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!
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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