my blog – kalnaga | Khaled Abol Naga | مدونتي – خالد أبوالنجا
Welcome… ;)
I started this blog Aug 2010 replacing my 1998 site which evolved over the years to become a blog before blogs were a THING! (archived here since Sept 2010). Now, since 2017 @ KalNaga.com
العرض عظيم… بل في لحظات عبقري ويفتح أفاق التأمل في المصريات بل في معني الحياة وما بعدها.
ولكن… للأسف البرجيكتورات التي تعرض الصور للأجداد (معلقة)! وتدور الصور بشكل متكرر ومستفز أثناء الجزء الأخير والأهم من العرض!
وأتعس شيء أن تتباري عشرات المساجد من يعلو صوته أكثر وأطول بمكبرات صوت قبيحة بأصوات مؤذنين أقبح خلال أكثر من ٨٠ في المائة من وقت العرض.
السياح الأجانب يضحكون ويسخرون وأدمع أنا والمصريين كلما بدأ مؤذن جديد يدخل المباراة
كأنها مباراة فرض الوصاية على مصر دينيًا وفكريًا.
بل أجزم أنه في خلال عمري أصبح المسجد مركز لنشر القبح والجهل والمرض وفرض الوصاية علي المجتمع المصري.
ها هي تجربتي :
كلب الكرنك العبقري! :
كلب ظهر بالكرنك عندما تجمع السياح بعد قطع التذاكر وكأنه يقوم بعمله اليومي… جلس منتظرًا بدأ العرض مع الجموع وما إن بدأت الموسيقى التي أعرف بدايتها جيدًا منذ كنت طالبًا بالهندسة بزيارتي الأولي ويقشعر بدني عرفانا بما هو قادم من خشوع وقدسية لهذا الجامع الجليل لآلاف السنين لمصر قصة بدأ المدنية والدين والأخلاق بل والإنسانية كما نعرفها الآن.
ما إن بدأت الموسيقى… إلا وحدث شيء مثير للغاية…
نهض الكلب منتشيًا وبدأ العواء وكأنه أيضًا يشاركني هذا الفخر كأنه يطرب لهذه الموسيقي prologue بطول الإفتتاحية وهو يعوي بطرب وانتشاء واضح علي صوته وذيله… ضحك السياح وأحبوه بل أكاد أجزم أن صوته أكمل هذا المشهد الخاص جدا… الكلب كسب صداقة الجميع فورًا فمن المؤكد أن هذا الكلب مستمتع جدًا ويرافقنا وكأنه فخور وممتن لحضورنا فهذا العرض يخصه بالتأكيد.
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أنكر الأصوات:
توقف الكلب عن الغناء فجأة، توقف مع إنبعاث صوت مكبر كبير متكبر بل وأكبر من أي صوت حولنا صوت خادش للآذان بأقبح صوت يؤذن من مسجد بمكبر صوت ضخم موجه كالسلاح مهددًا السلام ومتحديًا الكرنك والسياح والكلب!
وأخطأ التوقيت بالتأكيد.. حيث أن باقي المساجد بدأت بعده بعشرات الدقائق أوأكثر
توقف الكلب عن العواء فجأة وكأنه غير راضٍ عن هذا المؤذن الذي أفسد نشوته .
تلصصنا جميعًا بآذاننا لفهم كلمات ال narrator أو صوت المؤدي لرمسيس الثاني أو توت عنخ آمون أو الإسكندر الأكبر آخر الفراعنة ها نحن نلصق كلمة هنا مع كلمة من هناك لنحاول أن نفهم العرض الذي تم تشويشه مع سبق الإصرار والترصد و بدأت حرب شعواء عليه من عدة جهات تتباري في إفشاله!
إنزعجنا أولًا، ثم تحول الانزعاج إلي حرج من أن نعترض أو نتحدث مع بعضنا عن هذه المكبرات القبيحة بأصواتها الأقبح بهذا الزمن القبيح أملين أن تختفي…أن تنتهي قريبًا.
ثم تحول الحرج إلي غضب مكتوم بالذات حين بدأ بعض السياح الأجانب في الضحك المكتوم من سيريالية الموقف. ضاعت ملامح العرض، وأصبح كل ما يراودنا بين آذاننا عند سماع الآذان هو صوت المؤذن الفج وقبح صوته لننسي معني الآذان وما يحمله من روحانية، وكأن هناك جائزة للقبح يتسابق عليها المؤذنين في منابر المساجد، وبئس المصير إذا استمر هذا الحال. أكمل الكلب مسيرته معنا مذعنًا للحالة وهو ممتنًا أننا قررنا أن نكمل المسيرة خلفه من بهو إلي آخر بالكرنك وكلنا أمل أن نبتعد في كل خطوة عن قبح أصوات مكبرات المساجد التي انهالت علينا من كل زاوية أو مسجد بمكبراتهم الصوتية المحتلة لفضاء طيبة.
