Marmalade

Warning: this post is about something edible.  And not because Ramadan is almost upon us. The topic is not as left field as may appear in relation to the general thrust of this blog. Marmalade is both becoming and being, quite apart from 'being' Marmalade. Marmalade is a becoming, the transformation of a perishable, somewhat inaccessible fruit into a more durable delicacy that delights. Once it enters the addicionado's digestion, it contributes to beingness, fulfilling one half of Rumi's cook's adage of the two-fold adab of cooking -  the adab of enabling a lower order substance to unite with and sustain a higher order of being.

Seville Oranges: thick-skinned and sour.

So…

Marmalade: you either love it or hate it. Or come to love it – as I did. I’m speaking of bitter marmalade, made from Seville Oranges.

It wasn’t always so. Food regulations designate Marmalade as referring to citrus, but back in the 15^th and 16^th centuries a marmalade could have been used of other fruit. The actual word ‘marmalade’ originates from the Portuguese (marmelada) for a paste made of boiling up quince (marmelo) and honey which could be sliced as a sweetmeat (I first came across this treat as ‘membrillo’ in Spain).  Though fragrant and apple-like, quince is almost impossible to eat raw as its so hard, and oxidises quickly if sliced or grated. The Persians also make it into a morabba (jam or compote) where it turns a beautiful deep pink, but they also happily stew it with lamb (khoresh-e beh) when in season. My father likes to keep one or two in his study where it lends a perfumed fruity fragrance to the air.  But I digress!

A fun but aprocryphal explanation of the word’s origin relates to Mary Queen of Scots, for whom her mother’s French cook in France had made a confection of Spanish oranges to help her get well and ‘Marie est malade’ became Marmalade. Too simple by half but amusing nonetheless, and I’m inclined to believe there is something in the restorative powers of a good, fragrant, bitter marmalade.

For years I have been the marmalade maker in my family – joined later by my sister Aliya and occasionally by my mum. My father’s orchards (Spain, then South Africa) would annually provide a plethora of these thick-skinned inedible fruits waiting to find a place in the higher order of culinary delights. The only person in my family who ever used them raw was my uncle. In good Persian style he used them as a substitute for lemons, so sour was their juice.

Early on in my marmalade making career I stumbled upon a fabulous recipe in Jane Grigson’s Fruit Book: St. Benoit 3-day marmalade. I adopted it as my own and adapted it as it suited me and circumstance. It has proven to be the easiest (and laziest) way to ease into the finnicketyness of processing produce. Many times I would groan at the bags of oranges left on my doorstep by my hopeful father, because for a batch of 8 jars you’d only need 6 oranges (and a lemon), and invariably the bag would hold around 20! Quite frankly slicing so many oranges in one go was arduous, especially if you wanted to shred the rind finely. Luckily my father prefers the chunky variety, enjoying these candied strips almost as a post-prandial digestive.

The 3-day marmalade fits in well with the ethos of the slowfood movement, whose philosophy I admire if not always adhere to. While it was a form of laziness that triggered my adoption of its methodology, it was the undoubted superiority of the final flavor that has kept me faithful to it.

The first day demands you slice up 6 oranges and a lemon and leave them soaking in water enough to cover. On the second day you bring it up to a boil and then simmer it for at least 30 minutes or so, long enough to cook but not to create a pulp.  The third day is when you weigh up the cooked fruit and measure out the sugar. I can't recall the recipe exactly but the ratio was something like 1.5 kg of sugar to 1kg of pulp, but I use much less sugar, perhaps 1.2kg, and add more lemon juice.  Culinary alchemy ignited by good intention transforms this fragrant mass into what I like to think is captured sunlight.  On this third and final day you will bring it to a rolling boil, toss in a tiny knob of butter so the scum moves to the sides of the pan, simmer until  setting point (anywhere between 20 minutes to 40, depending)  and seal it up in sterilized jars.

Since its unlikely anyone from the Women’s Institute will be reading this, I must confess that it’s the rigmarole for sterilising jars that used to put me off. The effort of locating suitable jars aside, the tedium of washing, boiling and then baking off jars does not appeal, even though it is essential. If you don’t sterilize your jars the marmalade will go off. I have cheated on occasion and depending on the climate, gotten away with it, but usually because the climate is cool and dry and the marmalade finds takers rather quickly. Nowadays of course it is far easier to source beautiful jars, ready for jamming.

The beauty of this 3-day marmalade – apart from enabling me to delay the task of gathering enough jars and sterilising them – is that the extra time coaxes out such a superior flavour. The maceration, cooking, cooling, and then cooking again, prods the oil sacs in the skin to release their aroma and draw down the favour of the fruit gods. The result is celestial. If you were to eat crystallized sunlight, it would be this 3-day marmalade.

And so it is time to share the recipe with many a proviso: you can tweak it to suit and still come up with a delicious marmalade. You can used less sugar if you prefer or brown sugar for a more caramelized version. You can remove the seeds and tie them up in muslin, add to the pan when the oranges are cooking and easily remove the bag, or, if you fancy feeling like a mad alchemist, you can stand there over the pot as the steam wafts its citrusy perfume and transports you to 15^th century Andalusia and scoop them out with a slotted spoon. If your back allows it. I confess to hitting a nadir once when the batch my father sent me was in a sorry state: the tail end of the harvest, blackened by some blight and barely ‘orange’ in colour, I scraped off as much black as I could and was so exhausted by the effort that I didn’t even bother to remove the pips at any point and just bottled up the jam as it came. And it was still delicious, if a little ugly.

