In the Bosom of Abraham

Recently I discovered the bosom of Abraham. I stumbled across this comfortable place during the preparatory research for a talk I had been invited to give at the Shaykh Jamaluddeen Centre in Durban. The conference theme was 'The Universality of Abrahamic Faiths', and I had chosen to take a comparative look at the divine revelations of the three Abrahamic faiths - i.e. the Torah, the Christian Bible and the Qur'an - but I soon found myself in trouble and troubled. In trouble because this was a vast subject beyond my experience - how could I ever do it justice in the time allotted -  and troubled because the further I looked into these scriptures, the more differences I began to find - and surely the theme begged the evocation of convergence, not divergence. Furthermore, Shaykh Jamaluddeen, in whose honour the conference had been called, had himself epitomized a religious evolution through the three faiths. Born of a Jewish mother, he had attended catholic seminary, excelled in his studies, became a papal envoy to South Africa, where  he embraced Islam, and to where he eventually returned to become an 'Alim. Above all people, he seemed to have rested in the Bosom of Abraham and found peace there. I too needed to find that peace.

Romanesque capital from the priory of Aspach Alsace, ca 1000-1200 CE

Represented in Judao-Christian art, music, architecture and religious mythology as symbolic of being close to God or in favour with God, this potent image encapsulated for me an overriding truth of spirituality that comforted me and gave me considerable solace. Going beyond these three religions, the thread of universality and tawhid could be pulled out of the dense historical weave by returning to the bosom of Abraham and the way of the hanif - upright, worshiping the One God. After all, this is the core, the nub of these religions: One god, one Source of all creational manifestation, One Power, Omniscient, Omnipresent, beyond our capacity to conceive of, worthy of adoration and worship.

c. 1700  Eastern Orthodox icon where Christ is surrounded

 by angels and saints, at bottom is Paradise with Bosom of Abraham

Christians have long 'rocked' their souls in the bosom of Abraham thanks to Elvis Presley, Peter, Paul & Mary and the worshipful world of Gospel song. For me, embedded within the Islamic tradition, this exposure was a new discovery! The closest I have come to singing his remembrance is in the invocation of blessings upon the Prophet Muhammad (S) and Hazrat Ibrahim (A.S) (Durood Ibrahimi). As with many such symbols, its origins are layered over in several possibilities. Ancient Judaic lore has it that guests would traditionally recline practically in the bosom of their host while eating. As the arch patriarch Abraham's progeny and followers are symbolically gathered there. In Luke 16:22-23 there is the story of how the angels carried Lazarus to rest in the bosom of Abraham while a rich man who dies is not so welcomed. Lazarus is therefore accepted as one of the favoured, for Abraham himself and his progeny have been favoured by God (Genesis 12:7, 13:15 etc) and promised the land of Canaan. The biblical stories regularly highlight Abraham's concern with continuity of his line and the promise of land for him and his people. Indeed, in this favoured status and the exclusivity of its claim lie much of the seeds of the modern conflict in biblical lands, as its inspires the settler movement among other strands of seemingly non-negotiable beliefs.

The Judaeo-Christian story telling us of the generous welcome and hosting of three mysterious beings (angels, or according to Christian belief, two angels and the Lord himself) by Abraham adds another dimension - his hospitality. This is confirmed too in the Qur'an (51:24). They are there to inform him and Sarah that they would have a child of their own - news of which prompts Sarah to scoff laughingly at the seeming impossibility of such an event given their age.  (By this time of course Isma'il had been born to Ibrahim and Hajar, her former maidservant, a union Sarah herself had pushed Ibrahim into and which she subsequently was unable to bear due to mounting jealousy.)  The hospitable generosity with which Abraham welcomes this trio marks this as one of Abraham's trademark characteristics among his descendants and followers.

From further readings it seems that in later Jewish belief, the bosom of Abraham came to represent a 'sheol' (to Muslims a barzakh), a resting place before moving on to the next life, while in later Christian belief his bosom came to symbolize heaven (see Matthew 8:11, where Jesus describes the destiny of good men from the east and west to feast with Abraham in heaven along with Jacob and Isaac.). As a celestial being, Abraham is the arch patriarch for all three religions, and it is in him that all three faiths can converge, regardless of variation in the scriptural, 'his'torical accounts.

