This morning, twitter alerted me to the news that eight people had been shot in downtown Orlando.

Obviously, this news was shocking and bizarre.  And, of course, sad.

It was particularly sad for me to read about it because something similar, if not even more horrific, had happened the day before.

There’s a lot of ways a blog post about this incident could pan out.  We could discuss gun control, mental health, a distressed economy or some permutation of them.

But, really, the only thing that keeps playing in my head has to do with how the people who walked into the Gateway Center’s eighth floor had no clue of what an incredibly bad Friday they were about to have.

It’s a pretty trite perspective, I know, but that’s all I can seem to think about.

Being human is so … hard, isn’t it?

Animals and plants have it easy.  Nourishment, shelter and reproduction.  There are no complicated nuances.  Any complications generally arise as the result of our complications bleeding over into their efficient existence.

But us humans?  We’re complicated creatures.

I keep wondering about the two people who have been reported dead.

Who were they?

And, my God, why them?

Why not you?  Or me?

I don’t mean that it should have been me or you, I mean, it could have been me or you.  Easily.

We lock our doors, look both ways before we cross the street, take our vitamins, eat right… and we think that this is going to make a huge difference.  The truth is that it makes only a little difference.

I’m wondering about those two people… reports are preliminary right now, so we don’t know anything about them.

I’ve got these sappy movie scenes playing out in my head.

Like, a pretty, middle aged woman slams the door shut and makes sure she mutters, “Jerk” in earshot before she gets in her car, pointedly refusing to say good bye to her husband after the argument they just had about who was going to take their son to soccer practice… or maybe she got in the car, put the keys in the ignition, sighed deeply and then went back in the house and yelled, “Hey, I’m mad, but I love you, OK?”

Some single twenty something guy stumbles into the kitchen, makes some coffee and then trudges out of the door feeling a slightly numbed despair as he realizes he hates his crap job… or did he jump out of bed and greet the morning with joy and purpose, knowing that whatever he was going to do today was really going to mean something to him?

And, let me get really morbid and ask, what words spin in one’s head as they lay on the floor bleeding to death because of someone else’s complete madness?

“This can’t be happening… is this really happening… I’m not done here…Oh, God, is this really happ…. “

The End?

I would imagine that it would play out that way.  I don’t think in a situation like that most people are evaluating whether they’ve lived a good and meaningful life.  I would imagine you cling to the hope that this is not it.

There has to be more.  Please let there be more.

I don’t know about you, but I’m done living for that last moment as of right now.

It gets bantered about quite a bit, this idea of “When I die, I want to know that my life meant something.”  I figure we spend the majority of our time and energy trying not to die, so I imagine in that moment, I’m going to be too scared to make sense of anything.

The fact is that every single moment in our lives means something.  Every single second, actually, and we consciously choose what each of those seconds mean.

Or whether they don’t mean anything at all.

In the end, we are not who we are in the last moment of our lives.

We are who we are right now.

It’s not “When I die, I want my life to have meant something.”

It’s, “As I live, I’m making this moment mean something.”

This is a little redundant in light of yesterday’s post, but I had to share.

Overheard at my house.

“Daddy, I want a Barbie.”

“No.”

“But I love her.”

“N., I don’t like Barbies.”

“IIII like them.”

“Well.  I don’t.  And I’m not buying one for you.”

“But, but, but, I LOVE HER!! I WANT ONE!”

“NO. ”

“BUT, DADDY, NOOOO, I WANT…WHY?!!!!”

“Because…because… Because BARBIE IS NOT A GOOD MUSLIM.”

Adam Avitable is 32 years old today.

Not everyone has the ability to recognize genius when they see it.

Pure, unadulterated, deeply disturbing, stomach churning, “Wait, is that HITLER?!” genius.

I, of course, do recognize genius.  Since it’s true that it takes one to know one.

Adam is a gifted writer whose most profound service to mankind lies in helping his readers understand that when it comes to funny… socially acceptable boundaries are for losers.

He is, in many ways, my daily reminder never to take anything too seriously.  And that some people will do anything for a laugh.

Some people might find him offensive.

But before you go judging people, you have to ask yourself, “Do I have my very own church?”

It’s called the Church of Holy Avitableness (COHA).

Having your own church is very cool.  But, I have to admit, COHA has its problems.  It’s, with all due respect, a little amateur.

One thing I know as an adherent of a widely followed world religion is that every successful religious institution needs dogma.

COHA is just waaay too laid back.

You must have something that separates out the ones that aren’t really committed. The ones that, you know, are too smart lazy to be saved.

What COHA needs is a crazy fundamentalist fringe group that will transform it into a force with which to be reckoned.  I propose for obvious reasons that I’m just the person to initiate this.

For those of you who are on the fence about this fundamentalist transformation, I’d like to remind you that fundamentalists enjoy all sorts of benefits: imaginary sway over elections and party politics, an ability to influence rash foreign policy decisions and, of course, an unwavering conviction that they’re always right about everything all of the time.

