Ramadan is closing in. This year this month has sped by. For the
first time in years I've been away from home base, though in homes away
from home - how blessed am I? The pekoras and samosas have followed me,
however, as I've tried to ensure my son gets his daily quotas of
desi
iftar fare. The open plan layout of the house we are in reeks of fried
food for hours afterwards, uncorrected even by wafts of cloying incense.
After years of resistance to the semiotic symbolism of food, I have
yielded to the perceived reality that food frames culture (or culture
frames food?) and that culinary culture is one hugely influential
anchorage of religion. If savoury spicy treats help keep my boy
connected to his
Deen, then so be it!
Shorter
days and clement weather of a southern hemisphere's winter have reduced
Ramadan wipeouts. I felt for my UK friends - heatwaves and long 18 hour
days. May the reward be commensurate with the difficulty! No Ramadan rage threatened here. The dry, high atmosphere introduced me to a new form of 'Ramadan brain': the suction cup effect
where your grey matter feels like its dessicating and sticking to your
skull interior.
That most delicious gift of
Ramadan, the fleecy blanket of inner silence, has also been gratefully
received. At times the white noise percolates and penetrates the
precariously porous and amorphous presence of consciousness - and
peppers my vocabulary with purple passages (so who cares?) - but the
sheer weight of the fast makes it easy to relocate the mute button on
the inner monologue function. Can it really be so simple a matter of blood sugar?
That its dilution beings inner peace? There's a hadith that alludes to
this (sic., 'Shaytan flows through the sons of Adam as blood flows
through his veins")... Or is it the special grace that comes from the
sacralized intention of the fast ('Fasting is for Me and I am its
reward' -
hadith qudsi)? After all, of all the obligatory ritual
obligations due from a Muslim, fasting is the most invisible. Allah
alone knows whether you are fulfilling its tenets or not.
The
remembrance of God heightens, as with each breath conscious awareness
of one's inner state increases. In Ramadan it becomes easier to give up
and give in as one notices the degree of dependency one has on means -
food, water, indulging desires, loose talk. Its quite humbling to see
what a hold habits have on us. One evening, during some frisky dinner
time banter, I got my hands slapped for wittering on in what really
amounted to gossip, the type of gossip where irrelevant news about
someone amounts to frivolous talk, even though no malice had been
intended. What had been the purpose of my verbal drivel? Was I conscious
of every word? No. Blood sugar had begun to rise once again and those
satanic impulses started slithering around in me too. Shudder!
Ramadan
is commonly thought of by Muslims as the month par excellence to devote
to the Qur'an. Our Noble Book gets a thorough dusting as tradition
encourages us to read a juz' a day. For me, quality over quantity is my
preference - I can bask for hours in commentary and etymology, entering into an imaginarium of endless and deepening delight. The
beauty and majesty of the Word of God once again thrills me with its
multi-dimensionality, speaking in time, beyond time, allegorically,
emphatically. All signs point to the one underlying truth:
la ilaha illa'llah -
there is no god but Allah. And it is the fast that enables us see this Oneness better than at any other time of the year. Day after day the
ego-self's hold is weakened as a new strength starts to beam through.
The soul's light starts to illuminate our beingness, and states of grace
descend, moments of deep tranquillity stretching in all directions
through one's innermost.
The last ten nights -
according to an Islamic tradition offering us freedom from the fires of
hell - coincide with the Night of Determination, or Destiny, or Power,
the
Laylat ul-Qadr. We are protected from knowing exactly which
night it might have been that the Qur'an in its entirety was revealed to
our beloved prophet Muhammad (S), merely that it is one of the odd numbered. Because of various traditions, the
Shi'as prefer one of the earlier odd nights, the Sunnis preferring one
of the latter ones. Those who would hedge bets try to observe them all.
Regardless, the importance of this night is indicated in the
chapter in the Qur'an by the same name, in which it is declared that it is 'better
than a a thousand months'. One night...better than a thousand months?!
However unfathomable, who isn't going to want to try to witness this
event? The moment in time it alludes to is a deep and unending mystery.
The traditions of night vigil practised by
Muslims in different ways helps push us out of our comfort zone. Even if
it is but a portion of the night, the
baraka of Ramadan ensures a
benefit is gained. In Karachi those fortunate to belong to distinct
communities have ready made opportunities to gather and pray together,
whether to read 10
raka'at, or 100, whether to recite 99 Names of God or the 1000 of the incrementally intoxicating beautiful litany of
Jawshan al-Kabir.
Already stripped and polished by the fast, staying up in prayer and
contemplation loosens the subtle rust on the heart's mirror. Our sense
of time is ruptured, and small portals into timelessness start to shiver
into the landscape of consciousness. Through fasting of the senses, we
can taste the feast of what lies beyond the limitations of these senses,
an infinite, expanding universe that encapsulates time and space,
precedes it and follows it and rolls it all up in its Presence.
