Why do Muslims worry? And why did Christians worry?

Why should Muslims worry about the possibility of evolution theory become a scientific fact? And what if someday the theory is scientifically proven and accepted as a fact worldwide?

What happens if the fact stands in contradiction with the context of the Quran? What does it individually damage? How does taking precautions by avoiding true information access to our lives result? Why should we avoid? To what extend? Does limitation of true information access to our lives help us forget the fact and live on a lie? Does it improve the goodness, the strength of belief and our thinking? Does it make us become better or just make us feel better?

***

Why did the Christians worry about the possibility of Copernican theory become a scientific fact by the intense research, calculation and study of Galileo? And what about the moment the theory was scientifically proven and accepted as a fact worldwide?

What happened when the fact did not stand at all in contradiction with context of the Bible? What did it individually damage? How did the Church’s taking precautions by turning off Galileo’s voice and teachings result? Why did they have to avoid it really? And to what extend the Church succeeded? Did limitation of true information access help them forget about the fact? How long could they live on a lie? Did it improve the goodness, the strength of belief and their thinking? Did it make them become better or just make them feel better (for a little while)?

***

Anyone with rational answers?

Then just don’t worry.

Most probably, even if there’s no single believer left, the human being will be bearing the same quantity of good and bad inside of him, this time knowing that we are good or bad not because we’re advised so by our holy books but because good and bad are the elements of our nature.

Reklamlar

The blades of a chimney cap

We’re a box of people here now. This glass box looked promising and attracting at first. I liked gazing at the building each time I drove by.

I once read there was a man who had his lunch in a restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower every single day. And when asked why, he said Eiffel was the only kind spot where he didn’t have to see that ugly piece of iron during his tasty meal. 

From this glass box now, through its huge windows I try to find a nice view where I can fix my soul when i need in the future. 

A view, one single spot that tunes to me.

The busy highway, the offset and the colorless, bald hills beyond look too not belonging to my world. They don’t have a taste.

But then, this morning i saw a bright light flashing every second directly into my eye. A bright red wind turbine chimney cap was spinning and spinning with its thin iron blades reflecting the sun light at each blade when reaching the right angle.

It’s red, it moves, it reaches my eye, it grabs my attention every second if I look out. Wonderfully consoling. Now i can work…

Affording little lies 

Although i have filtered my vocabulary by eliminating words like ‘never’, ‘everyone’, ‘no one’, ‘always’, ‘nowhere’, etc…, i thought i would never or hardly ever tolerate even the smallest lie. Regardless of its having an effect either directly or indirectly, I’ve avoided most of the liars.

Not the lie itself but the need for it usually disappoints me. I stand in front of a gorilla size window and wish to see the entire view the window can allow, but someone blurs my sight by blowing a steamy breath. And i uselessly start asking questions like “is this a tree or a man with open arms there?” 

There’s nothing like “enough clarity”. If clarity is blurred only by a single drop of mist, then it’s not clarity anymore. It’s only enough transparency but not a clarity. 

Yet, I’ve also learnt by experience that for a lifetime comfort, a bit of mist is necessary for some people who need to protect something from some other thing. 

Although i wouldn’t hopefully practice it myself, i developed some flexibility against such mist. I choose to believe that these people i respect and love must have good reasons to lie sometimes. 

So i now afford it, not by ignorance or disappointment, but with a kind of understanding. Sometimes it hurts seeing them lying, but it doesn’t break anymore. Because it’s no longer the issue of deserving or not deserving to be lied. It’s their personal choice and i discovered it doesn’t really cause a major change in my world but it changes a lot in their routine.

Since i cannot ask them to redesign their routine that is not even related with mine on daily basis, i just tolerate it and hope they earn something good from it.

And i learnt that it’s only love making me afford it with patience and comfort.

12.199th day

(September 13th  2017 – Bodrum)

This current moment is not familiar to me. Don’t know how to live, how to go through it. This current moment scares me a lot because it makes me wish to die and restart. It scares me for the fact it makes me take death as if it were more familiar than this moment itself. It shouldn’t be this way. It doesn’t have to be. I’m a rational person and I trust myself. But I check every neuron, turn every single nerve upside down to find a crumb of rational thinking and nothing comes up. I knew it was going to be hard however this “hardness” doesn’t even look within the spectrum of difficulties I was supposed to face. Having lived what I’ve mostly planned, this current moment is not within my plans and I can’t take it as “unexpected” either. This is beyond all the things I’ve known. This is a bad joke made to extremism. This moment obviously fools the extremism for it being all the time unaware of such a moment’s existence in life.

