Sunday, September 20, 2009

The prayer offering

"As-salama 3alaykum wa ra7mat Allah. As-salama 3alaykum wa ra7mat Allah."

She sits, cloked in prayer garb and serenity...
...but with a heavy heart.

She cups her hands to mimic angel wings...
....but draws them in to capture her psalm.

She says:
"Sub7an il Malik il Qodoos, Rubb il mala'ika wal ro7...
...ya Allah, ya 7abibi...

Thank you for blessing me with this opportunity to pray."

She looks up at the ceiling, searching for the Spirit, and envisioning God's expanse looking down at her...
...but through teary eyes, all she sees is the film of fluid and everything remains unclear.

She continues:
"Bshkorak ya Allah lal shahr il mubarak, Ramadan...
...but I'm scared now that it's over.

Evil has been re-released into the world...
...but we are celebrating 3eed?"

She looks down at her hands and feels a lump in her throat and a salty bead on her lip.

She offers this prayer:
"Ya Allah, please help us carry the spirit of Ramadan forward..
...to harvest it in our hearts and heads, and to grow it with love and purity every day.

Ya Allah, let us be kind to one another and seek out the good...
...rather that smirk and summon the evil.

Ya Allah, build our strength so that we may resist temptation...
...and turn ourselves into soldiers of spirituality."

She sits taller, and feels the tears drying on her cheek, and speaks with more confidence:
"Ya Allah, remind us that none of us can judge any other. You alone are The Judge.

Ya Allah, help us to prefer forgiveness...
...help us to prefer pulling each other up rather than pushing each other down.

Ya Allah, remind us to appreciate and say, "Al 7amdulilah..."
...and remind us to be charitable."

She closes her eyes, cups her hands closer to her face, and whispers:
"Ya Allah, please keep my parents in the warmth of your love...
...and my grandparents and my aunts and uncles and my cousins and all of their families and friends and all of my friends and their families and friends...(Allah y7fazkom jamee3kom)...
...and forgive us all.

Ya Allah, help me to be a better daughter, grandaughter, niece, cousin, family member, friend, and acquaintance to them all...
...and a better Muslim and insha'Allah a mu'mina.

Ya Allah, strengthen the spirits and iman of those who have less than us and more than us and the same as us...
...and remind us that we are all humans, not one better than the other...
...and remind us that we will leave the material world with nothing but our souls and our deeds.

Ya Allah, remind us to hoard good deeds rather than meaningless materials...
...but bless the hard-working, whose intentions are pure and sincere...(Allah ya3teekom il 3afeeya)...
...and bless us with the intelligence to follow in the example of the Prophets, may peace be upon them, to make this temporary world a better place.

Ya Allah, make this world a better place."

And just before she cradles her face with her hands, her soul speaks:
"Ya Allah, bless me with the opportunity to be a mother, to be like my mother--the love of my life--and to harvest that love in my heart and self, and to grow it with more love and purity, and release it into the world."

She continues, speaking aloud:
"...but You are Most-Wise and know better than I whether I will be fit and have been formed to take that role..."

And whispering through fresh tears, she adds:
"...and I will accept the fate that You have prescribed for me...
...and I am patient and submit to Your Will..."

And she hopes:
"Ya Allah, bless me with the opportunity to be a mother."

She wipes her face with her palms and her psalm, and she sits silently.
She knows and feels the love she has for everyone she named in her prayer (she loves them and sacrifices every ounce of herself for them. Her love for them is absolutely genuine)...
...and she tears for them and herself...
...feeling that evil will now be lurking and tugging and that it will likely be interrupting her prayers to come.

She sits taller, and responds to her fear with confidence:
"La, insha'Allah la!"

And with that, she grabs her prayer beads and recites "Allahu akbar" and "Sub7an Allah" and "Al 7amdulilah" 33 times each...
...and she feels secure and OK; she knows Allah will make everything right.

She returns the masba7a to its holding place, presses her right palm against her bed and her left palm against her leg to stand, and says:
"Ya Allah."

She smiles.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Naseem il ney

There is a breeze that passes over and through me but leaves all too quickly. I look back, searching for the soul that ran away. I look forward..."Where did the zephyr go, and when will she return?"

I continue to walk under the sun, eyes closed and arms open...waiting for her to embrace me again; to re-place me into her trance.

But she does not come.

The ney whispers in my ear his summons to the dear naseem to visit me. He pipes and pulls and prays for the wind's safe return: "Oh that you are Allah's warm, sweet breath...Come and wash over this fasting walker, dehydrated and longing for you to protect and propel her."

"ON YOUR LEFT!": I hear the cyclist's jarring warning interrupt my song. I keep to my side and stare beyond him and his hoard. "It is not you I am concerned with," I think. "Leave me and go. I only long for il hawa. She is the one I will respond to. As for you, cyclist, stay left, pass, and vanish."

I let the negative energy evaporate from me into the still air, and il ney blows his highest pitch at it, launching it to chase the cyclists and push them farther away. This release creates a holey place for my beloved breeze to travel in and out and through freely.

"Ya Allah....ya Allah," my heart beats. It too awaits its refreshment.

I continue to walk forward.

Suddenly, a tress is lifted by an invisible force, and a spirit wafts into my nostrils-larnyx-pharnyx-trachea-lungs. Il hawa granted il ney his wish, and I am the beneficiary.

The wind has fully embraced me now. She swivels with the sounds of her companion ney in a beautiful infant tornado that only I can feel and that is not mature enough to carry me away.

And then, sprinting through adulthood and racing for death, il hawa settles down and dies. Il ney and I are left to mourn--we pray for il naseem's rest and rebirth.

I open my eyes to the sights of the trail and the cyclists that pedal passed. I do not see the zephyr but I know that she is gathering herself so that she may greet me again.

"Allah ykhaleek ya ashlab Shalabi u ya3teek il 3afeeya...inta wil ney." A tress lifts up and caresses my brow. The breeze is reborn.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Today, I am...

Today, I am...

...awake at 5:53 a.m., full on cereal, peanut butter, and coffee, and now fasting but not sure whether Allah will officially accept it.

...thinking about the cancelled phone calls of the week and the surprise text message exchange about a dream that I wish was true.

...an oxymoron: filled to the brim with cynicism, anger, and melancholy, and coated in hope, fashion, and spirituality.

...hoping that the Jewish reggae artist is not a Zionist (research suggests he is not); his music is good, and it would be quite a shame if he was that stupid.

...a lover of efficient music by intelligent people.

...staring at a bulletin board of my life, and realizing that I haven't tacked much on in the past two years.

...transported by the Nescafe Red Mug label to the Ramallah market in which 3amo bought me the coffee. He has such a lovely smile, masha'Allah.

...smirking: my dad is a funny man.

...am not intimidated by others: I don't care what your title is or how much money you're worth. You have no superpowers. We are both humans and equal.

...appreciative of others' opinions.

...sure I'll break my 5-day "no workout" streak.

...something new; tomorrow, I will be too.