If I Lived In Bahrain, Would I Be Arrested for Sorcery?

So the Middle Eastern nation of Bahrain has made "sorcery" a crime, although they didn't exactly say how sorcery is described. Except to say it could be anything defined as "paranormal" by scientific and religious beliefs. Um, doesn't that present a problem. I mean, science might say that any religion is in itself "paranormal,"--so by that logic you might be considered a sorcerer for just being a good Muslim. And of course, it's very convenient when one religion has the power to label another set of beliefs "paranormal." After all, Muslims can't prove they're praying to the One True God any more than I prove that the images in my head are really animal totems.

Which brings me back to my question. Yes, I suppose I would be arrested if I lived in Bahrain, performing all my rituals, meditations and such. Ridiculous! Set aside the concept of religious freedom for a moment. Sure, we should all respect each other, but that isn't what bothers me most.

What bothers me most is that all religions and spiritual beliefs can be considered "sorcery" depending on your perspective. And none of it can be proven--not praying to Allah or Jesus or holding ceremonies for Mother Earth or Isis. Personally, I don't think any of it is "real" in the way most people conceive it. Let me explain. Say I decide to "curse" my neighbor because his cat pooped in my flower bed, and so I mix some herbs and potions together and light a candle and say a spell. Honestly, I don't think it has any effect on my neighbor--or his cat--unless that neighbor is aware of my intention. If he is aware, then he might begin to associate my "curse" with some bad luck that comes his way--but did my "curse" really work or was it simply the power of suggestion?

I think prayer is the same way. I think if you know people are praying for you or sending good thoughts or whatever, that makes you feel better. But me sitting in my house praying for people in Africa does no good whatsoever, except maybe to make me more aware of Africa, which might lead me to take real action.

Years ago, I examined my Christian faith and decided it didn't work as advertised. So why bother? But I do like ritual, and I can't shake my spiritual bent, so if I'm going to be all crazy religious, then I should at least get something out of it--and so shamanism and nature-based philosophy works for me. But just because I burn sage and ring chimes doesn't make me Harry Potter. Even if I really believe deep down in my heart that I'm tapping into something mystical or paranormal, that still doesn't make it real. For me, I have to walk that fine line and keep that balance. It keeps me grounded, helps me retain my sense of humor and prevents me from falling right back into some crazy fundie literalism like before.

I know this is just me ranting, but I can't help it. It's just so sad when cultures or nations like Bahrain are so entrenched in their worldview that they cannot see their own folly. European cultures have already been through this, and maybe every culture has to do it in order to evolve. There are true crimes in this world that need to be punished--murder, rape, theft and so on--but "sorcery?"

If I Lived In Bahrain, Would I Be Arrested for Sorcery?

So the Middle Eastern nation of Bahrain has made "sorcery" a crime, although they didn't exactly say how sorcery is described. Except to say it could be anything defined as "paranormal" by scientific and religious beliefs. Um, doesn't that present a problem. I mean, science might say that any religion is in itself "paranormal,"--so by that logic you might be considered a sorcerer for just being a good Muslim. And of course, it's very convenient when one religion has the power to label another set of beliefs "paranormal." After all, Muslims can't prove they're praying to the One True God any more than I prove that the images in my head are really animal totems.

Which brings me back to my question. Yes, I suppose I would be arrested if I lived in Bahrain, performing all my rituals, meditations and such. Ridiculous! Set aside the concept of religious freedom for a moment. Sure, we should all respect each other, but that isn't what bothers me most.

What bothers me most is that all religions and spiritual beliefs can be considered "sorcery" depending on your perspective. And none of it can be proven--not praying to Allah or Jesus or holding ceremonies for Mother Earth or Isis. Personally, I don't think any of it is "real" in the way most people conceive it. Let me explain. Say I decide to "curse" my neighbor because his cat pooped in my flower bed, and so I mix some herbs and potions together and light a candle and say a spell. Honestly, I don't think it has any effect on my neighbor--or his cat--unless that neighbor is aware of my intention. If he is aware, then he might begin to associate my "curse" with some bad luck that comes his way--but did my "curse" really work or was it simply the power of suggestion?

I think prayer is the same way. I think if you know people are praying for you or sending good thoughts or whatever, that makes you feel better. But me sitting in my house praying for people in Africa does no good whatsoever, except maybe to make me more aware of Africa, which might lead me to take real action.

Years ago, I examined my Christian faith and decided it didn't work as advertised. So why bother? But I do like ritual, and I can't shake my spiritual bent, so if I'm going to be all crazy religious, then I should at least get something out of it--and so shamanism and nature-based philosophy works for me. But just because I burn sage and ring chimes doesn't make me Harry Potter. Even if I really believe deep down in my heart that I'm tapping into something mystical or paranormal, that still doesn't make it real. For me, I have to walk that fine line and keep that balance. It keeps me grounded, helps me retain my sense of humor and prevents me from falling right back into some crazy fundie literalism like before.

