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:

 

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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!

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