It’s been a while now since I was in Libya, at least geographically – for Libya and its people have become very much a part of my life.

My visit to Libya was short and intense. We flew from Paris to Istanbul where we stayed only a few hours, enough time for dinner and a nap before traveling on to Benghazi. What I soon became aware of, first in Istanbul and more so in Benghazi, was how few women I encountered. I found I was one of five in the restaurant in Istanbul, one of six on the plane, and once we arrived in Benghazi I didn’t see a single woman until the evening when we went to a family home for dinner. I was fascinated – by the small number of women I encountered and even more so by how I experienced this new, unfamiliar environment.

I felt more vulnerable in the fifty or so hours we spent in Benghazi than I remember ever feeling before. I was in a foreign country experiencing, what was for me, a very foreign culture – not just Islamic or North African culture but also the culture of war or more accurately post-war. I didn’t speak the language, and I was completely ignorant of the social customs and cues. It was only then that I became aware of how much I rely on these functions for a sense of security. It also became apparent to me how much I seek to connect with other women for that same value. Like a lost animal seeking her herd, I found myself looking for the solace of another woman, but alas, there were none in sight, and I felt very much alone.

With the absence of women, I became more aware of yet another culture – the culture of men. The men seemed very comfortable with each other, like brothers and cousins from a big family, relating with warmth and affection. This seemed different from my experience of men in Western Society, but then again, I have never been around so many men without other women present (I’ve imagined they grunt, knock each other around and talk about sports, but this may be as inaccurate as their belief that we have pajama parties and pillow fights). Perhaps it’s the same, perhaps our men too, when not inhibited or feeling pressured to be strong in the presence of women, enjoy warm, close, and affectionate friendships.

A distinction I can certainly make between the men I am used to and those I encountered in Libya is how they related to me. The men in Libya didn’t respond to my safety smiles, in fact they barely made eye contact at all – quickly withdrawing from my friendly two-handed handshakes. However, (to my own surprise) I didn’t perceive this to be derogatory or disrespectful in any way. On the contrary, it seemed respectful as though they were distinguishing me as different from them, even honoring my woman-ness.

As an effect of this, I felt very much a woman and not at all “one of the boys” – one of my two usual default “safety” positions in a male dominated environment. Feeling the distinction of my gender from those around me, I became more aware of myself, more sensitive to my surroundings and far more secure and effective in my role with the delegation. It became obvious to me how valuable the participation of women can be in such situations – not in our trying to be like men, but from our own unique perspective. So, rather than feeling rejected or disrespected, I felt a deep sense of humility and gratitude – contextually, I was way out of my depth and it was truly a privilege for me to be there and have the opportunity to participate.

Throughout my time and experiences in Benghazi, I learned a lot about my self and about being a woman. As I observed the men, I was impressed by their sense of duty and responsibility and their drive for conclusions, action and results. As I observed and admired these strengths, I discovered some of my own. By quietly listening, I observed where there were gaps in their communication and was able to help them not only bridge these gaps, but also work better together as a team to achieve a common objective. Granted, these are skills and qualities I have worked hard to develop and discover in myself for the past ten years, and discovering these qualities are more innate in me as a woman than if I were a man has been a part of my education. However, this situation allowed me to experience and apply what I have learned in the classroom of life.

As it turned out, the reason why I didn’t encounter any women on my first day in Benghazi was because it was Friday – Muslim holy day. On this day few people are out. It is a day of prayer followed by a family meal. As the majority of Libyans are observant Muslims, on this day women are home preparing for the evening meal. My fiancé’s family, who generously provided delicious food for our entire delegation, hosted our evening meal. Here I observed not only were his sister and mother forthright in expressing their opinions to their male guests, but also that their opinions were heard and respected. They had earned this respect; these women had supported them in their fight for freedom and were now just as involved in dealing with the aftermath. They, especially his sister, had played an important part in the revolution – organizing teams of people to support the men on the front lines, attending to their medical needs and supplying them with food and morale. Now the revolution is over and the men are working to create structure and security, these women are consumed with providing humanitarian aid to the wounded and displaced. Both men and women have their roles in this new society and both, it appeared to me, value the advice and support of the other.

