Self-Discipline
The Dead Sea has the aura of being on another planet - everything is strangely surreal. Only a few kilometres from its edges I was huddled into my jacket, protecting myself against the Jordanian winter while at its edges the air was a consistent, smooth heat like a very slow oven. Earlier, I had eaten a buffet lunch in the restaurant where a large group of Asian men were jovially consuming theirs. At one point, one of the men got up and offerred me an orange - I smiled graciously and accepted it to the jubilant shouts of his companions. Strangely they didn't seem interested in going to the Dead Sea at all but I could barely restrain myself from gobbling up my food before getting changed into what the Lonely Planet had described as acceptable attire for swimming in the Middle East. Ironically, although I was in long shorts and a loose shirt I felt more exposed than when I wear a bikini at the Gold Coast. Middle Eastern codes of behaviour were so enormously rigid and I had already attracted more than a comfortable amount of attention as a pale, blue-eyed woman travelling alone.
I picked my way down through thatch-roofed shelters on timber poles that provided convenient squares of shade for people to picnic under. A girl called out to me and invited me to join her and two male companions. Delighted to find company I sat down with them and discovered they were all university students my age who spoke fairly fluent English. One of them was especially fascinating. He had golden-brown skin, a lean, toned physique and the most brilliant blue eyes I have ever seen. He was very serious, rarely made eye contact and was always frowning as if everything he did, even lounging by the Dead Sea was a gravely serious matter. He deliberately took no interest in what I said so it came as a surprise when he offerred to accompany me into the water.
The Dead Sea stretched motionless to the horizon - sparkling and calm in the midst of dry and lifeless desert. Stepping into it I was fooled into thinking it was like any other water, my feet sunk into the black mud and I was wading effortlessly. But then as I slid into it, my body became effortlessly buoyant. I giggled and rolled around as if I was on a waterbed. My companion was studiously quiet and lay on his back. I lay on my back too and we both gazed at the infinite blue above. We talked about everything from politics to religion and the things that we enjoyed doing that politics and religion didn't prohibit. "Do you have a boyfriend?" he then asked at one point. I wasn't surprised by the question. Generally in the first few minutes of meeting someone in Jordan you were asked about your personal particulars. As a foreigner passing through it felt unusually comfortable to share them honestly with whoever asked and to ask them in return. "Yes." I replied although it was mostly out of habit (the relationship was in death throes). There was a pause and then he asked, "Is he as beautiful as me?" I laughed and replied, "I don't think there is any man as beautiful as you Iman." His serious demeanour remained and we began to talk about how Jordanian youth conduct relationships under Islamic law. No affection in public. No extra-marital sex (unless it was the back door kind). No being alone with someone of the opposite sex. From my companion's behaviour I could tell that he didn't like these codes of behaviour but fulfilled them to the letter. Still no eye contact. Not out of shyness but out of deference to the fact that a look shared between me and him could corrupt him and that in itself, was punishable by law.
I expressed an interest in slathering the nutrient-rich Dead Sea mud on my skin so he led me to a nearby bank where we sat down and began to apply it to ourselves. He reprimanded me for scooping up the mud and carelessly smearing it on my lower leg. "You do it like this." he said and rubbed some mud between his hands until it reached a smooth consistency. Then he expertly smoothed it over the side of my calf. Only millimetres of cool mud separated his flesh from mine. It surprised me that he could remain so aloof and stern or to withdraw his hand and allow me to complete the task.
After we applied the mud to our legs and arms we re-entered the water. We stood in front of each other, the warm, salty water running down our skin. He was as relaxed in his mental discipline as I was not. I was aching to draw closer to but the carefully maintained space between us was as tangible as the water around us. He took some mud and began to apply it with concentrated care to my face. I gazed at him with open, uninhibited desire. For a brief moment his eyes returned the same look then agonisingly, swiftly withdrew. At his request, I smoothed mud over his face with barely composed fingers. Finally, the sun began to sink low and we swam reluctantly back to the shore.
I said goodbye and as I was walking away I realised that I had discovered something new about desire - it only increases with the amount of respect and self-discipline that goes with it.
I picked my way down through thatch-roofed shelters on timber poles that provided convenient squares of shade for people to picnic under. A girl called out to me and invited me to join her and two male companions. Delighted to find company I sat down with them and discovered they were all university students my age who spoke fairly fluent English. One of them was especially fascinating. He had golden-brown skin, a lean, toned physique and the most brilliant blue eyes I have ever seen. He was very serious, rarely made eye contact and was always frowning as if everything he did, even lounging by the Dead Sea was a gravely serious matter. He deliberately took no interest in what I said so it came as a surprise when he offerred to accompany me into the water.
The Dead Sea stretched motionless to the horizon - sparkling and calm in the midst of dry and lifeless desert. Stepping into it I was fooled into thinking it was like any other water, my feet sunk into the black mud and I was wading effortlessly. But then as I slid into it, my body became effortlessly buoyant. I giggled and rolled around as if I was on a waterbed. My companion was studiously quiet and lay on his back. I lay on my back too and we both gazed at the infinite blue above. We talked about everything from politics to religion and the things that we enjoyed doing that politics and religion didn't prohibit. "Do you have a boyfriend?" he then asked at one point. I wasn't surprised by the question. Generally in the first few minutes of meeting someone in Jordan you were asked about your personal particulars. As a foreigner passing through it felt unusually comfortable to share them honestly with whoever asked and to ask them in return. "Yes." I replied although it was mostly out of habit (the relationship was in death throes). There was a pause and then he asked, "Is he as beautiful as me?" I laughed and replied, "I don't think there is any man as beautiful as you Iman." His serious demeanour remained and we began to talk about how Jordanian youth conduct relationships under Islamic law. No affection in public. No extra-marital sex (unless it was the back door kind). No being alone with someone of the opposite sex. From my companion's behaviour I could tell that he didn't like these codes of behaviour but fulfilled them to the letter. Still no eye contact. Not out of shyness but out of deference to the fact that a look shared between me and him could corrupt him and that in itself, was punishable by law.
I expressed an interest in slathering the nutrient-rich Dead Sea mud on my skin so he led me to a nearby bank where we sat down and began to apply it to ourselves. He reprimanded me for scooping up the mud and carelessly smearing it on my lower leg. "You do it like this." he said and rubbed some mud between his hands until it reached a smooth consistency. Then he expertly smoothed it over the side of my calf. Only millimetres of cool mud separated his flesh from mine. It surprised me that he could remain so aloof and stern or to withdraw his hand and allow me to complete the task.
After we applied the mud to our legs and arms we re-entered the water. We stood in front of each other, the warm, salty water running down our skin. He was as relaxed in his mental discipline as I was not. I was aching to draw closer to but the carefully maintained space between us was as tangible as the water around us. He took some mud and began to apply it with concentrated care to my face. I gazed at him with open, uninhibited desire. For a brief moment his eyes returned the same look then agonisingly, swiftly withdrew. At his request, I smoothed mud over his face with barely composed fingers. Finally, the sun began to sink low and we swam reluctantly back to the shore.
I said goodbye and as I was walking away I realised that I had discovered something new about desire - it only increases with the amount of respect and self-discipline that goes with it.
Kalikapsychosis