It’s my 12.199th day in life. From the day I resigned, I’ve been giving little errors my system can handle, sometimes with a considerable help from outside. This error cannot be serviced as we see for the last couple of days. Major helps I respect, but it cannot be defeated.

It blocked my ability of making plans for tomorrow, of designing the next days, of constructing the images of future. It took away my hunger so I don’t cook – even not to survive. I just recovered from a striking sickness and it looks like another one just captured me and I can’t save my ass from its clutches.

I had to foresee the worst but somewhere the calculations went wrong. I couldn’t see it. I have no weapon to fight it let alone the shield. All the ammunition I’ve prepared behind was for average worsts, average depression, average and all-the-time-expected moods.
This black hole smells different, it doesn’t come to my hands in solid form, and it’s so free – hitting me couple of times a day – and hides when I’m in contact with someone. I want to grab this moment from its hair and drag into the middle of the living room and torture it just the way it has been doing to me.

This moment, this cruel, this daring, this monstrous moment exists only because I’m not next to you. Waiting for you feels like an urgent email which is pending. Waiting for you is like accepting a highly risky surgery to remove a disease completely and I hold on to that future where I’m totally free of that virus. And what if I don’t wake up from this narcosis? What if I’m not given the chance to compensate all the years I’ve been waiting? It’s a day-by-day bite. A bitter bite. Because I’m growing old without your eyes witnessing it. Because you’re building our future without me by your side. I lose the sense of reality. I lose the feeling I have someone in this life. I feel your existence at the bitter taste down in my throat.   I feel your absence burning my throat. No tears, I cry inwards.

 

when not made of similar elements 

Two pm. This giant ball of mostly hydrogen and helium is once again hanging on top, burning the soil, challenging me, dragging me to think whether i should take its regular appearance as an ‘ordinary’ thing or unusual enough to say there’s nothing we can call ordinary in the universe. 

Two past two. I left the house in anger, in guilt and shame this morning. Left it for a little bit of silence and loneliness. Sorry, no; for ‘lone-ness’.

The banishment took too long. Now it brings sleepless nights as one eye watching the spinning wings of the ventilator while the other closed to everything. 

I don’t sleep these days. My body developed a kind of resistance. It’s only when i see the pale light of daybreak. There i miss the moments of my child waking up, sneaking into the kitchen, picking a slice of bread and enjoying it with jam in front of the Tv. I miss all these, as well as my alarm which is set every night to yell into my ear in the morning. I neither hear the family getting up nor the tray of plates and cutlery carried in and out.

And that’s how it started today. I woke to my father’s sudden roar “You’re looooosing your child by doing thisssss!”

It was rather my dead body being brought up to life in an insane way, by an insane voice, with an unrecognizable tone. I didn’t have time to think, to consider, to evaluate or to analyze. I even don’t remember how i jumped off from the bed, and how the bedroom door threw me up to the kitchen. Who reached first to the living room?  My head? My legs? How did all come together to form me again?

I closed my eyes, standing in front of all and cried out loud on top of my voice, with tears in my eyes and with a firestorm running up from my stomach as i barely forced my daggers become words.  “I CANNOT SLEEEEEEEEEPP!!!! AND NOBODY ON EARTH CAN ROAR TO MEEEE!!!!”

There was a deep silence, a kind of intense silence with its enormous feet banging inside us at each step. There, i wasn’t a mother, i wasn’t anyone’s child or a daughter, any lover or a friend for a while. I was nothing we could define. But i was familiar to myself. I, there, in fact felt very close to myself, to my dearest heart, to the darkest neural pathways that led to my reality.

I grabbed my bag in anger – adressed to who exactly?-  and walked away in tears. I felt every tissue under my burning skin, beating the layers they were covered with, as if someone i trust more was about to crack them and come out.