Since I have returned, many people have asked or made comments to me about the role and treatment of women in Muslim countries. Certainly, through my limited time in Libya and little interaction with women from Libya and other parts of the region, I have become no expert. However, my response has been that I wouldn’t be so quick to judge their situation through the lens of Western Culture. For me, they have something we have lost in our culture, and that is the preservation and respect of the differences between our genders. Perhaps my view is naïve, but I will be surprised if I am incorrect in believing that we in the West have a lot to learn from other cultures and that the role and treatment of women is just one of the many differences we are far from understanding about Islam.

Dear Blog Readers,

First I must apologize for my absence here on the web lately. The last two years have been a time of transition for me. After almost a decade of personal development, the study of humanitarian ethics and having the privilege to work closely with the leadership at NXIVM, I find myself equipped with excellent tools to help humanity and new, challenging opportunities to apply all I have learned.

At the beginning of August 2011 I was invited by Basit Igtet to join him on a boat taking humanitarian aid to Libya. We had spent 3 days together speaking of ethics, humanity, and our shared concern for the state of the world and of humanity in general. Basit is a Libyan National, a Muslim, who has lived in political exile most of his life. I am half English Protestant, half American from a Jewish family and raised very much in a western, Judeo-Christian society. Our lives and backgrounds superficially couldn’t be more different, yet somehow we found we spoke the same language, shared values and perspectives and were spiritually and philosophically aligned. Even if this were the end of my story, it is significant enough that such a friendship could be formed between a Jewish woman and a Muslim man. However, this is just the beginning of my story and many things have grown out of the seeds planted in those few days. I didn’t join the ship delivering humanitarian aid, as the revolution in Libya rapidly escalated before it’s unfortunate end on October 20th, but a month later I had the honor of traveling to Libya as part of a highly esteemed delegation accompanying Basit as he endeavors to help his people rebuild their country.You will be hearing a lot from me about Libya in the coming weeks, months and years, starting with a summary of my trip and my personal take on all I experienced there.

Please, watch this space and I’ll be back soon.

Sara

Tonight I went to see Good People with a couple of friends. I can’t exactly say I enjoyed it, at least not in the usual sense. I suppose because I associate enjoyment with pleasure and a pleasurable experience it wasn’t—I sat squirming in my seat for most of it. However, this is what made it great. It is a great play. It is a play about real life, about being human. It was the kind of play, as my friend Keith Raniere would say, “haunts” you. It gets under your skin and reminds you—helps you feel—what it is to be human. It is simple, complex, intense, tragic, poetic and beautiful all at once. The subject matter is—if you look at it from a superficial perspective—simple. But, just like all things human, when you scratch beneath the surface and expose the delicate psycho-dynamic and the struggle of each character, it is infinitely rich and complex.

The acting was superb. Each character was well developed and convincing. None of them were likable, all of them lovable. There was no happy ending; it was tragic from start to finish. But, as with any great tragedy – think most simply of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear and so on – inextricably woven within the tragedy is beauty and poetry. I’m not sure what the play was about for anyone else, but what unfolded to me were the ethics and character of Margie Walsh (Frances McDormand) and the people who affected and were affected by her.

Perhaps it showed a darker side of people than we—or I—like to look at. Margie Walsh is no Mary Poppins, no Portia, not even an Elphaba, but she is a hero. She’s an everyday hero, doing her best to do what she thinks is good; doing her best to survive.  Good People isn’t the kind of play you walk out of feeling inspired or hopeful for whom you could be or what might be possible. It’s the kind of play, at least for me, you walk out of feeling how your life has been and how things are now: tragic, beautiful and poetic. Not only did I walk out with a deeper understanding of my self, my life and my choices, I left with a deeper sense of the common thread that binds us no matter who we are, where we are from or what choices we make—the common thread of humanity. I love art like this, and I highly recommend you see Good People if you do too.