Cenotaph of Abraham in the Cave of the Patriarchs beneath the Ibrahimi Mosque in Hebron

When we talk of Abraham we have to go beyond what we think of as history. Even biblical archaeology has not been able to come up with conclusive evidence about Abraham's life, just material with which to flesh out a semblance of what life was like at that time, and why his family may have migrated from from Ur, to Haran, then Egypt, Canaan, and, according to Muslims,to the Hijaz. All traces remain hypothetical - the footprints at Maqam Ibrahim next to the Ka'abah notwithstanding - and a matter of belief. His burial place however, is agreed upon by all three faiths.

It is more important to me to think of Ibrahim as the Qur'an describes him, as neither Muslim, nor Christian nor Jew, but hanif, pure in his monotheism and as khalilu'Llah - the friend of Allah. I like to think about this unusual being who boldly rejects his father's idolatrous ways and all the idol-worship around him, his ingenuity in showing the utter powerlessness of their false deities, his yearning for some permanent, overarching power that can embrace all the various natural phenomena he witnesses and experiences. I think about his patience and bravery in being willing to uproot himself and move around, his trust in the call from God, his incredible steadiness and certainty in fulfilling the command of his Lord in being willing to sacrifice the most precious thing to him, his son.

Does it matter whether it was Isaac/Ishaq or Ishmael/Isma'il? Only if you are trying to prove a doctrine of exclusivity or inclusivity. Where have claims to exclusivity on earth led mankind but into conflict, battle, bloodshed and injustice? Islam teaches us that no man is better than another simply by birth. This equality seems eminently reasonable to modern man.  As Muslims we take for granted so much our beloved Prophet Muhammad (S), but what he brought to his people and his times was truly revolutionary. He tried to replace the planes of kinship and tribalism among the Arabs with new ones of spiritual brotherhood and friendship in the belief of the oneness of God and the interconnectedness of  creation, of the seen and unseen, or this life with the next. Almost the entirety of one of our major modes of worship, the Hajj pilgrimage,  devolves from Hazrat Ibrahim's life and time. The Qur'an abounds in references to him and many of his supplications to Allah. Even the salutations - the proper Durood - we send upon the prophet Muhammad and his family includes Hazrat Ibrahim and his. The line of the Abrahamic lineage of prophets is reconnected to its spiritual source and there, looped in the bosom of Abraham, the father of all nations of the then known world, we can claim a unity, a common bond, a brotherhood, that transcends the advent of history.

Only in the experience of unity can we find peace.

A Light Case of DURD

I confess it: I have a mild case of DURD (pronounced almost like 'dirt' in a scots brogue). To an Urdu speaker 'durd' means pain. A Persian speaker would pronounce it 'dard' (almost like 'dad'), but it would mean the same thing.


DURD is actually my contribution to the burgeoning DSM list of mental health syndromes. In my world it stands for: Disaffection Upon Reentry Disorder.

Its a mild case of losing that unitive way of perception I try hard to maintain. Hence the disaffection. Whenever you see two, there is conflict and confusion. The reentry is returning to my habitat of the last decade: Karachi. The twoness comes from being plucked out of one environment - in this case South Africa over the last two weeks -  and thrust back into my usual orbit of mundane existence.
 
You may conclude that I am experiencing grief because of comparing the two places. Not so. I actually appreciate each on their own merits. I love Karachi. I love SA. You will have to trust me on this for to make my case would be to deflect from this post. I'm too old to believe any longer that any one place is better than another. Comparisons usually boil down to being six of one thing and half a dozen of the other. And I'm comfortable with the idea of trade-offs. Contrasts in time and place provide the texture of life - the silks, the rough weaves, the intarsias, the devorées - without which everything would be boring old cambric. C'est la vie!

The Durd I experience is akin to a space shuttle returning to the earth's atmosphere. If a space shuttle could talk, I'm sure it would grimace with the loss of a few tiles and sealants as it bursts through into our oxidizing atmosphere. It might even weep. I have done neither. I merely feel disconnected, like a non-participant observer. Moving as if in a dream. Maybe a slither of jet lag lends a certain fuzziness. Or soul lag. I heard somewhere that for every hour flown it takes a day for the soul to adjust and catch up. Maybe I should write this post in two weeks then?

