պատահում երբ բռնի տեղափոխում են մարդկանց (tchek amatchoum? Sa tser kordze tchi. Aha ayss eh badahoom yerp prni deghapokhoom en martgants - Aren't you ashamed, this is none of your business? This is what happens when they forcefully remove someone from a country).
It turns out that the Dutch authorities are deporting the family back to Armenia. The commotion lasts for over half an hour. Regular passengers from the back are moved to the front. The mother keeps wailing.
It all dies down gradually, and the plane takes off. The standard announcements are made in Armenian and in English.
-Շուտով ձեզ հիւրասիրելու ենք սուրճ, թեյ կամ հիւթեր, ինչպէս նարինջի, սեւ հաղարջի, պանանի եւ ելակի. նրանց ընկերակցելու են համեղ բլիթներ: (Shoodov tsez ge hyourasirenk soordj, tey gam hyouter, intchbes narintchi, sev haghardji, banani yev yelagi; nrants engeragtseloo yen hamegh plitner - We shall soon serve you coffee, tea or juices, like orange, blackberry or banana-strawberry; they'll be accompanied by tasty snacks).
I have no idea how she knows that the snacks are tasty. I am amused and decide try the banana-strawberry mixed juice; it tastes horrible, as do the stale baked snacks. At least on the issue of airline food, we are up to par with international standards.
They did sound mouth-watering though in Armenian. While my palate did not approve, my ears were certainly more than satiated and content.
There is a medical "disorder" called synesthesia. People afflicted with it have a mixup of their sensory inputs. They "hear" colors and "see" sounds for example. Since we have five senses there are many potential forms of synesthesia. On a one to one mismatch, for example, there could be twenty different kinds (e.g. "smelling" of touch input). Not all potential cases have been documented though, nor have even been proven to exist. But synesthesia goes beyond the general five senses into its subsets. It has also been associated with language (lexical-a specific subset of auditory input) and letter-number shapes (graphical- specific subset of visual sensory input).
Synesthesia has been associated with art and creativity, especially as it relates to musicians who are able to see sounds, and painters who are able to draw sounds.
Some of my most favourite minds were synesthetes. Franz Liszt, Vladimir Nabokov and arguably the greatest genius of modern physics, Richard Feynman.
The rarest form of synesthesia is lexical/gustatory. This means that words evoke tastes.
I have always wondered about that. I have imagined this alien race in a SF story which communicates strictly by taste. The only way to communicate with them and learn their wisdom of eons would be to eat them.
Maybe that's what all those "mean" Hollywood aliens are trying to do. They are not really bad dudes who want to gobble us up; they are misunderstood. They just want to communicate.
See how far this simple announcement has taken me?
A young man is restless in his seat, he is upset with the previous incident. He calls the chief flight attendant.
- Ես չեմ ուզում ներվայնանալ բայց ներվայնանում եմ: (Yes tchem oozoom nervaynanal bayts nervaynanoom em - I don't want to get upset but I am getting upset).
The flight attendant tries to calm him down. He goes on
- Ես չեմ կարողանում հասկանալ թէ Արմավիան, իմ հայրենիքի ինքնաթիռի ընկերութիւնը ոնց է մեղսակից լինում եւ ինձ էլ մեղսակից անում, թոյլ տալով որ իմ հայրենակիցների հետ այսպէս վարուեն: (Yes tchem garoghanoom hasganal teh Armavian, eem hayreniki inknatiri engerootyoune vonts eh meghsagits linoom, yev ints el meghsagits anoom, tooyl dalov vor eem hayrenagitsneri hed aysbes varven - I cannot understand how Armavia, the airline of my country, is becoming complicit, and making me complicit as well by allowing them to treat my compatriots this way).