إلا أن المباراة ازدادت والقبح اشتعلت نيرانه بالذلت حين وصلنا لمسرح أُعد خصيصًا للفصل الثالث والأخير من العرض ونحن نشهد البحيرة المقدسة بقدس الأقداس في مشهدٍ جليل باعث للروح وللأمل والفخر. خلفها الكرنك بكامل أركانه وتوسعاته التي شهدت آلاف السنين باعثًا لشخصية مصر من جديد
وكذلك نشهد الأقصر كلها أيضًا خلفه علي الأفق نري خلف الكرنك بلاد طيبة بأهلها الطيبين طيبيين طيبة يخيم عليها شبح وهابي ينخر في طيبتهم باعثا للقبح والجهل والمرض
وها هو الكلب يشهد معنا على حال العرض وحال طيبة التعيس وينتظر نهاية العرض الأتعس بعدة مشاكل في الإضاءة والصور والإدارة.
ينتظر ليودعنا إلي باب الدخول مرة أخري ولكنني فهمت لما انتظر بالتأكيد ليطمئن علي سلامتنا من مشوارنا للباب في ظلام دامس خطر! حيث أطفأ عمال العرض إضاءة الطرق المؤدية الي الباب قبل أن نصل إليه!!
وهكذا هو حال مصر اليوم يشهد عليه الكلب الوفي للصوت والضوء قبلنا
أشهد ألا إله يرضي علي هذا الحال وأشهد أن محمد والرسل أجمعين براء من ذاك القبح.
😐
كما يعلمنا تاريخ أصل الدين والأخلاق تاريخ مصر نحن في ذيل حقبة أرهقها دين فسد معناه وسيأتي دين جديد يخرج الناس من ظلمات هذا الدين الذي فسد إلي النور.
@thegreathackdoc is a MUST SEE Doccumentary about the era we live in today This is the most important story of our time How Authoritarian Regimes are on the rise, How polarisation thru social data is the new weapon to divide & conquer everywhere
waking up to news of a loss just now.. 2am Jul 15 2020
In response to a message about Glenn’s departing this life. RIP Glenn boy, I am truly sorry for the loss my friend is experiencing (read below his msg to me, anonymously added with his approval) What a world we live in? Huh? Fascinating characters all around I visualised Glenn RIP dear Glenn boy…
I woke up to a message from a friend about getting the news that young Glenn has departed this life … In his message to me, something gripped me… “living” (even if, for as long as a sentence or a paragraph) living those memories of a friend about his friend.. like a movie one wish to have attended!, characters one wish to have met, experiences one wish to have gained!
This all confirms again and again that… All what we leave behind here… is only… such stories and vibes of “love” Thanks for sharing and keeping such vibes here and now. Peace upon Glenn, Peace upon You, Peace upon us.
From a friend on young Glenn departing life:
…”As I have assimilated the news about 38 year old J’s death I have found myself happy for him… I am enough of a believer that this material world is far from our complete reality…in his case I think his spirit is freed from the horrid sense of Shame about his childhood abuse especially and also his constant letting others down when he chose drugs instead of family ties…so now I picture him enormously liberated and actually hope he can perform some guardian angel duty for me…💤🛌🌷❤️….