Why mention my private ailment at all? There was a time when my DURD would have been located in my heart strings - the heart being wrenched from its attachments. These days, it is merely a certain creeping sadness at parting from some of my beloveds. My father, mother, family and close friends on the path. With them I am privileged to share such a communion of the spirit and soul that every nook and cranny of life - ie life as I perceive it - becomes suffused with joyfulness.

Among the people of the path, the degree of reflectivity is so intense that all shadows are banished. Light dominates and intoxicates. To dive further into this: it is the light of the Shaykh that banishes our ego-shadows. So pure and polished is his reflective mirror, so unconditionally loving is his gaze, we are rendered pure and ennobled by it. Remove it and the tenebrous tones of selfhood start to creep back in. The nafs rears its head and reclaims its territory. We are prisoners once more as heedlessness (ghaflah) takes over.

While he was among his people, the Nur (light) of the Prophet Muhammad (S) enrobed everyone around him in nobility and honour. Once that light dimmed, egos once again reasserted themselves to varying degrees. And our history is made up of those battles between the higher and the lower forces impelling man into history.

There's good news for sufferers of DURD, however. No shaykh worth their spiritual salt seeks to maintain a coterie of hangers on. The teacher is there to help you learn and own that knowledge for yourself, not to create co-dependency. His task is to help dis-illusion you from the self's multiple veils. Shakyh Fadhlalla often humorously alludes to his failure as a shaykh for when he looks around the room he sees the same faces. Clearly they have not got the message and moved on yet, he has often commented laughingly. That may be true, for our path pivots on acknowledging our helplessness and neediness. Being faqir is that: poor in one's need of Allah.

But our seeking to be in his company is more often the pull to feast at the banquet of love that his presence cannot but help show us. Where we see through a glass darkly, the shaykhly presence illuminates and scintillates. He helps us see that, after all, 'And Allah's is the East and the West, and wherever you turn there is the face of Allah; indeed Allah is all-Encompassing, all-Knowing.'[2:115]

The Art of Making Kefir & the OKK

What is the use of spirituality if you don't have a healthy body in which to enjoy the fruits of higher consciousness? Or to put it another way, how can you let your higher consciousness predominate your waking awareness if you are constantly bogged down by ill health?

Enter Kefir: a strange, spongiform colony of bacteria and cocci that transforms milk (even water) into a health drink that reputedly keeps the inhabitants of the Caucasus mountains, its place of origin, healthy well into their 100's. Though this lactic acid flavoured drink resembles yoghurt, it is definitely not generated in the same way -  no heating of the milk is necessary.

Kefir is a pro-biotic superfood rich in nutrients like vitamins, pro-vitamins and minerals in a highly digestible form, which makes it excellent for the ailing and infirm, the elderly, or the time-challenged. Its a general immune booster, is said to slow tumour growth and help destroy harmful bacteria in the gut.

I came by our first batch of kefir grains from a health shop in the old part of Palma de Mallorca, oh, some 25 years ago. I don't recall if I'd set out to acquire this mysterious culture that day, or whether it had been merely gifted to me by the Birkenstock shod health shop owner whose credo it was to keep sharing this god-given health promoter. She in turn had received it from a Swiss pilot who had picked it up somewhere in the Caucasus. There was no question of payment.

To a Muslim or Arab speaker, the word kefir (pronounced ke-feer) may sound suspiciously akin to kufr (pronounce ku-fer). Which is of course translated as denial or rejection of reality and by extension disbelief in the divinely revealed way of living and worshiping. Rest assured it shares absolutely no common etymological root,  but probably derives from a Turkish work meaning milk foam. Or possibly from 'kef', another Turkish word meaning 'pleasure.'  In fact, the wholesomeness of this incredible miracle agent is mythologized in an interesting story about its origins among the tribes of the Caucasus: 'These tribes believed that the grains were given to them by the Prophet Muhammad, who blessed them with exceptional health-promoting properties. As a result, the tribes were forbidden to share the grains or the method of preparing kefir with outsiders.' Clearly the Swiss pilot had charmed someone out of some of their culture!