A few months ago, I walked into a gallery in Soho and a piece of art moved me. It tickled me actually – evoked feelings of happiness, almost making me laugh out loud! It was a George Condo print “Abstract Composition in Blue.” I had never heard of the artist, I was just doing what everyone who has advised me on buying art has told me to do: trust my intuition and go with what I like. Naturally, buying this piece sparked my interest in the artist. I like his work, and perhaps more than the work itself, I like what I perceive to be the essence of his work—how he delves beyond the surface to what lies beneath.

“The portrait is often a picture into the interior of a subject as opposed to the way they might look on the outside–that idea of portraying the interior of a person’s thoughts and the way that they think they look or the way they feel like they look.” There is something beautiful about the awkward, ugly forms he portrays – they are endearing and familiar, and despite their distorted forms, I found I could empathize with them and feel their emotions. As I walked around his Mental States exhibition at The New Museum, I found myself wondering, “Is this how he sees people?” I got the sense of the artist as a curious, sincere and sympathetic soul, seeking to bring beauty, color, humor and humility to our everyday human experience. And after reading this interview in the Huffington Post, it seems I wasn’t too far off.

A friend of mine sent me this photograph. It’s an image taken in Cairo last week depicting Christian youths forming a perimeter to protect Muslims engaged in prayer. How wonderful, I thought… Yet, how sad. It’s wonderful to see this sense of brotherhood and unity in contrast to the norm. It’s sad this is not the norm.



*Interesting fact: The image to the left is in the first row if you do a google image search for “power tools.”

As part of our research for the WEFC’s Women & Social Icons Initiative, we watched the long version of this video.

It awakened me to the power of advertising, and to the insidious violence inherent in ads like this one I saw today (pictured below). Unfortunately, like for most of us, it’s not only normal to see these ads, but they have been foundational in the development of my belief & value systems about women, and consequently, about my self.

So how does advertising like this affect us on a subconscious level? How does using select faceless body parts affect our view of women, and our value and role in society? In “Killing Us Softly 4,” Jean Kilbourne states, “Turning a human being into a thing is almost always the first step in justifying violence against that person.”  Of course, this does not only apply to women.

For example, what if we see people as “viewers” rather than human beings?  As viewers, we are concerned with ratings and the revenues they will bring us.  Perhaps as human beings, we may concern ourselves with how the information affects them, how it may drive their values and choices, and, ultimately, how it drives society. Here’s an interesting article in the NYTimes.

The media may be the most powerful tool of our time. Like a scalpel, which in the hands of a surgeon can be used to save lives yet in the hands of a murderer to destroy them, this “power tool” is in our hands and how we use it should be of great concern to each of us.

This subject is of great interest to me and I will be writing more about it.  In the meantime, The Media Education Foundation is a great resource for anyone interested in the power of media and how it is used. Also check out their channel on YouTube.

The Science of Music: Sounds Wonderful | The Economist

“MUSIC is a mystery. It is unique to the human race: no other species produces elaborate sound for no particular reason. It has been, and remains, part of every known civilisation on Earth.”

This article about music captured my attention and delighted me. It aroused my love of music. I love the way music moves me, the way it touches my soul and invites it to dance, feel and express. Music connects me to my inner most self. Enjoy!

On his most recent visit to the US, I was privileged to hear His Holiness the Dalai Lama speak. First in Los Angeles, where he spoke mostly about Cultivating Compassion, in a series of events sponsored by Whole Child International; and then in Ft. Lauderdale, where he broached such subjects as The Responsibilities of Ethics in Higher Education In Today’s Society and Compassion as a Pillar of World Peace. Whether His Holiness’ message is global or specific, I always find it simple and beautiful, touching the hearts of all who hear it.

As I followed His Holiness from event to event, I began to think about my relationship with him and with Tibet. Why is this important to me? Why would I spend a week of my time following him, listening to him, supporting him?

I realized that, to me, His Holiness and Tibet represent my highest values: human values. When I look at the world and humanity, I see we are sorely lacking these values. It seems we believe, and are taught to do so from the minute we can perceive, that everything we need to fulfill us comes from the outside world.