Update.… Experiencing blog above won’t be complete without reading this article that brought Glenn to life (in a sense): My friend actually wrote a published article about Glenn” here in this article titled: “A Cookie from God!” Here: https://www.intercessors.org/media/files/14425947101355165362.pdf
A Cookie from God by Philip E. Myers At first glance, you would think that he was Marilyn Monroe’s love child with Robert Redford. The sparkle in his eyes actually outshine the blonde good looks. Thirty year old Glenn was the sort of fellow movie studios dream of find- ing and turning into the next screen heartthrob. Nevertheless, I met him in the meanest, nastiest jail in the country, the Los Angeles County Jail. The only filming going on there is by the surveillance cameras in the cor- ridors. Endless complaints of beatings of inmates by deputies led the Federal courts to appoint the ACLU as moni- tor of conditions in the jail and to the installation of cameras. I was the welcome committee and dorm greeter in a unit housing 90 in- mates. Twice Glenn’s age, it was my first time in jail. Figuring out how to make the best of a bad situation took all my corporate CEO skills. It was an odd, new world for me; but I decided to try to raise the tone in the dorm a bit by formalizing an orientation process for new arrivals. As it turned out, Glenn didn’t need much orientation. It was his sixth visit in a decade. Dorm 5100 is a cement block, windowless room 75’ x 90’. For two and a half hours on Saturday evenings, people got to go to the roof for fresh air. Otherwise, one determines day and night simply by which fluorescent ceiling lights the deputies choose to turn on. There are no tanning beds, no fashion stylists, no gift bags. The Hollywood aspect of the dorm is the Hollywood of drug addiction, street prostitution, and abandoned dreams. When Glenn first flashed that Hollywood smile, it was instantly ap- parent that his problem with the law was not shoving a member of the pa- parazzi. He was missing half his teeth and those that remained were a mosaic of rot, chipping and discoloration. Glenn’s smile was a quick announce- ment of prolonged drug addiction. Despite the first impression that the gods had blessed him, it was appar- ent that there was a different reality. Something had gone terribly wrong. However, Glenn was engaging and intriguing. I felt an odd kinship, partly because my own theoretically charmed gifts had led me to the same cement block room. I wanted to know his story. We struck up a friendship in the 10 days he was there. Out tumbled the basics – the alco- holism of both parents and the horror of the death of his father, killed in a police shootout in the family drive- way, when Glenn was 10. Through his teens, his mother and her new husband had routinely beaten him and gotten him high. He was working at age 14 to support the family. He always associated maternal closeness to being hurt and drugged. By the time he was 18, he had found a girl he loved and eventually asked her to marry him. On the day that he was to give her an engagement ring, she dumped him and ran off with his best friend. He left New York to find his way in the Golden State, with Hollywood his new home. His looks opened many doors. However, there were al- ways drugs behind each one, especially crystal meth. He ended up homeless on the streets much of the time when not in sickly relationships that always included drugs by the ton. Glenn went out the door of the Los Angeles County Jail to a rehab facility for a six-month stay. How- ever, it was in Hollywood. Two weeks later, he walked out and started his drug use again. Two months later, he was back in Los Angeles County Jail, coming down from an especially nasty drug run of six weeks. As he put it, he was emotionally exhausted. While he slowly righted himself, we talked more and more. It was clear that he realized he could not go on living the same way. He responded well to our talks and to the friendship of a non- addict, paternal figure. Still, I was very worried. He expe- rienced great anxiety, depression and a host of physical ailments. Recurring lung, liver and kidney pains were genuinely alarming. He needed proper medical care, but the jail clinic was grossly inadequate to the task. The attitude of the deputies towards the urgency of the situation was nicely summed up by one who asked coldly, “Is he dead yet?” After he filed two written com- plaints and was a squeaky wheel about his need for a doctor, the meanest, nastiest deputy simply announced that Glenn was being disruptive and had to go to “the hole.” “The hole” was a “death row” type dungeon area for disciplinary problems. Off went Glenn for three hellish nights, a retaliation for his simply requesting appropriate medical care. I was incensed and managed to arrange for a County Ombudsman to review the case. The last thing Glenn needed was yet another gross injustice that would simply reinforce his need to cover his pain with drugs. A couple days after Glenn’s return to the dorm from “the hole,” it was time for the weekly delivery of items from the jail store. For the first time, Glenn had no money to buy anything except a candy treat for $1.15. He felt abandoned by everyone on the outside, including the parents who had supplied him drugs as a way to involve him in their degeneracy. To add insult to injury, the store did not deliver his candy treat. He sat on my bunk, dejected, watching many others carry off sacks of chips, candy bars, soups, and end- less goodies to supplement the miser- able jail diet. I mixed up a little cocoa with water to give him at least a small taste of chocolate. It was disheartening to see him suffer another indignity, no matter how small. I had watched him actually making real progress in recovering his life. In the previous month, he started to talk about going