The main proponent and consumer of the kefir fermented milk in our family is my father. Indeed, it is his expertise in nurturing these little critters (we call them animales - pron. 'animahl-less') that we rely upon. In this matter too he is my Shaykh! Over the years he has learnt to tweak them into a perfection of spongy white tubular colonies, and while he upholds the tradition of giving away the culture free, he also regularly plies visitors with his kefir-based concoctions and even travels with small globules of them so as to keep himself supplied with this elixir of health. Having been made the happy recipient of such a starter batch from his recent visit, I have already inducted two friends into the Order of Kefir Knights (Note: you are still in your probationary period!). That is to say I have shared the burgeoning culture with them and shown them how to cultivate it. Should you wish to be ordained into the OKK, do contact me.

Though there is a methodology to producing milk kefir, it is also an art. You have to be fully cognizant of all the elements converging to create this magical drink, such as ambient temperature, quality of milk, jug material, sifting utensils, gentleness in the handling, time allowed for fermentation and so on. For example, never use UHT milk with kefir. The grains don't like it and will reward your efforts with a goopy, execrable sludge. Use fresh milk. I prefer a skimmed cow's milk to the richer buffalo available here, but I'm sure goat's or sheep's milk would be even better. I also like to talk to my kefir grains to encourage them.

Another critical consideration is the time alotted to fermentation. If left alone it will keep fermenting. Since I love sour things, its not a problem for me, but if you are trying to dose elderly grandparents or fussy children with the stuff, be sure to learn when your batch is ready before it ages further. The point of readiness is when it is like a thick milk, before the clumping stage.


Kefir can be used just as is or in smoothies. If left too long to ferment, especially without an occasional stir, the whey separates from the solids and a kefir cheese coagulates around the spongiform blobs which then have to gently  shaken to release it. My father discourages the use of water for chlorine contaminates the flavour. Mineral water is ok. I simply spoon back over the already strained kefir milk over the clump of culture so as to loosen it up. The cheese can be used like any sharp cream cheese - mix it with crushed garlic, black pepper and fresh herbs like mint or dill for a great spread. You can experiment using kefir in the place of buttermilk or yoghurt in pancakes, scones, sourdough bread, Asian flatbreads and even in Asian curries like 'kurhi' ( delicious vegetarian pakora curry) - excellent if you have been left with kefir that is too tart for your palate.

Although in the past I occasionally went through revivalist phases of cultivating this refreshing libation, I have never managed to keep it up as in my home I have been the sole consumer, unable to arouse equivalent enthusiasm in the other inhabitants of our household.  Quite frankly, the warm temperatures of my Karachi kitchen is like a steroid shot to these li'l ol' bacteria: what should take at least 18-24, if not 36 hours, to ferment properly, is often ready within 6-10 hours. Thus I find we cannot keep up with flow. Being awash with bountiful kefir without appreciative recipients is more than my conscience can handle. They are living creatures after all.

Are you ready to become a member of the OKK?

Light-Detector Heart

October was a busy month. And the start of November. I was so busy being in the moment I didn't have time to process or analyze. Just had to be! Or was I becoming? Particle or wave? Cue emoticon for wink.

My father was visiting Pakistan after a gap of two and a half years. This much maligned but blessed country has long provided an orbital pull on him. In his early days of awakening to his higher purpose he dedicated much time and wealth to working with people in this land. He even went far down the path of trying to move his whole family here, buying land and starting to build, but that plan never came to fruition and South Africa claimed him instead.

And here is where we leave off the father part and start the teacher bit. Shaykh Fadhlalla Haeri has been my teacher and guide since my late teens. It was one of those things I knew at the age of 18 beyond conscious thought: he would be my teacher, like it or lump it. And even though I had cause to reconsider this state of affairs many years later, I chose, once again, his light, his flavour, the offering of his portal to higher wisdom sciences that would help me 'become' who I am in essence.