His Holiness the Dalai Lama

When I hear His Holiness say over and again to the world – to celebrities, educators, leaders, politicians, and to the millions of people watching Larry King, the “real source of peace is inner peace,” it resonates with me. In stark contrast to almost everything else society teaches us, His Holiness advocates wherever he goes that joy, love, peace and security are not in things, but in us.

This message deeply resonates with me and is at the core of the World Ethical Foundations Consortium (WEFC.) If we believe our experience of peace and joy come from things, it is understandable we would want to protect and control having those things, and perceive each other as potential threats and perpetrators. If however we can experience reality – what we seek in things and others is in us – our perspective and feelings toward each other as humans can shift. Rather than see each other as threats to our happiness, we can see each other as the key to experiencing more.

This alignment of values and perspectives is why my relationship with His Holiness and with Tibet is so sacred to me. I have, and will continue to take a strong stance, in whatever way I can, supporting Tibet in its struggle with China simply because I see their struggle as humanity’s struggle and as my struggle. Tibet and China represent opposing forces within me: the struggle between my quest for internal peace and love, and my fixation with gaining those things from the external world. Supporting and upholding His Holiness and Tibet is supporting and upholding my own humanity. Every time I vote for him with my words or actions, I vote for a better, safer, more humane world, both internal and external to me.

A few years ago, I felt incredibly inspired listening to my friend and mentor Keith Raniere speak about what he hoped would become a new humanitarian trend. His vision caused me to rethink my concept of “cool,” as well as my relationship to what I consider “cool” and what it even means to be “cool.”

Have you ever thought about it?  What is cool?

According to Merriam-Webster:

Main Entry: ¹cool

Pronunciation: \ˈkül\

Function: adjective

Etymology: Middle English col, from Old English cōl; akin to Old High German kuoli cool, Old English ceald cold — more at cold

Date: before 12th century

1 : moderately cold : lacking in warmth
2 a : marked by steady dispassionate calmness and self-control <a cool and calculating administrator — Current Biography> b : lacking ardor or friendliness <a cool impersonal manner> c of jazz : marked by restrained emotion and the frequent use of counterpoint d : free from tensions or violence <meeting with minority groups in an attempt to keep the city cool>
3 —used as an intensive <a cool million dollars>
4 : marked by deliberate effrontery or lack of due respect or discretion <a cool reply>
5 : facilitating or suggesting relief from heat <a cool dress>
6 a of a color : producing an impression of being cool; specifically : of a hue in the range violet through blue to green b of a musical tone : relatively lacking in timbre or resonance
7 slang a : very good : excellent; also : all right b : fashionable, hip <not happy with the new shoes…because they were not cool — Celestine Sibley>

— cool·ish \ˈkü-lish\ adjective

— cool·ly also cooly \ˈkü(l)-lē\ adverb

— cool·ness \ˈkül-nəs\ noun

synonyms cool, composed, collected, unruffled, imperturbable, nonchalant mean free from agitation or excitement. cool may imply calmness, deliberateness, or dispassionateness <kept a cool head>. composed implies freedom from agitation as a result of self-discipline or a sedate disposition <the composed pianist gave a flawless concert>. collected implies a concentration of mind that eliminates distractions especially in moments of crisis <the nurse stayed calm and collected>. unruffled suggests apparent serenity and poise in the face of setbacks or in the midst of excitement <harried but unruffled>. imperturbable implies coolness or assurance even under severe provocation <the speaker remained imperturbable despite the heckling>. nonchalant stresses an easy coolness of manner or casualness that suggests indifference or unconcern <a nonchalant driver>.

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Interesting, isn’t it? “Cool,” the word we use to define what is acceptable, popular, desirous – even good! – in today’s world, is synonymous with “lacking in warmth” and “marked by steady dispassionate calmness,” “lacking ardor or friendliness,” “marked by restrained emotion,” and “indifference or unconcern.” Wow, how cool?