I know this is just me ranting, but I can't help it. It's just so sad when cultures or nations like Bahrain are so entrenched in their worldview that they cannot see their own folly. European cultures have already been through this, and maybe every culture has to do it in order to evolve. There are true crimes in this world that need to be punished--murder, rape, theft and so on--but "sorcery?"

A Racial Sit-In at the IHOP?

Ever find yourself in unwanted situations with parents, situations that you try desperately to avoid but nevertheless seem to seek you out? It's as if the Universe has a twisted sense of humor and is conspiring against you. Maybe there's a lesson here ... and maybe my skull is too thick to get it?

I stayed at my father's house overnight, and this morning I decided we should go to a pancake house for breakfast. See, my dad never keeps any food in his house. He is married, however, his wife lives 2 doors down in her deceased mother's house. Long story. Anyway, he usually eats at the other house or goes out. But even when I come to visit, he never has any food.

That's why I travel with my own food! I brought bagels to eat, since I knew I would be lucky to get breakfast. But the previous day at my younger sister's house, I had had a bagel--because she seems to share my father's preference for never planning for houseguests. (I must be adopted!)

Tired of bagels and warmed holiday leftovers, I suggested a pancake house. My dad agreed. He knew his wife liked one particular place, so he called her to ask for directions. It turned out to be just another International House of Pancakes (IHOP). Fine with me. Except here's where the Universe gets cheeky.

We're seated in a section that was enclosed in its own little room. And this truly was an "international" house of pancakes day. At two nearby tables were seated Hispanic families, all speaking Spanish. Another family came in right behind us. A family of Asian ethnicity was also seated nearby. Add to the mix at least four squealing toddlers.

The loud children bother me a tad, but I can deal. My father, however, cannot. But the children were the least of my problem. All you could hear was Spanish--and my dad is not known for his appreciation for diversity. Yes, he's your stereotypical white cracker who wants all non-English speakers shipped back to their home country. He blames immigrants for everything that's wrong in the U.S.

At least there were no African Americans in the room nor any mixed-race couples. (He once walked out of a restaurant because a young black man and white woman were seated next to us.)

He didn't say anything, but I could literally feel the tension coming from him. I tried to ignore it, to "deflect" his energy. I waited for the inevitable outburst. And I wondered why in the hell the Universe was doing this to me. Couldn't we simply enjoy pancakes without an incident? Why did we have to pick the most diverse IHOP in town?

The tipping point came when a large family was seated next to us. "Thank God they're white!" I thought. But, oh no, not that simple. They had a 8- or 9-year-old son with some degree of mental retardation, and the boy kept shouting, "Pancakes! Pancakes!" And when he wasn't bouncing in his seat and fidgeting, he was scribbling frantically on the placemat with a crayon.

I couldn't breathe. And I don't know if it was my own rising stress level, but it seemed the noise in the room was growing louder and louder. I finally let out a big sigh and mentioned the noise to dad. Fortunately, we were almost done eating. I chuckled a bit, trying to break the unbearable tension. Dad chuckled, too, and shook his head. He looked up at me, raised his brow and only said, "I ain't gonna say anything."

At least we had an understanding. I snatched the check and we went to pay--only to reach the cashier and see that the entrance was FULL of people waiting to be seated. You may be thinking, "why is that a problem?" Well, for most people, it wouldn't be. But, gentle reader, everyone waiting happened to be black.

It was as if my dad was cornered! He turned, headed for the door and said, "I'll be outside!"

It didn't end there. I knew he had been uncomfortable, so I tried to play it off with humor. I guess it worked somewhat. But still I had to listen to how the Hispanics (or "Spanians" as he says--WTF?) are taking over the city, taking "our" jobs and so on. And he said he wasn't ever going back to that IHOP again! Not because of the food but only because of who ate there. And he had to tell his wife later (she didn't say very much).

Guess I should've stuck with the damn bagels.

I'm angry and frustrated because my father's world is so small and so full of fears of his own making. But he's 82 and isn't going to change. He knows I feel differently but it doesn't stop him from making insensitive and boneheaded comments. And I have other friends and family who are intolerant and bigoted. Part of me wants to avoid them. Part of me wants to leave this lily-white corner of the planet and move to a much more diverse place. And part of me would love to piss everyone off my shacking up with a black or Hispanic lover!

It makes me ashamed of who I am and where I come from. It makes me want to do whatever I can to fight intolerance and bigotry. But how? My dad isn't going to change. Why do people have to be so ignorant, so fearful, so small-minded? And it's everywhere--in our politics, our churches, workplaces, bookstores, colleges, cities and the Internet.