In the early days of his spiritual awakening, he would regularly go 'wali-hunting', that is, travelling throughout the Muslim world to meet and commune with beings of light, living or deceased. In Pakistan that meant he travelled through Sindh and Punjab visiting the shrines, taking the light detector of his heart to observe and feel the traces of luminescence left in their wake. He also connected deeply with a few living beings, the more prominent among them being: Shaykh Ikram Chishti, a hakim and shaykh in Hyderabad, Sufi Barkat Ali with his Qur'an 'hospital' near Faisalabad, and a humble soul known as Samandari Baba who lived on the very edge of Karachi, in a hut made of  marine flotsam and jetsam which barely stayed above sea level.

Several of his students, myself included, have been the beneficiaries of these exposures.  Over the years, many have come from abroad to experience something of the legacy of these awliya, and a few of them have been fortunate enough to accompany Shaykh Fadhlalla on these trips. These are my favourite types of adventures, for with such a highly calibrated tuning fork in our midst, miracles often happen. Not that we are looking for miracles per se; Shaykh Fadhlalla often emphasizes that mere breath is a miracle - so what more sign could one want? And indeed the very word miracle in Arabic, mu'jizah, derives from a verb which means to be weak and feeble, as if to imply that one's trust and faith being weak, one seeks the supernatural in order to be restored to the essentially deeper state of knowingness that all is from the One, sustained by the One, and returning to the One.

What I mean is that we get to be in the midst of serendipitous confluences of hearts and events, where aha! moments abound, epiphanies wash away our virtual cataracts, and sheer humility in the previously unappreciated paradoxes of human experience floods our veins. In his company we are shown how to witness perfection. We tend to give better attention, to  notice, to hear, to listen carefully, because we are accompanying a being who has truly aligned all the feathers of his self with the light beacon of his soul. And that's a delicious slipstream to fly in.

Poem - Arabesque

 

In the Now

you don't wonder how

to be

or what

to do

you just melt

in a glissade

and jeté

                  into a chassé

               then fly by in

                           a  t o u r   e n   l’ a i r e

without knowing these names

dug in French

scripted

into motion

for your language

needs

no

words

to

pirouette

in

When 'Being' Takes a Backseat

The outer trumps the inner. I'm just bouncing out of a course of antibiotics which I had to take for a terrible strep throat/flu caught, no doubt, by regular visits to a local hospital for much needed physiotherapy on my injured right arm. The course was for 10 days. As the week wore on I noticed a downward slide in my vital force. By day 9 my body had had it and went on strike. I could feel my system being burnt up and instinct told me to stop the abx then and there, and go cold turkey from food of any kind, draw the curtains and huddle in bed. It usually  takes a lot to knock me off my feet but for 18 hours I withdrew from the dominion of Domestos and other activities.

Taking the pulse of my inner energy, I was reminded how my outer, physical condition can impinge on my inner. I had begun to feel less connected inwardly, and less able to tap into the zone of inner joy. Prayers started to feel peremptory. I did not feel present. I stopped noticing the things that can trigger delight - sparrows fluttering around the lilac blossomed Lignum trees in the garden, the creamy caress of the evening breeze.  The murderous sweep of the abx was not only killing off unwelcome bacteria. My energies were imploding, but not towards my soul consciousness, rather, the animal and vegetative. Can consciousness be so intricately linked to the health of gut flora?! That awaits another blogpost!

Yielding to the outer need for rest and abstention helped turn the corner and now my vital force is back in charge, directing me and inspiring me to regain my physical equilibrium. At all times Allah is the Healer - al-Shafi. And it is this attribute that I am invoking more these days.

 

This period also coincided with several terrible events which also started to suck away at my vital force. Local massacres of Shi'as, a minor, Christian girl, mentally challenged to boot, accused of blaspheming the Qur'an, two factory blazes in which scores of people lost their lives because no fire escapes were available, the explosion of indignation and violence across the Muslim world in response to a poorly made video film insulting Islam and denigrating the Prophet's character. And then a horrible case that highlights how vulnerable women are in this society: a girl who had been lured, exploited sexually and sold into sexual slavery.

