There are things in life about which I truly wonder (why do our nose hairs grow beyond our nostril openings? is it really better to burn out than to fade away? why don't people realize that their nose hairs have grown beyond their nostril openings?) and things about which I know better than to inquire (what is that black stuff growing on the base of the toilets in the bathrooms here? what if the wing suddenly DOES come unbolted from this plane while I'm looking out the window on this transatlantic flight?) and, finally, there are things about which I never really wondered. Case in point: what is that pesky algorithm for solving the Rubik's cube?
Now you see why I titled the blog, in part, "late bloomers".
Yes, it has been more than 20 years since the Rubik's cube exploded onto the toy scene and took the world by storm. And, yes, it has been just under 20 years since anyone cared. Right again - I am the last individual alive who does not already know the secret of solving the "Cube" (changing the stickers around doesn't count). For decades I've dealt with this deficiency in secret - avoiding parties and office gatherings where the Cube may be whipped out suddenly for entertainment or a seemingly harmless "race" to see who can solve it the fastest; quickly changing the subject anytime a friend or stranger wanted to discuss the Cube and even feigning indifference when young children, having discovered my secret, taunted me mercilessly. You see my burden has been heavy.
Alas, as the saying goes, "you can run but you cannot hide [from the Cube]". Even in Afghanistan. In retrospect, it was foolish of me not to have anticipated this happening. Afterall, this area of Afghanistan is "rural" (to say the least). And it is an agricultrally based community. They are still playing with the Cube in such areas in the United States. Why would Afghanistan be any different? The bottom line is this: between Muay Thai kickboxing lessons and twelve hour work days, I am now loosening up my sore knuckle muscles learning to solve the Rubik's cube through legitimate algorithms. Go figure. Be warned that, when I come, there will be demonstrations and perhaps even a Rubik's cube death match ... or two.
Now, for Persian poets and the northern badlands (I'm as good for a seguay as the next guy but, I think you must agree, noone but Vonnegut could provide a truly worthy transition from the Rubik's cube to the Afghanistan provinces). As mentioned previously, I won't get to see much of Aghanistan while I'm here so I, at least, want to learn about what I'm not seeing. The poet in me was intrigued to learn of a Province in Afghanistan known called "Badghis" whose name comes from the Persion word, Badkhiz, meaning, "home of the winds".
The Province's location is almost equally poetic: it is 8,400 square miles of treeless, rolling grassy hills meandering between the Murghab and Hari rivers and extending northward to the edge of the desert of Sarakhs. In this treeless, rolling grassy-hilled home of winds that blow their way from river to desert, the Afghans grow and harvest, of all things, Pistachio nuts.
Badghis was home to Hanzala Gadghisi, who some consider the first Persian poet (no small distinction when one considers the legacy of Persion poets ... think Rumi) as long ago as the 9th century. In Badghis, Hanzala Gadghisi had occassion to pen what is thought to be the first poem in Persian Dari and, as such, the first Persian political poem used in Persian culture to call its citizens to seek freedom and pride and resist against foriegn invasion even at the expense of one's own life:
Even if eminence is in lion's mouth
Risk to achieve it
Either dignity, respect and esteem
Or a man's death
The poet in me wants to be a Pistachio nut that is born and raised on the stories carried by the winds that blow from Badghis.
No comments:
Post a Comment