Yet, when I think of the best of humanity – the creators, inventors, thinkers, leaders, athletes and artists – they are anything but what we seem to call “cool.” Imagine Mother Teresa or the Dalai Lama “lacking in warmth, ardor or friendliness.” Imagine Beethoven or Picasso “marked by steady, dispassionate calmness.” Imagine if Gandhi or Mandela were “nonchalant” or Malcolm X “unruffled.” What great work of art, music, poetry, or prose was ever written “free from agitation or excitement?” What important evolution was born from a place of “indifference or unconcern?” None I can think of.

So it seems to me what we consider “cool” may not be forward moving for us as humans. What will motivate us to preserve our species if we don’t care? How will we overcome the maladies in the world with this cool indifference? How will we stop poverty, violence, war and destruction if its existence doesn’t ruffle us?

As a person of influence living in the most cosmopolitan city in the world, I recognize my responsibility in this skewed notion of cool, and as such, my capacity to change it. For as long as I can remember I have striven for coolness. I’ve worked hard to be cool; suppressing myself, hiding anything I cared about or liked, being careful not to show any emotion or spontaneous form of expression. I have been protecting myself against a misidentified enemy, armed with “cool.”

My goal for 2010 is to help inspire a new wave of cool. A cool synonymous with warmth and friendliness, care and concern. I want to create safe environments for people to disarm: to feel, connect, experience and express themselves. A global warming that really is man-made!  My starting point for this quest, of course, will be with myself. First, I must put away my weapons of self-destruction, arm myself with compassion, and melt all that remains “cool” inside me.

My relationship with poetry has always been somewhat obscure. Since I can remember, I have loved song lyrics, but never really taken an interest in poetry in its raw form.  Other than various renditions of “Roses are red, violets are blue,” the first poem I ever wrote was after I discovered my two friends had been shot dead in Las Vegas. I think it was called “Evil is alive and he’s living in Vegas!” I was so angry and confused, I had never experienced such deep or intense feelings. I remember I began to hear words in my head and I began to put them together, giving them form. Somehow, organizing my thoughts in a pattern and rhythm was soothing to me – a type of self-nurturing. And so my poems have become my friends, and in times when I experience intense emotions, as any good friend would, they alert me to my feelings and help me work them through. And while I know my poems come from me, I don’t always experience it as such. The following poem for example, came to me in the summer of 1999 when I was living in the Turks & Caicos Islands, and writing it was sort of like an exorcism. One morning, a day off, I awoke at 6:00 a.m with a burning urge to espouse the words ringing inside my head. It was as if someone else dictated the words to me, I barely even remember writing them.  Yet, the words were mine. Clearly I was moved by what I had seen, but I had been far too disconnected from myself to notice. I had lost my “Lady” for several years, and when I recently found her I realized I have cared about things, human things, for a long time. Poetry has been a gift to help me feel, experience and express the things that move me. I hope everyone finds in his or her life at least one such gift.

LADY IN THE BACK OF A TRUCK (1999)

She was sitting in the back of a truck when I saw her. 

A lady. 

Her robes were blue, the colour of the sky and green, like the shrubs bouncing by. 

She wore rings on her fingers, yet I could not see her toes 

As out of the clutter she sank and rose, 

A lady – in the back of a truck. 

On her face she wore dignity, her head she held high 

For no bouncing could dishevel the beauty inside 

The lady – in the back of the truck. 

As I peered beyond her, with scrutinous eyes 

I stared in wonder at the slender youth driving. 

Honking and waving and carrying on, 

Disregarding the lady, bouncing along 

With the clutter, in the back of the truck. 

“Did no-one ever teach you respect?” 

(I said in my mind) 

“For she who bares the fruit of mankind? 

She cares for and nurtures you, helps you survive 

Yet she sits in the back of your truck 

With the clutter – bouncing along?” 

And just as my anger began to rise, to a heat at which blood boils, 

I looked back at the lady and she was looking at me, 

With eyes that seemed to be talking. 

She had heard my thoughts, and to them replied: 

“Child, it’s better than walking.”