All these events horrified and saddened me. I am past reacting with anger, because I can see the organic way such events arise. Nothing comes from nothing. Each event has a genesis in time which we may not be aware of. Sectarian killings - a downward spiral of tit for tat murder - reflect on the gradual erosion of the rights of minorities in Pakistan and the burgoening culture of  takfir that has usurped the moral high ground in Pakistan. Unable to challenge 'kufr' any longer, since it is endemic to the global culture, some Muslims are becoming radicalized to the extent that they believe cannibalizing their own will purge them of their ills and restore the glory of Islam and the dominance of Muslims in the world scene.

Pakistanis were always such a tolerant lot but now certain strata of disenfranchised and angry men are clothing their frustrations at their own impotence and their government's incompetence with so-called religious imperatives, in a bid to vindicate their fuzzy notions of religious honour. Yet at the heart of it all, we cannot discount the role of crippling inflation in fuelling this state of dis-ease.

The loss of over 300 people in two separate factory blazes will be a wasted sacrifice if it doesn't lead to a radical overhaul in standardizing and ensuring safety standards in industry. I wish the world would boycott Pakistani goods until safety standards are verified by international bodies. No market, no exploitation. Greed for short term gain characterizes how most business is done in this country - though Pakistan by no means has a monopoly on such short-sightedness. And total disregard for the rights of workers to be treated as humans is something that blights this culture through and through.

This infamous video film is so clearly the result of nefarious forces at work to expose the weaknesses of Muslims to the detriment of the whole world, but ironically not just Muslims. So much duplicity surrounds it, from how it was made, to who made it, to who really attacked and killed the American staff of the embassy in Libya (does the name Al-Qaeda ring a bell?). Omid Safi's 12 points sum it up best.

And the trafficked girl's case is heart-wrenching, but not unusual. Women get trafficked into sexual slavery the world over, but when a society doesn't do enough to protect its weaker elements, and doesn't follow through on the course of justice, it undermines the very foundation of what a modern nation state is supposed to be like: no one should be left behind, as all the wannabe-elected proclaim from the hustings. There can be no hope for a society that doesn't act firmly and decisively to punish perpetrators of such social cancers.

Entertaining the bile all these events aroused in me no doubt helped erode my immune system further. But then, I wouldn't be human if I didn't react or internalize my reaction in some way. To stop it from cankering me entirely, I know I have to act to change things - from within and without. The inner I can just about orchestrate myself. But for the outer I cannot do that alone. I have to join with others. However little it is that I can do, I must, for otherwise how will I neutralize the bitterness? How will I get myself back to being centred? How will I maintain the integrity of my heart? Imam Ja'far al-Sadiq said, 'The Muslim is he who acts upon the injustice before him. If he cannot act to change it he must speak out. If he cannot speak out then he must hate it in his heart, but that is the very lowest level of iman.'

Its not so much that 'being' takes a back seat but that while the outer prevails over the inner, conscious attention is directed at where it is needed most. In my experience and understanding, to be in a conscious state of being means moving out from a position of balance, from that point where the outer is balanced by the inner, without one predominating over the other but pulsating together in effortless, rhythmical harmony. The challenge to us creatures caught in the perpetual flux of time is to maintain that balance. To see beyond the seen and to still act appropriately. We have to honour our humanness, our frailties. We have to honour our need for society and company. We have to honour our society's need for justice and social equilibrium. We have to honour our need for truth.

We cannot begin to address our inner needs and the subtler issues of existence if our outer existence is not maintained in balance. Maslow's scheme sets it out plainly:

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Maslow%27s_Hierarchy_of_Needs.svg

Cast it in any scheme or organagram you will - such as Maslow's hierarchy of self-actualization -  if the fundamental, animal and vegetative elements within us are not attended to, we cannot access the celestial. Which is the goal of this human experience after all! Rumi traced this progression in this portion of a poem:

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?

Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar

With angels blest; but even from angelhood

I must pass on: all except God doth perish.

When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind e'er conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones, To Him we shall return.

"I Died as a Mineral" , as translated in The Mystics of Islam (1914) edited by Reynold Alleyne Nicholson, p. 125

Return from the Treetops

The come down from Ramadan and the heightened state of inner expansion generated by a month of fasting and refocused orientation is a bit like climbing down from a summer spent in a tree house. There tucked among the branches and leaves - reminders of a pristine nature beyond the turgid bricks and flaky mortar of soporific suburbia - our imagination was free to fly beyond the binding ties that often tether our spirit.

