10 - 30.12.2011

Sarif, a couchsurfer from Bandar Lengeh, helps me to get a ticket and board the catamaran passenger ferry to Sharjah in the UAE. The sun is out, there is not a cloud in the sky and the ceaseless wind is as a secure cushion to lean forward against outside on deck at the bow. The suns reflection on the creased texture of the ocean is mesmerizing. The double hull of the ship is like a sword cutting effortlessly through an endless sheet of undulating shining silk.

After more than two hours grey towers emerge on the horizon, while no land is yet in sight. Picture a round patch of bread-mold from its side, its profile. Just so Dubai emerges with the incredible Burgh Khalifa pointing menacingly skywards in its center, while the skyline slowly decreases in height to both of its sides. Several such patches of mold are seen in the distance. I remember what an old friend, Manuel, had once told me of a clear vision he had while he was on a magic mushroom trip. He saw the world in in ancient pure state, covered by dense jungles, immense and unimaginable mythical varieties of creatures. Slowly he saw some dull grey spots emerging in tiny parts of the globe and saw them gradually spreading, parasitizing, taking over and ridding the earth of its life.
"We are like a virus, we are a sickness." I remember Manuel saying in awe, recalling what he saw.

From what it looks now, some weird fungus seems to have indeed lodged itslef on our mother earth. I think in its own perception of time, that of our earth, a second has passed since 1000AD and it is just raising its hand to rub away some of that dirt from its skin. Or perhaps the fungus is slowly learning of its host and adapting itself to a harmonious co-existence. The fungus is modern civilization by the way - not womankind.
I recall "Civilization - its Cause and Cure" by Edward Carpenter.

In Dubai I am hosted most generously by Tanmay for a night and then Ian. Infrastructure and housing is most luxurious; sterile; shining; incredibly spacious. I don't recall ever standing next to a 14-lane highway and being able to breath deeply as well as in a quiet backyard. It is the quality of the fuel I am told; almost zero emissions. Dubai's social life very much hinges upon incredibly massive malls and of course expensive club culture.

At Ians place I meet Debbie from Hongkong and Monika and Elisa from Austria/north Italy. Monika, Elisa and I visit the old market areas and a man invites us to his place spontaneously for lunch. At another time, a man in the metro asks whether we are couchsurfers and introduces me to the Abu Dhabi couchsurfing group. After spending a night camping on the beach right next to the Burgh al Arab with Debbie I take the bus to Abu Dhabi where I am hosted by Amr and his friend from Egypt. I sort out formalities for India there and meet the local couchsurfers at their weekly meetup.

After staying at Fouhads place for a night I hitchike back to Dubai and stay at Isaels house. Isael's mother's family has been participating in freemasonry for generations and Isael too attended meetings some years back. He was also introduced to lodges of the Rose Cross. Some years back he stopped all reading and exercises of an occult nature. He felt he was going to far into unchartered and menacing territory and decided to immerse himself fully again into society and the pleasures of life, to put aside any interests in spiritual matters. He grew up in Rio de Janeiro and tells me much about the economy of Brazil.

Before Christmas twenty members of the Abu Dhabi and Dubai couchsurfing groups meet up for an excursion to the desert, to camp out one night close to the Liwa oasis. I am absolutely amazed at how astonishingly beautiful sand can be. The magnitude of the impression is no less than that of primary tropical rainforest. The desert is a real ocean with its own scale of time. Its waves undulate, magnificent ripples cover the surface in parts; in other places perfect mirror like flatness mesmerizes the eyes. The fine sand at the feet feels soothing. It gives off a distinct high-pitched singing sound under the steps in places, somewhat akin to the crunching of snow under the feet in winter. Nowhere else can the perfect harmony of shapes, contours, colors and contrasts of light in nature be seen so clearly as in a desert. It is a display of mathematical, of geometrical perfection. Just as you can lose yourself in the jungle, just so you can lose yourself in the never-ending and infinitely diverse curves, razor edges and waterfall-like slopes of sand dunes. There is absolutely nothing random or unordered in the desert. Rather it exhibits perfect order and harmony in which not an inch is wasted for the most beautiful artwork. Such perfection could never be seen in a dazzling display of vegetation. The noun 'wilderness' applies just as well to the desert as to the rainforest.

I spend Christmas with John and his relatives from the Philippines. We dance, sing karaoke, eat and exchange presents in a secret Santa draw. Its definitely the craziest Christmas I have ever spent. After spending some nights at Majid's place at the Dubai International City and investigating the possibilities of hitchiking on a boat to India I decide to take a cheap flight from Dubai to Chennai. Its definitely possible to hitch a ride on a ship that way, if not from the UAE then from Oman, but I get my Visa for India and I feel that I should not lose time. I am drawn east.

Persia !