I walked. I dived. We cannot bury ourselves alive, but still we can cover the sea-sheet on us, as long as our lungs allow. 

Two thirty. I was eighteen. Sitting in my professor’s room on top floor, thunders on the roof, staring into her eyes. Her soft voice stabs my soul because she’s telling me sincerely the truth about myself. Painful, yet i feel so much willingness to hear more…

“…you should be either the Sun or You – which is too solid, too an undiscoverable, too a non-observable planet, giving us no clue to estimate the next steps. Will you explode and form something new? Will you fade, melt and disappear? Should we invest on your skills or forget about your existence? 

The sun though burns everyday there Deniz, with all its elements we know, we’re aware of and we sometimes welcome, sometimes complain, but always accept and estimate its tomorrow.”

Apparently and obviously i wasn’t the Sun. She and all the others never knew what and how to do with me. I was just not aware of this. Instead of being the Sun which is sometimes battled, sometimes thanked, i happened to be a closed system, sticking to do everything within worldwide standards, universal criterias, properly, and mostly denying the opposite dynamics kicking upwards from my core.

More upsetting is, realizing that people trust you not because of your estimated, commonly expected and appreciated behaviours but because the distance they see between you and them forces them to develop an instinctive or preferable  alliance to this ‘unknown’. Because it’s safer to stretch a friendly hand to the unknown. This is the good manner, an intentional security precaution of human being, or being a ‘human’.

Two forty. Sad though, i’m not willing to be the Sun. My nature doesn’t consist similar elements. And i cannot afford now to try to change my nature. Soon this banishment ends and i return to my natural quarter where i have the freedom of ghostly night orbits around my living room, my kitchen for a film, a book, a drink with a cigarette in my space. These ‘lone’ activities will once again become my little windows to the fresh air. 

And this letter is the patch to fill and close the crack that opened this morning. No more future leakage. Some of us can’t be the Sun, simple. 

Var mı ki yokluğun? 

​Beş, ama sabaha karşı beş, 

Bir şarkı göndermiş 

Bir dalga boyu bu aramızdaki, 

Kesintisiz bir koridor, bir hava kolonu

Aldığım nefes her neyden yoksunsa o an, bir sonraki nefesime katabileyim diye tamamlayıp eksiği gediği, gönderiveriyor  kuzeydeki şehrinden 

İnsan  böyle tamamlanınca aniden,

Gülümsemesi de oturunca yüzüne geniş ve kendiliğinden, 

Treniydi, uçağıydi, yoluydu, yolcusuydu balon gibi sönüyor, eriyor mumu zamanın. 

Sanki her verdiği solukta öpüyor, kokluyor,

Ve şehir sokaklarının ismi o geçtikçe birer birer “seni seviyorum”a dönüşüyor 

Yokluğu -ki varsa eğer yokluğu, çünkü havada, suda ve eşyadadır o – insan gibi insan olan bu kadın,

Bir tek o baktığında kadın, o öptüğünde  aşık kadın, o seviştiğinde  orospu ve hanım. 

Yalnızca o acıktığında   güzel benim baş belası mutfağım. 

Geographical Condemnations

You’re on the couch.

Sitting curved. The late summer breeze is turning into a wind. You close your eyes, feel the change how it gets stronger each minute.

You speak almost four languages, you’ve lived in several countries. You’re non religious. You’re not living on your sub-ID’s. You don’t have ideological and political obsessions. You’re a good mother. You’re not moody, not stressed, not depressed, not melancholic, not down, not bad, not furious, not a revolutionist but an evolutionist, you’re brave, you’re free.

Free?

You have skills, you have experience, you have courage to make a living at any place, in any culture. You can learn anything that comes up onto your way.

And you’re not free to go, not free to run, not free to start wherever you wish to start.

Because the geography you were born into is your ID, standing on top of your skills, on top of your languages, experience,  ambitions and your freedom. You’re free whenever your geography is free.

That’s it.

Now go to sleep, wake up in your village, make peace with your reality and wait…
Hands and legs tied.

Breathe held.

Heart paused.

Blood stucked.

Your CV never talks as much as your origins do. Your intentions and open mind never mean to mean as much as your nationality.

Close the world map.

Step back.

Sit back.

Curved.

On your couch.