1
For you are a stranger, like me; I reveal to you the true
nature of my feelings. For you are poor, like me; I share with you the heaviest
of my burdens. For you are disillusioned with everything, like me; I conjure
you into being and call you Brother. O Brother. O son of our Father who insists
on staying in heaven, and our Mother who proudly walks upon the earth. O soul
mate of the Holy Jinn, deep within, and the primordial Word. Can you see now
how creation really began?
2
It is said, Brother, that before anything got made, there
was only longing and stillness, hope and light. And Tiamat* was
still our caring Mother. The certainty of birth dispelled all these illusions,
Brother. Birth is indeed pain. The Buddha was right. Yes. The Buddha was right.
All blasphemers are usually right, in their own rather peculiar ways. For truth
is forever on the side of blasphemy. You would do well to
remember that, Brother.
* Tiamat: the primordial goddess
of the ocean and of chaos according to ancient Mesopotamian traditions.
3
We are creatures of the light, Brother, and creatures of the
dark, creatures of silence, and creatures of Tumult, creatures of awe,
creatures of submission, creatures of longing and creatures of deprivation,
creatures of ambition and creatures of despair, creatures of the divine, and
creatures of the demonic. We can never escape these dualities, Brother. Mani*
was also right, Brother. Yes. Another blasphemer is right. And truth will
forever be on the side of blasphemy. Do you now know why my offering was
accepted? I blasphemed, Brother. I blasphemed.
* Mani: the founder of the ancient
religion of Manichaeism, which was premised on a dualistic cosmology.
4
Blaspheme along with me, Brother. A city so tranquilized by
religion
can only be revived through blasphemy.
5
Are you wondering who I really am, Brother? Know, then, that
I am nothing but a cadaver, Brother—a cadaver still nervously twitching,
although she has been a cadaver for too long.
A cadaver still despairingly mimicking life, yet fooling no
one but herself (and now perhaps also you, Brother). A cadaver like any
other cadaver you may encounter on your merry way toward the marketplace on
some hapless Friday morning.
A cadaver that wants you to listen to her prayer-like
hallucinations for a day or part of a day.
A cadaver that has quite a few things to confess to you, Brother,
and no one but you could listen. A cadaver that needs your priestly services,
Brother, though you may not realize yet that you are a priest. A cadaver
that longs for your attentive ears, Brother, and your recipient soul. Would you
be so kind as to accommodate the needs of this wretched cadaver, Brother? After
all, she is of your making, isn’t she? She is in a way your very
daughter, Brother.
6
Inquire not as to my home, Brother. Inquire not as to my
belonging and identity. For I have no home, I have no belonging, and I have no identity. I can exist only where love cannot,
where warmth is a phantom, and fulfillment—a myth. These facts do indeed
torment me, Brother. But I have long learned to embrace my destiny and yearn
only for you—my savior and executioner.
7
Brother, I am but the son of the dying God crying out
in the city—will you not listen?
8
I am the wandering Aramean, Brother, who spends his time haggling
with God. I am the pretentious Can’anite, who wastes his time believing he
is God. I am the sleep walking Syrian, who dreams up history. I am the lowly
Israelite, who longs to be chosen, even if for misery. I am the perennial fool,
Brother—the perennial fool who derives his self-worth from the lies he tells
himself.
9
I don’t want a sun in my sky, Brother. I have no need for a
moon. A star, or two, will suffice for me in my all but too shy coexistence
with loneliness and misery on the cold margins of things. Speak of mediocrity,
Brother. I am mediocrity incarnate.
10
Silence makes all things clear, Brother, while words tend to
obscure everything. That is why I will never stop talking. Please, don’t you
ever stop listening.