Here high above the roofs and satellite dishes and telephone poles, we could open ourselves up from the inside and inhabit a world in which we speak to God clearly and directly, earnestly, whole-heartedly. In a sense He was there beside us, inside the tree house, sipping tea out of the teddy bear's picnic set, while we happily gabbled on in our imaginary conversation. We felt the love and approval of our Creator, and we basked in it.

But of course that's all in the imagination. Or is it? Perception is all - Aldous Huxley said, “There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.” Where are these doors located? What shape do they take? Do they change over time? Is truth static or immutable? Are there different levels or dimensions to what is known and unknown? Perception is not a universal well-timbered doorway.

The power of the fast to shift, refine and illuminate the framework of our perception is, however,  fantastic! Turned inside out and upside down by the demands of abstinence from worldly comforts and nourishment, and motivated to spend time basking in the verses of the Qur'an or in the pastures of prayer and dhikr, we were shaken out of the complacency generated by habit and familiarity. Having abandoned the daily routine and slavery to meals, and having partially turned night into day and day into night, suddenly time seemed to open up for us. And even the extra concern given to what types of food we wanted and needed to eat during this month took on a sacred sheen as we could literally feel our bodies absorbing life-giving sustenance. Even our sleep was sanctified as worship!

And with the space that time gives  us we can engage with greater awareness of ourselves, of how we are, of our passing states, of our deeper inner condition. We can deepen our gratitude until we flow like a river. We can gaze with wonder at a perfect universe shimmering in jewel-hued lights. We can also witness the weakness and dependence of our human frame and laugh with humility at how flimsy we really are. And with that insight we can gracefully and humbly turn to the Ever-Perfect Mercy and Forgiveness of Allah. Our altered perspective gives us a bird's eye view as we find ourselves soaring on slipstreams of delight.

Lest the delights of camping in the treehouse become commonplace and habitual themselves, we are called down - back to school, back to routine family life, back to thicker layers of sensory barriers. The heady joy of time in our eyrie starts to evaporate. Or so it seems. The tonic of Ramadan percolates through our sub-conscious, altering it in subtle, accumulative ways. Actually, I think the taste of what we were given is so intoxicating, so attractive, that given more time up there in that magical place, we may never want to come down again! For now, though, the gravitational pull of life as we know it is irresistible.

And so we return - the word 'Eid' after all means 'return' - and after another long year we can go back up again, and repeat the cycle until one day, we are bold enough to see the decision through, and we will stay up there with that beautiful view. We will refuse to squash our hearts into corners and personalities into role-play. We will always refer to the unfurling vista. We will see the squabbles over territory but we will also see there is space enough for all. We will not allow niggardliness and fear to canker our spirit. We will see all of us connected - as we truly are. We will know and feel fully that what is inside is outside of us, and what we see outside of us is within us. And with that vision we will be able to be conduits of love, regardless of whether we are in the canopy or on the ground.

As I take my foot off the last step of the rope ladder to my treehouse, this is my prayer: let not that vision leave me!

http://media.treehugger.com/assets/images/2011/10/mirrored-treehuouse.jpg

Ramadan Redux V - Retreat

photocredit Ban Farell Ebrahim

I’ve just emerged, fresh and dewy from a 3 day i’tikaf with three of my companions on the path, Rezwaneh, Rubeena and Rosina. This retreat came as an unexpected windfall. Some of our group had sent a request to our Shaykh to ask whether he might consider placing some of them in khalwah on his next visit. His response was to request us to do i’tikaf first. Arrangements fell quickly into place and soon the four of us were lodged in our dedicated zawiyah. May Meher Apa’s niyyat in offering her home as a place to which we can attract angels and in which to hasten illumination be rewarded by the permanent presence of angels in her life and full illumination of her being!