He continues
- Ես հասկանում եմ որ նրանց բռնի վերադարձնում են Հայաստան, դա Հոլանդիայի իրաւունքն է, բայց ինչո՞ւ Արմավիայով: Թող ուրիշ ընկերութեամբ հետ դարձնեն մարդկանց: Ես ուզում եմ պաշտօնապէս բողոքել Արմավիայի այս քաղաքականութեան դէմ որ տրամադրութիւնս փչացրեց: Ես վեց տարի է չեմ եղել Հայաստանում եւ մեծ ուրախութեամբ վերադառնում էի մօրս տեսնելու: Ես չեմ ուզում սցենա անել բայց դուք իմ զգացումները թունաւորեցիք: (Yes hasganoom em vor nrants prnee veratartsnoom en Hayasdan, ta Holandiayi eeravoonkn eh, payts intchoo Armaviayov? Togh oorish engerootyamp hed tartsnen martgants. Yes oozoom em bashsonabes poghokel Armaviayi ays kaghakaganootyan tem vor dramatrootyouns ptchatsrets. Yes vets daree eh tchem yeghel Hayasdanoum yev medz oorakhoutyamp veratarnoum eyi mores desneloo. Yes tchem ouzoom stsena anel payts touk eem zkatsoumnere tounavoretsik - I understand that they are forcefully repatriating them to Armenia. Holland has the right to do that. But why use Armavia? Let them return people using another airline. I want to officially complain against this Armavia policy that ruined my mood. I haven't been to Armenia for six years and was looking forward to see my mother again. I don't want to make a scene but you poisoned my feelings).
He is almost teary-eyed. I know he is sincere.
Another passenger barges in and tells him to shut up. Yet another mumbles that they let in Turks and send back Armenians, what kind of a Christian country is that?
I cannot tell him that Armavia is a private company, it is not a state airline. In any case, they have to obey the local authorities and aid them in this "dirty" deed. Otherwise they might lose their landing rights. Also, the plane is half empty, so they are probably happy to carry the full-fared four adults and child. They might even have charged a premium.
As for Christian countries, there is only one in the world. It is the Vatican. Armenians everywhere have a problem understanding this basic concept of separating religion and state.
The flight attendant is efficient and a no-nonsense kind of gal. She quiets the disrought passenger by arguing that the deportees should not be behaving so badly and endangering the lives of the other passengers. He insists that he will complain. She promises to give him the official coordinates to do so.
In the end, I agree with the emotionally disrought passenger. I don't defend him though. Not because I don't like revolutions. I just don't think that they should be started in the confined space of an aircraft at 10 km. above sea level.
It is a long flight and I had packed my reading material in my suitcase. I pick up the inflight Armavia magazine.
It is the April 2011 issue. We are in mid August. I guess budget cuts have mysterious ways of manifesting themselves.
The cover advertises interesting content. Monasteries and temples of Armenia. I leaf through it, impressive indeed. High quality glossy print with color photographs. The accompaying text is of very good quality. Bilingual, in English and Armenian. Obviously good research has been done for historical content.
As I turn the pages though, it hits me, and hits me hard. All the advertising is almost exclusively about casinos. Most of it in Russian and some in English. Millionaires' Club with VIP Room. Cabaret Charlotte promising an "enchanting" strip show with "hottest girls", photos provided as proof. Sports bookmaking with live bets via their website.
Someone should advise the editors about the appropriateness of mixing these two topics in a single publication. But then again, about 2000 years ago, the Son of the Creator is supposed to have cleansed the temples from the moneylenders. Maybe this is a foreshadowing of the second coming.
I think he'll need a third, fourth, fifth and even more comings. Even the Creator does not have that much time to clean up all the mess.
I guess that's why He prefers deluges or, in our case, earthquakes. He throws away too many babies with the bathwater though.
Even one would be too many for my taste.
On the last page, there is a more "decent" advertisement. It sings the praises of a gated community. It's slogan is "տուն ձեր դիրքին վայել" (Doon tser tirkin vayel - a house worthy of your stature). I guess status consciousness will drive us behind walls.
It's back to the Middle Ages for us. If only with it we could get back our great thinkers, scientists and saints.
The plane lands at Zvartnots airport. I can't help admiring the majesty of Noah's mountain.
This is what I saw at the airport.
It is the evening of August 11th. August 11 is a special day for Armenians.
