Islam prohibits gambling. Actually, it prohibits a lot of things. I follow Islam as long as it doesn't hinder my expedition for adventure and allows me to chase my imaginations. Well, illusions most of the time. Now taking in no account of what impressionists and pseudo-intellectuals might say about this, I must say the Islam I follow encourages the search, the logic, and the adventure. Yes, all right but does it allow gambling? Well encouraging is another thing but it certainly doesn't prohibit. Not just gambling but anything. It believes in something like "Go check it out your self!!"...
Gambling can be like living. In gambling, there is just one action leading to a series of repercussions and aftermaths. You might play well, you might not. You might win, you might not! Whether it is lusciously kissing diva or scrupulously hitting security, everything lasts for some tiny edges of time. It’s so ironically amazing. When you are gaming and you have put everything on stake, the wheel stops in just few seconds deciding everything that is going to happen next. The action which segregates and then eliminates the losers from the winners is extremely short-lived and yet incredibly precise. It seems that as the gamblers bet for their lives, the wheel just keeps on playing a much safer game. “Pick The Odd One Out!” I constantly feel that we are gambling with life itself on stake. Choosing career, choosing mate, crossing road, riding bike, there are no tallies how many times in our lives we actually game. Yes, we might be meticulous of the action but just like gambling, the deciding action is very short lived and we are completely unaware of what is coming next. But we play, don’t we? And surely somewhere, somebody is playing that safer game… pick the odd one out!!
The Nausea has given me a short breathing spell. But I know it will come back again: it is my normal state. Only today my body is too exhausted to stand it. Invalids also have happy moments of weakness which take away the consciousness of their illness for a few hours. I am bored, that's all. From time to time I yawn so widely that tears roll down my cheek. It is a profound boredom,profound, the profound heart of existence, the very matter I am made of. I do not neglect myself, quite the contrary: this morning I took a bath and shaved. Only when I think back over those careful little actions, I cannot understand how I was able to make them: they are so vain. Habit, no doubt, made them for me. They aren't dead, they keep on busying themselves, gently, insidiously weaving their webs, they wash me, dry me, dress me, like nurses. Did they also lead me to this hill? I can't remember how I came any more. Probably up the Escalier Dautry: did I really climb up its hundred and ten steps one by one? What is perhaps more difficult to imagine is that I am soon going to climb down again. Yet I know I am: in a moment I shall find myself at the bottom of the Coteau Vert, if I raise my head, see in the distance the lighting windows of these houses which are so close now. In the distance. Above my head; above my head; and this instant which I cannot leave, which locks me in andlimits me on every side, this instant I am made of will be no more than a confused dream.
Nausea- Jean Paul Sartare