I ask you, really, who among you does not crave complete certainty about every single thing that has ever happened since the beginning of time even in the face of all forms of logic and reason?

Think of all the time and energy you’ll save by not… thinking.

Incidentally, like every fundamentalist leader on this planet, I really don’t care what Avitable, the founder of this religion, intended at its inception.  This is all about furthering my personal agenda.  Which, of course, duh, is world domination.  Along with being considered moderately witty in this birthday tribute.

Anyway, COHA fundamentalists are in dire need of something to mumble before they strap on a suicide bomb.  Therefore, it is with extreme hubris, a deep sense of arrogance and complete moral certainty that I submit the following and first of the basic dogma of COHA:

“The Avitabilites Prayer”

Oh Avitable, five years from thirty seven,

Adam be thy name.

Thy birthday has come,

May thy thrills be done, on the Internet as it is in the blogosphere.

Give us blog posts as our daily bread,

Condemn our reviled spawn’s trespasses

As we condemn grown men who listen to Avril Lavigne

Continue to bless us with your blatantly ethnocentric assumptions about marriage

As you deliver us numerous doses of evil images that most likely exaggerate your manhood,

Forever ours is the dancing Avitable, full of unicorn love and glory.

For ever and ever.

A Hen.

(Or Chicken.)

Happy birthday, Adam.  You’re funny, irreverent, kind, thoughtful, mostly sensitive and very special.  And not in the short bus kind of way.

If you haven’t already, and if you dare, please be sure to stop by Adam’s place and wish him a happy birthday today.

One more thing:  all of you need to send me three million dollars or there’s going to be an apocalypse next week.  Collectively, of course.  Not each.

Just a heads up.

The events in Mumbai this past weekend have left me in such a state of anger and frustration that I can hardly articulate anything.

At this time, all evidence gathered by various official agencies seem to point to radical Islamists possibly trained in Pakistan.  Because I have no more information than anyone else grasping at news by way of CNN, Google/BBC News and Twitterfeeds, I can only assume that culpability lies where the fingers are now pointing.

I suppose this is the part of the post where I begin to explain that radical Islamists are not representative of Islam in general.  The part where I define myself as a Muslim in contrast to the purveyors of horrific and inhumane acts.

The truth is, I am done doing that.  If a person wants to align me with the perpetrators of evil because we happen to pray in the same direction, I have resigned myself to that.

Hate will always hate because it knows nothing else.

As Muslims, we talk a lot about how we are different from the small group of people on this planet that are using Allah’s name to provoke fear, violence and murder.

We want people to understand that far more than violence, our faith has historically advocated humankind’s noble pursuits, as well: charity, love, literacy, justice and, yes, even tolerance.

So, when an act of terrorism takes place, we decry it.    We insist that these acts occur outside the defined limits for how Muslims are commanded by their Lord to behave concerning their world.

We condemn.

We explain.

Some people believe us, some do not.

Condemnation and explanation are critical.  I don’t diminish the need to do so.

But, I wonder about the intentions behind these condemnations.  Do they emanate from a desire to protect ourselves, or from a passionate commitment to actually end this violence?

As far as I’m concerned, self preservation should be secondary.

As terrorists use our religion to promote their agenda, we must formulate an agenda that counters theirs.

Instead of telling the world who we are not, we must show them who we are.

While they focus upon a misunderstood version of His vengeance and destruction, we must focus and promote the overall context of His justice, His patience, and His peace.

We should promote these qualities every single day, not just when some misguided person blows up a building.

We should be doing more than just condemning and explaining.

In my circle and family, the discussion among American Muslims regarding these acts inevitably turns to culpability.  “Let us examine the cause…”

Really?  Is that what the general population of Muslims in the United States should be doing?

Other than those among us that are academics, foreign/public policy advisers, politicians or international lawyers, I find discussions centered upon assigning blame in the greater context not only useless, but completely distracting.

We (and I use the term “we” loosely) want to point the finger at America, Israel, or India as we search for reasons for these perversions of our faith that have morphed it into a political ideology.

What would happen if a big world meeting took place tomorrow and it were decided that every single terrorist act that has ever occurred could be completely attributed to American foreign policy?  (I don’t believe this, and I’m only using this for the sake of argument).

Now what?

NOW. WHAT?

I apologize in advance for my sharpness, but I propose, my dear American brothers and sisters in Islam, that most of you will do what you have always done for the people of the world who suffer injustice, depredation and despair: mostly nothing.

My apologies to those who have acted, I don’t mean you.

But the rest of you, yes, I’m talking to you.

We don’t live in a world where your obligatory offerings of charity will suffice.  What you give as your obligation is between you and God.  But the state of the world requires more from you.