Post-war industrialization has reached you too. You grow fast. Oil squirts forth from your bosom. Western countries vie for your favor. I see people from Turkey and the Persian Gulf, the Arab Emirates, Oman and Bahrain come to you to work, to earn a brighter future for themselves, to let go and get lost in the profusion of bars, disco’s and shady clubs. I see mini-skirts, loose, long, free hair, alcohol, loud and shining nightlife. I see Citroen starting to produce its cars on your lands. I see Shah Pahlavi buying the Grumman company, the manufacturer of the most advanced peace of airborne military technology the world has seen at the time: the F-14 Tomcat. I see Persia building up the mightiest airforce in the middle-east. I see individuals in remote villas frowning, keeping an eye on the earths energy resources, playing chess on the chessboard of the political and economic world, ordaining, changing constellations.

Then – in quick succession. The Islamic Revolution of 1979. The last king of Persia falls. A new government comes to power. Saddam Hussein invades Iran after being made an HONORARY CITIZEN of Detroit in 1980. The eight year Iran-Iraq war, the longest war of the 20th century. I see AWACS reconnaissance airplanes and F-16 planes, which Shah Pahlavi had ordered months before in the US, being shipped to Saudi Arabia and Israel. Billions of dollars are never reimbursed to Iran. I see Germany selling Biological and Chemical weapons to Iraq - gas; I see Brazil selling legions of modern heavy-weight tanks to Iraq; I see France selling its fighter jets to Iraq; I see the US providing intelligence services, special operations training and billions of dollars of economic support to Iraq. More than 500,000 people die of mustard-gas, machine-gun bullets, grenades and bombs; millions more are wounded or crippled for life. Then, at the beginning of the 21st century, European and American councils of men in black suits accuse Saddam Hussein of using chemical weapons. This the Statue of Liberty and the yellow stars on the blue flag stand for. This is what men and women pay for every month with their income tax in San Francisco, New York, Barcelona, Paris, Vienna or Warsaw. This is the bright age of DEMOCRACY and freedom of speech. And thousands of years earlier the authors of the Vedas had already described the coming age, this, our own age as 'kali-yuga,' the 'black age,' the age of HYPOCRISY.  

I see the new government of Iran promising a better life to the people, when only the war passes. Years following the war deep unrest smolders among the people. The economy crumbles. The separation of genders in every phase of public life is enforced most strongly. Alcohol is forbidden, all bars and clubs close. Peoples protests are crushed in bloody confrontations. International embargos are imposed. Luxury goods no longer reach the Iranian people. I see the Iranians making the pilgrimage to Turkey and the UAE for these good, forced to pay horrendous prices and looking for work themselves. A blanket falls on a most cultivated people. Those who still can creep out from underneath.

NOW – eyes see me; shining, sparkling eyes; perfectly-shaped dark eyebrows, that bronze skin, boldly masculine, magnetically feminine. The very archetypes of beauty still shine forth, hailing from ancient India perhaps; those archetypes of poetry and music, of architecture and mathematics, of philosophy - and signs of that profound and timeless irreligious spirituality. 

I am told that thirty years ago the people of Iran traveled their country without having to carry money with them. No matter where you went and talked to the people in the streets, they would invite you for meals, let you stay at their place.

“The people were wealthy. Now the people have more to worry about for themselves. They are not as open anymore. For foreigners it might still hold true though.” I am told by a man on a bus journey.

And indeed it is so. It is close to impossible to travel alone in Iran. You go out alone for a stroll in a city like Tabriz, Shiraz or Isfahan without approaching anyone yourself and it seems almost guaranteed that in the next 2 hours you will find yourself in bright and intelligent company in a clean apartment with delicious food being served. In places I encounter cultivated and intellectual minds, bright artistic work and energetic discussions. Elsewhere opium and women are offered to the male traveler as naturally as the meal and tea. There is not the slightest atmosphere of shadiness in it, not the slightest bit of secrecy. This is Persia truly. Politics and the reality of the people have ever occupied two parallel dimensions. The people may safely disregard their hypnotizing boxes and go outdoors to encounter the open arms of the world instead. In fact certain individuals have vested interest in keeping quiet about the deep effects of prolonged exposure to news broadcasts.

20.11.2011 - 09.12.2011

Hossein and I take a night train to the province of Khuzestan in the south-west of Iran. We arrive at Hossein's family home in Dezful the next day. here it is warm again, the air seems almost tropical, the vegetation is rich and diverse. Apparantly one-third of all freshwater in Iran flows within Khuzestan and due to the rich soil and extensive agriculture the province has been likened to California.