In the ancient Armenian calendar, it is the day that Noah descended from Our Mountain to repopulate the Earth.
In the ancient Armenian calendar, it is on this day, over 45 centuries ago that the founder of our people, Hayk Nahabed, killed with his long bow, the evil king Bel of Babylon who had come to subjugate us.
It is this day that marks the start of the month of Navasard, and it is the first day of the ancient Armenian New Year.
I have not come to repopulate, I have come to be populated by the spirit of my ancestors.
I have not come to conquer, but to be conquered by great ideas.
Navasard is the celebration of starting anew. I have come to restart my relationship with the deepest part of myself.
I walk in serpentine corridors and eventually get to the visa counter. I know the routine already. I fill my questionnaire. I have to pay 3,000 Armenian drams. Unfortunately they don't take any other currency.
I run to the money changing counter. There is a long line up there. Unlike last time, there is now also a gleaming new money changing machine that takes cash exclusively. No one is going there though.
I ask the person in front of me whether the machine is working. He says yes, I then ask how come no one is using it.
- Ո՞նց կարելի է մեքենային փողի հարցեր վստահել: Եթէ սխալ անի ո՞ւմ բողոքեմ: (vonts gareli eh mekenayin poghi hartsyr vsdahel. Yeteh skhal ani oom poghokem? How can I trust money matters to a machine. If it makes a mistake, who do I complain to?).
He does have a minuscule point. I don't have the appetite to tell him that all financial transactions in the world are made with machines. That in fact, money does not exist at all. It is nothing but a collection of electronic signals residing in other machines.
I have given up on scoring points. That is not what life is about.
What is it about? It is about Inspiration and Creation.
It is about what Tumo will do.
The Tumo driver greets me at the exit and drives me to the Marriott. My old residence when I was here the last time. I am even given a room on the same floor.
I drop my luggage and start blogging. I keep at it for an hour. I have no concept of time.
Then I run down to the lounge to grab a coffee. I am jet-lagged but excited.
As I enter the familiar room, I am greeted by a smiling Silva who hugs me and welcomes me. Gentle, cheerful and ever so caring she has made a huge contribution to the realization of the great dream of Tumo.
She tells me that I should be seeing Alex and Katherine as well. I can't wait to meet up with them. They were part of the original "fellowship" that started it all. I have really missed them a lot.
Silva is another one I'd call a guardian.
Then Elie approaches me beamingly. His wife Anna at his side. Elie is my high-school classmate. Always sharp, always insightful. I'd seen him last two years ago in Dallas when I gave a lecture there. Our paths have crossed again.
We sit down and talk. I share my adventures with him and do most of the talking. He slips in a comment or two, but always makes me think and keeps me on my toes. I am glad he has not changed.
And then my other classmate Berdj walks him. He is Sam's younger brother. He smiles and gives me a deep hug. I hadn't seen him since 1975. We have lots to catch up on. He doesn't waste time and asks me what I think of Tumo. I tell him that along with the Armenian world chess champion team, Tumo is like a dual summit Ararat. It will also put Armenians on the top of the world.
"This is the first time that I have heard it expressed this way", says Berdj. His wife Sona walks in. He introduces me as the Hayaked (the expert on Armenian topics). I tell her that I have known her husband before she has. She smiles graciously. Berdj joins in. He still has that mischieveous spark in his eyes which he always had in his adolescent years. He was and apparently still is a soccer fanatic. He has not changed either.
In our change-obsessed world, it is actually an amazing feeling to have a sense of constancy. Most people try to find it in their families. Then there are a few lucky ones like me. We actually have people with whom we can restart a conversation that had started over 3 decades ago and pick it up where we left off. All the while, knowing full well that we are still good friends.
I cannot ask for anything more.
Tomorrow, I shall cross the Hrazdan bridge and experience what I helped come true.
I am exhilirated. I crave the excitement.
I go back to my room and keep blogging. I am running on adrenaline.
I think this will be so for the next few days.
I need to get some sleep, but somehow I don't think I'll get enough.
It really does not matter.
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