Sometimes I wonder if all this finger pointing is not an attempt to absolve a subconscious guilt that we may have ignored our own obligations in this situation.

Because deep, down inside, you know that you live in one of the most prosperous countries in the world.

Deep, down inside, you know that while you enjoy this prosperity, children live in despair, men and women endure unimaginable tortures, and countless others cannot rely on their governments for appropriate management of even the most basic of their needs.

And deep, down inside, you know that for you to enjoy the pleasures of prosperity while people on the other side of the world endure tribulations that you could not even conceive of were it not for your TV is completely contrary to the teachings of Islam.

You know these things.

And we deflect from these realities, dare I say responsibilities, by asking questions like, “Well, who burned down the hospitals?  Who created radical Islam? Who dropped the bombs in the first place?”

We distract ourselves with hyperbolic claims that it is all America’s fault.  Then, the Americans blame Al Qaeda.  And Al Qaeda blames Israel.  Israel blames Palestine.  Then, someone blames colonial Britain.  And it goes on and on.

In the end, Afghani children grow up in fear, the young adults of Iraq have little access to a proper education and countless others suffer in silence.

Because we are too damned busy arguing about how many angels fit on the head of a pin.

In classic Faiqa style, I’ll let you off the hook if you choose not to concern yourself with these matters.  I don’t hold you as a terrible person for not prioritizing human harmony.

I think it’s a little flawed, but I don’t judge.

I do ask, as a favor to me, that when you are in my presence, if you are not doing anything personally to reduce the utter ignorance and despair which has contributed to the insanity of radical political Islam, then, please, just shut up.

Do something, or shut up.  Your discussions without any actions are simply whining sessions.  Whining does nobody any good, at all.

Let the politicians argue, pontificate and discuss.

Let them live in their ivory towers where discussions of post-colonialism and radical Islam permeate the air.  Those discussions are important, but not every single one of us has to participate in them.

Our actions are far more valuable than our words, right now.

Let us look with our eyes at what is happening.

Let us forgo words for a time and work with our hands to change this world.

Growing up, there were very few Muslim families in our town.  Muslims have two major holidays that they celebrate: Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha.

Eids, though we always celebrated them, were an essentially private affair when I was growing up.  We celebrated by performing the Eid prayer as a community, eating food, getting money from our parents, going to the houses of our few Muslim friends and getting money from their parents, eating more food, taking off school as long as we didn’t have a test, and then, finally, eating even more food.  Come to think of it, I never really knew Eid in the sense of being a highly public or a “community affair” until I was about twenty, when the Muslim community in our area had grown significantly

In the public sense, though, I have always “celebrated” Christmas (my willingness to do so or not being pretty much irrelevant).

We didn’t have a Christmas tree or presents in my home, but outside of our home, we did celebrate.  Trips to the mall, local businesses, our friend’s houses, our own neighborhood and our schools offered us the richness of another religion’s culture and practice through decorations, class projects, music, specialty foods and general holiday spirit.  Somewhere in there, we may have even learned a little bit about how Jesus came into this world.

I think, for the most part, American Muslims are better for having been exposed to Christmas, and for viewing its public celebration.  I probably feel this way because I’m not one of those people that thinks you can be a better Muslim/Christian/Jew/Hindu/Etc. by acting like other religions don’t exist.  In the end, that just leads to unhealthy isolation, fear and hatred.

Obviously, though, there were no Eid decorations in downtown nor in our local mall.  Truth be told, neither my parents nor I minded much or even thought twice about that.  After all, the way my family saw it when I was growing up, Eid was not an American holiday.  I don’t feel that way now, but when I was growing up, “diversity” and “inclusion” weren’t as fashionable as they are today.

Imagine my surprise, then, when on a visit to my hometown on Saturday night, I pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and saw this painted on one of the windows:

Nestled between Christmas, Thanksgiving and Hanukkah panels sits this one, proclaiming,  “Happy Eid Al Adha”.

I’m astounded by how much the world had changed since I was a child in this country.  I realize in places like New York and Chicago, Eid has to a degree been incorporated into public celebration, but I didn’t grow up in those places.  I grew up in a sandy beach town where the most diversity you could find was once a year at an annual Greek Orthodox festival.  By the way, I can positively attribute my fanatical love for a good gyros to those events.

I know we have a long way to go as a nation in terms of inclusion, but, really, so what?  That doesn’t make where we are right now any less important or amazing.

I’m excited for my daughter’s America, the one that will allow her to be a Muslim without the need for conscious compartmentalization. I’m overjoyed that there are, at the very least, some people in this country who’ve realized they don’t have to be afraid of us.  (This had become a serious problem after 9/11, though I never really encountered it when I was growing up).

Most importantly, though, I’m plain ecstatic to find that there are increasingly more people in this nation who see the differences between Americans as a source of pride and a thing of beauty instead of a source of chaos and dissonance.

I’m confident that more will follow suit.