I do not recall seeing such a gentle and kind family father, not particularly tall, but slender, stout, toughened by experience and the mason's work. He seems to be taking care of the plants in the massive courtyard most lovingly. Every single shoot he cuts off the plants, finds its place in some room of the house in a small glass filled with water; not an inch of plant is allowed to die and whither before it is really necessary. I see many such glasses around the house and am amazed at how these little shoots don't show the slightest sign of withering after a week. We have delicious meals and explore the city somewhat.

I learn that organic agriculture is relatively foreign to Iran. A farmer on the fields outside of Dezful actually tells us that it is common practice to pour naphtha on carrot fields as a pesticide:
"Don't you think this has an effect on the quality of the food or that it may be harmful?" I ask him.
"It all dissapears once the carrot is ripe." he answers
"Do you think at all about the adverse effects fertilizers and pesticides might have on the environment?"
"If any adverse environmental consequences are identified, the agricultural scientists are held responsible." The following day we visit Reza, a friend of Hossein, in the city of Shoosh. He is himself an agricultural scientist. He worked with rice-paddie farmers for four years, but resigned eventually as the farmers were ignoring his advice and knowledge.

In Shoosh we visit a most awesome system of water-mills, now in ruins, established by the legion of the Roman emperor Valerian during their captivity in Persia. On another day we make a bicycle trip to the Ziqqurat of Chogha Zanbil, apparently erected by the Elamites about 1200BC. As was the case in Central America, Eqypt or China, this temple formed the center of a large city, itself representing the worship of the Deity. Tunnels stretching over more than 60km(!) connected it with adjacent cities. Today the moisture and smell of sugar-cane fields fills the air.

Back in Dezful Hossein and I visit the shop of Miri, a man who is known to be a Sufi. One of Hossein's brothers, Ali, attends Miri's meetings regularly. Ali saw him and his students perform certain actions many people would perhaps deem incredible. Miri, Hossein and I talk for almost the entire day. I sense incredible power in the meeting. Hossein patiently translates between Persian and English. I am given the opportunity to stay with Miri and learn. However, I feel that I must acquire a certain foundation elsewhere. I am driven east . . . but I will most probably return.

Hossein and I return to Tehran. My Visa lasts only a week longer and since I do not have the original Visa anymore there is no possibility of extending my stay in Iran. I must leave and so I continue south rapidly with buses and hitchiking. I stay at couchsurfers places in Isfahan, Shiraz and Bandar Lengeh and prepare for corssing the Persian Gulf to the United Arab Emirates.

In Isfahan Masood Tadayoni and his friend approach me on the street and invite me to their place. Masood is a talented musician and had been teaching the Setar since he was 15. He plays the piano too. During our discussions he teaches me English vocabulary. Next to playing and teaching music, Masood spends hours a day perfecting his English.

In Shiraz I stay at the place of Alireza. Rasoul calls in the evening and tells me that after many years of search he now found a man who is ready to teach him to control his out-of-body states. Rasoul wanted to test his abilities; the man asked for any object or piece of clothing that belonged to Rasoul and told him that he would tell Rasoul where he lived if he would give him one nights time. He proposed that Rasoul stay at his place for the night. Rasoul however had to return home, but made sure that nobody followed him. The following day he came back and the man started to describe precisely the buildings which are found on the street where Rasoul lives, the details of the entire neighborhood in fact . . . the power of psychometry.

I share this with Alireza and he tells me of people he knows that organize seances Shiraz. They induce out of body states with a specific brew. A skeptic friend of his once wanted to disturb the circle and asked to participate. After taking the liquor he wanted to pretend a spasm. Just in the moment when he threw himself on the floor he saw the entire circle from the top corner of the room, including his body lying on the ground. Despite the shock he wanted to continue acting out the spasm and witnessed his body doing it from the outside. The others in the circle rushed to his side. He wanted to remain in this state and observe the situation, but he found himself back in his physical body again a second later. Despite hearing this from his good friend, Alireza himself remained skeptical. My discussion over the telephone with Rasoul, my reports of Veysel, Jay and my mother now convince him otherwise. Alireza also tells me of a friend of his who had visited India on a student exchange. One day he woke up in the morning with an incredible unrest. He had to leave his apartment and go out onto the street. he did not know where he was going, but he experienced such a bad feeling and unrestfulness that he couldn't stay inside. An old man approached him on the street and spoke to him directly without any greeting or introduction:
"Your mother is in very bad condition. Call your family."
"What is this. Who are you?" Alirezas friend replied.
"Who I am is completely irrelevant, just call your mother." And he left him standing speechless on the street.
Indeed his mother was brought to the hospital the night before in a serious condition. Alireza's friend returned to Iran immediately and gradually witnessed his mother get better, attending her regularly and taking care of her.

In Shiraz I also visit Perspolis, the former capital of the Achaemenid empire. I imagine the palaces and halls in their grand beauty, the ceremonies of the empires royalty, the new-years celebrations.