Sure, I'm happy with how I handled this one little situation, but what good does it really do? If nothing else, thank goodness those people in IHOP were clueless about my dad's hatred; there were all able to enjoy their pancakes. I was not.

A Racial Sit-In at the IHOP?

Ever find yourself in unwanted situations with parents, situations that you try desperately to avoid but nevertheless seem to seek you out? It's as if the Universe has a twisted sense of humor and is conspiring against you. Maybe there's a lesson here ... and maybe my skull is too thick to get it?

I stayed at my father's house overnight, and this morning I decided we should go to a pancake house for breakfast. See, my dad never keeps any food in his house. He is married, however, his wife lives 2 doors down in her deceased mother's house. Long story. Anyway, he usually eats at the other house or goes out. But even when I come to visit, he never has any food.

That's why I travel with my own food! I brought bagels to eat, since I knew I would be lucky to get breakfast. But the previous day at my younger sister's house, I had had a bagel--because she seems to share my father's preference for never planning for houseguests. (I must be adopted!)

Tired of bagels and warmed holiday leftovers, I suggested a pancake house. My dad agreed. He knew his wife liked one particular place, so he called her to ask for directions. It turned out to be just another International House of Pancakes (IHOP). Fine with me. Except here's where the Universe gets cheeky.

We're seated in a section that was enclosed in its own little room. And this truly was an "international" house of pancakes day. At two nearby tables were seated Hispanic families, all speaking Spanish. Another family came in right behind us. A family of Asian ethnicity was also seated nearby. Add to the mix at least four squealing toddlers.

The loud children bother me a tad, but I can deal. My father, however, cannot. But the children were the least of my problem. All you could hear was Spanish--and my dad is not known for his appreciation for diversity. Yes, he's your stereotypical white cracker who wants all non-English speakers shipped back to their home country. He blames immigrants for everything that's wrong in the U.S.

At least there were no African Americans in the room nor any mixed-race couples. (He once walked out of a restaurant because a young black man and white woman were seated next to us.)

He didn't say anything, but I could literally feel the tension coming from him. I tried to ignore it, to "deflect" his energy. I waited for the inevitable outburst. And I wondered why in the hell the Universe was doing this to me. Couldn't we simply enjoy pancakes without an incident? Why did we have to pick the most diverse IHOP in town?

The tipping point came when a large family was seated next to us. "Thank God they're white!" I thought. But, oh no, not that simple. They had a 8- or 9-year-old son with some degree of mental retardation, and the boy kept shouting, "Pancakes! Pancakes!" And when he wasn't bouncing in his seat and fidgeting, he was scribbling frantically on the placemat with a crayon.

I couldn't breathe. And I don't know if it was my own rising stress level, but it seemed the noise in the room was growing louder and louder. I finally let out a big sigh and mentioned the noise to dad. Fortunately, we were almost done eating. I chuckled a bit, trying to break the unbearable tension. Dad chuckled, too, and shook his head. He looked up at me, raised his brow and only said, "I ain't gonna say anything."

At least we had an understanding. I snatched the check and we went to pay--only to reach the cashier and see that the entrance was FULL of people waiting to be seated. You may be thinking, "why is that a problem?" Well, for most people, it wouldn't be. But, gentle reader, everyone waiting happened to be black.

It was as if my dad was cornered! He turned, headed for the door and said, "I'll be outside!"

It didn't end there. I knew he had been uncomfortable, so I tried to play it off with humor. I guess it worked somewhat. But still I had to listen to how the Hispanics (or "Spanians" as he says--WTF?) are taking over the city, taking "our" jobs and so on. And he said he wasn't ever going back to that IHOP again! Not because of the food but only because of who ate there. And he had to tell his wife later (she didn't say very much).

Guess I should've stuck with the damn bagels.

I'm angry and frustrated because my father's world is so small and so full of fears of his own making. But he's 82 and isn't going to change. He knows I feel differently but it doesn't stop him from making insensitive and boneheaded comments. And I have other friends and family who are intolerant and bigoted. Part of me wants to avoid them. Part of me wants to leave this lily-white corner of the planet and move to a much more diverse place. And part of me would love to piss everyone off my shacking up with a black or Hispanic lover!

It makes me ashamed of who I am and where I come from. It makes me want to do whatever I can to fight intolerance and bigotry. But how? My dad isn't going to change. Why do people have to be so ignorant, so fearful, so small-minded? And it's everywhere--in our politics, our churches, workplaces, bookstores, colleges, cities and the Internet.

Sure, I'm happy with how I handled this one little situation, but what good does it really do? If nothing else, thank goodness those people in IHOP were clueless about my dad's hatred; there were all able to enjoy their pancakes. I was not.