to college and finding a wife, escaping the cesspool of Hollywood and the despair of the homelessness. He concluded that his Mom and Dad, freed of their earthly afflictions, were now his guardian angels. I saw him drawn towards healthy people, becoming aware of the negative patterns of his life. It looked as if he was ready to succeed in a drug treatment program once released from jail. To see his distress as life tossed him a reminder of his lowly circumstances was heart breaking. Glenn started to voice his annoyance and anger at be- ing in jail and at the awful people who hoarded their treats and cared nothing for others around them. I heard him effectively commenting on his entire history as the small candy deprivation became emblematic of everything that had ever gone wrong. Literally, in midsentence of his complaint, an inmate who had also received nothing from the store ap- peared and popped a chocolate chip cookie into Glenn’s mouth. It was left over from lunch and was one of Glenn’s favorite treats. Exactly what Glen was complain- ing “never happened” had just hap- pened. We were both dumbfounded and burst out laughing. “Well, that certainly shut me up!” he said. “I feel like my Mom and Dad just made a point.” His guardian angels had come through with perfect timing. Glenn’s old knee jerk negative assumptions were clearly wrong. Life sometimes supplies a chocolate chip cookie at exactly the right instant. He dipped it in his bit of chocolate, beamed with joy and said,” OK, I get it! My needs can be met.” I watched his emotional exhaus- tion turn to exhilaration. God provided just the right les- son at just the right moment, and in the simplest way. We agreed that for the rest of his life, any time he was inclined to whine or lament his bad fortune, he would draw on this moment and recall how God made a point. For the first time since I met Glenn four and a half months earlier I was sure he would be fine. A very simple gift from someone who had nothing but a cookie to give had said it all. God provides, and even the smallest kindness can be of enormous effect. I watched the 23rd Psalm in action before my eyes. He truly does restore my soul! Philip, a former attorney, has spent time while incarcerated in California helping fellow inmates spiritually and emotionally. He has written six novellas while in prison, and is deeply committed to advocating for prison reform. THE BREAKTHROUGH INTERCESSOR | WINTER ’12 WINTER ’12 | THE BREAKTHROUGH INTERCESSO
April 10 2019 .. ترامب و علم مصر و تحية … و انا و انت
I wrote a new article, another Oped, I write (or co-write) few a year, usually my Op Eds are about important current affairs for CNN, NYT etc (Khaled Abol Naga’s Op Eds), this time it was for Alaraby.co.uk, but for some odd reason, this round, they never got back to me about publishing it!, and I kept getting strange erratic feedback from crew I dealt with for my last article, so I decided to dig more, investigating why some opinions renders some platforms unresponsive?
In the process, I learned and formed much more interesting opinions… about THAT “POLITICAL THEATER”
My article is about THE DC POLITICAL THEATER!.. بالفعل مسرح اكثر منه سياسة
We keep fighting, fighting, fighting… “What does not kill us makes us stronger” we say.. but if the world keeps ignoring the fighting, the sadness, the darkness without cracks for the light to pass through.. Then I ask you .. What Happens To The Heart What Happened to Sarah Hegazy’s Heart? It ain’t pretty, It ain’t subtle… What Happens To The Heart.
Leonard Cohen, passed away in Nov. 2016, leaving us an incredible heritage of his art. several years after his demise. new songs of his are still being released. Cohen’s camp released this posthumous video for “What Happens to the Heart”
Light made of a rainbow of diverse colours, still needs cracks to pass through.. as eloquently said once by the “Hallelujah” maestro himself in 2008, Leonard Cohen: ANTHEM :
I was always working steady But I never called it art I got my shit together Meeting Christ reading Marx Sure it failed my little fire But it’s bright the dying spark Go tell the young messiah What happens to the heart
There’s a mist of summer kisses Where I tried to double-park The rivalry was vicious And the women were in charge It was nothing, it was business But it left an ugly mark So I’ve come here to revisit What happens to the heart
I was selling holy trinkets I was dressing kind of sharp Had a pussy in the kitchen And a panther in the yard In the prison of the gifted I was friendly with the guard So I never had to witness What happens to the heart
I should have seen it coming You could say I wrote the chart Just to look at her was trouble It was trouble from the start Sure we played a stunning couple But I never liked the part It ain’t pretty, it ain’t subtle What happens to the heart
Now the angel’s got a fiddle And the devil’s got a harp Every soul is like a minnow Every mind is like a shark I’ve opened every window But the house, the house is dark Just say Uncle, then it’s simple What happens to the heart
I was always working steady But I never called it art The slaves were there already The singers chained and charred Now the arc of justice bending And the injured soon to march I lost my job defending What happens to the heart
I studied with this beggar He was filthy he was scarred By the claws of many women He had failed to disregard No fable here no lesson No singing meadowlark Just a filthy beggar blessing What happens to the heart
I was always working steady But I never called it art I could lift, but nothing heavy Almost lost my union card I was handy with a rifle My father’s .303 We fought for something final Not the right to disagree
Sure it failed my little fire But it’s bright the dying spark Go tell the young messiah What happens to the heart
kalnaga - خالد أبوالنجا 