Not being able to fulfill the technical requirement of an i’tikaf in a mosque, our apartment was nonetheless an ideal eyrie, breezily floating above Karachi, embraced by trembling trees, cawing crows, hooping koels and a purring of rickshaws and beeping cars. Here in this temporarily designated sacred space we were able to fulfill, if not the letter of the sunnatic law, at least the spirit and as close to the form as possible. The Prophet, may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him and his family, used to spend the last ten days of Ramadan in retreat at the mosque. It was such an integral part of his Sunnah, that one year when he did not manage to do it, he spent 20 days of the following Ramadan in i’tikaf instead. And if the ten days are not possible, then three are considered to be the minimum. Disconnecting ourselves from each of own ‘Domestos’ or work arenas presented challenges that vanished in the face of firm intention. Alhamdulillah!

Each of us followed our own rhythm – reading Qur’an, beseeching Allah, diving into meaningful books, invoking Allah by His Beautiful Names, sending peace and blessings upon the Beloved Prophet and his family, observing the night vigil, in particular the layali al-qadr (we had 2). We made some prayers together, each other's focused presence fuelling our own purpose. Such sweet secluded solace! Safe and freed from any worldly concerns. 

Just as the local community feeds those in i’tikaf in the mosques, members of our group sent generous feasts for iftar and dinner. Our embarrassment at their largesse was assuaged by the knowledge that others would partake their share, namely Meher’s trusty and loyal staff.

For me there was a distinct rhythm to this seclusion. For those of us who were fortunate enough to settle in the night before the first fajr, I feel we tasted something very complete, very satisfying. The initial sense of privilege and elation of being freed to do as much and whichever ‘ibadah as one wished carried into sustained periods of delight, yearning and profound tranquility. I spent much time praying for all my family and friends, begging Allah to send them the best of what would draw them closer and protect them by His mercy. Discharging that longing for them all, I was able to turn to the matter of disappearing from myself. Peak periods of invocation were in the midst of the night: distinct shifts in attention, from scanning the horizon to being enveloped… beyond words.

Time became a gift – not something to beat or race against. Whether reading or resting, supplicating or sleeping, time felt expanding not just linearly, but almost in all directions, as if being dismantled.

We turned away from creation and focused on our inner contemplation and intimate conversation with Allah. At times it was hard to know just with whom one was ‘conversing’. We turned in longing. Turning, turning, buoyed by bliss.

I was again awed by the word of God and felt honoured to have the Qur’an and to be able to read it. Each surah speaking in multidimensional tones, rich, complicated sounds from a DNA’d past, other-worldly rhyme and metre sending morse code to the heart. Can we truly be of that creation which was chosen to receive the full encodation of reality which the Qur’an  represents? Subhanallah – law anzalna hadha’l-qur’ana 'ala jabalin…[Q. 59:21]

Time 'stops' and yet I am aware of time. The muezzin calls and its time to offer formal prayers. The day peaks in heat, light changes, dusk falls and night draws a shroud. I am aswim in an ocean of sublime subhan.  I can feel every cell, every pore oozing with longing and sheer delight at the miracle of being.

And though our rooms are far larger than a Sufi’s cell, their simplicity invokes the noble austerity of the khalwah chamber. Here it is easy for senses to detach from the world and implode and ignite the innermost.

And when you do discover the glittering hyperspace of shimmering lights, or just catch glimpses of it, you realize it has always been there, waiting, twinkling, beckoning.

Glossary:

I’tikaf: retreat into a mosque, usually for the last 10 days of Ramadan.

Khalwah: solitary seclusion for the purpose of contemplating Allah alone.

Zawiyah: literally corner; equivalent to tekye (Turkish) or khanqah (Persian & Urdu), meaning Sufi lodge where teachings are given & circles of invocation held.

Niyyat: intention, firm resolve.
Sunnatic: of the Sunnah (see below). My coinage as far as I know.

Sunnah: custom, pattern; the Prophet’s (S) way.

Layali al-qadr: pl. of laylat ul-qadr, the Night of Determination. One of the last ten odd nights of Ramadan in which the Qur’an was revealed and on which events of the next year are determined.

Fajr: dawn prayer.
'Ibadah: Devotional worship.

Surah: chapter of the Qur’an.

Subhanallah: Glory be to Allah!

Subhan: Glory. Root word means to swim.