And one last thing: this gorgeous marmalade is as much about the jelly as the rind. The suspension of the marmalade will not and should not wobble like a store-bought packet jelly. There is a skill in the cooking that once gained will give you a light, pectinacious jelly that stands and sparkles to attention, embedding the chewy peel within.

 I took these photos almost two years ago - that's how long I've been intending to write this up!

Its actually hard to botch up Seville Orange marmalade. Try it. I dare you. Treat yourself to some crystallized sunlight!

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

Ramadan Redux II - The Power of Being Empty

In his illuminating Friday talk about the fast of Ramadan, just before the start of the sacred month this year, Shaykh Fadhlalla Haeri said that, 'The more you are disconnected with the outer, the more you are possibly connected to the inner'. 

Fasting, and particularly the fast of Ramadan, is a powerful way to increase that inner connectivity. The dawn to dusk restriction on alimentation and distracting stimulations of other kinds is a guaranteed way of strengthening self-awareness and emptying out the subtle idols tucked away in the heart. Maulana Rumi captured this truth beautifully in his poetry shared here. My commentary on some of the poem's highlights follows it.

There’s hidden sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness.

We are lutes, no more, no less.

If the soundbox is stuffed full of anything, no music.

If the brain and belly are burning clean with fasting,

every moment a new song comes out of the fire.
The fog clears, and new energy makes you run
up the steps in front of you.
Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.

Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.
When you’re full of food and drink,
Satan sits where your spirit should,
an ugly metal statue in place of the Kaaba.
When you fast, good habits gather
like friends who want to help.
 
Fasting is Solomon’s ring.
Don’t give into some illusion and lose your power,
but even if you have, if you’ve lost all will and control,
they come back when you fast,
like soldiers appearing out of the ground,
pennants flying above them.

A table descends to your tents, Jesus’ table.
Expect to see it, when you fast,
this tablespread with other food,
better than the broth of cabbages.*

(Ghazal No. 1739 from Divan-e Shams-e Tabrizi)

We often associate empty stomachs with pain and suffering. But the fast of the Muslim in fulfilment of Allah's command is transformed from deprivation into something else - at the very least, a sweetening joy at being able to carry the intention through. The accumulating effects of being under-fuelled calorifically and intentionally fasting on multiple sensory levels reconnects us to our source of power and re-attunes us to the modus of being a vessel through which divine purpose can be achieved.


Rumi uses musical imagery abundantly in his poetry. The idea that we are vessels through which music is made - through which the soul can speak in another language altogether more richly than speech - accompanies the allegories of the reed and lute. A lute lies silent in the hands of its master until it is plucked and pressured just so, and then the harmony of notes it creates can transport us to other dimensions of being. If we are to express the music of our beingness we must be empty, hollowed out inside - which the fast effectively does. Belly and brain are clearly connected, and once they are burnished with the fire of fasting, new notes can sound. The white noise of interior chatter subsides and we can start to hear the harmony of  what IS.

Rumi urges us to keep emptying out, to be like the hollow reed that gives voice to the soul. For in that state where you are empty of your 'you-ness'. of your ego-self, of the fantasy of your importance, history, personality and actions, your emptiness then renders your form worthy of another form of expression: inscribing the truth with the ink into which you can dip your hollow reed, putting it to the use for which it was created. 

Satiation, or rather, permanent satiation dulls the senses and blunts sensitivities. Here Rumi alludes to the Prophetic tradition which describes how 'Shaytan flows through Adam like blood, therefore constrict his passageway by hunger'. That mischievous, wayward, troublesome, impulsive energy of Shaytan is fueled by an abundance of kilojoules, or rather, an excess of  potentially misguiding energy. In Arabic the word Shaytan derives from the verb ShTN, to be cast off the path, to be flung far off the way. For me this conjures up the imagery of jagged and static interference rather than a horned red devil with a pointy tail. To the sensitively attuned,  static interference is painful and disturbing (almost excruciating!), rather like the net effect of following the dictates of Shaytan. The easiest way to control this fizzing random energy is to cut off its fuel supply by fasting. The result is instantaneous!



If allowed, this presence of forgetfulness and waywardness - of disobedience even -can take over. Rumi sees it as dislocating the spirit - something amorphous, intangible and of divine origin - with an' ugly metal statue' instead of the sublime clean lines of the empty Ka'bah, ultimate symbol of the central focus of the heart, the sanctuary of God. Historically of course, the Ka'bah had housed effigies of the pre-Islamic gods worshiped by the Arab tribes. As far as I know most of the reputed 360 idols were made of stone or wood, but if the material of some were metal, then this would allude further to their stiff intractability and cold lifelessness.

What are the good habits that might accrue from fasting? Sensitivity to the plight of others, to those who never get to fill their bellies once, let alone three times a day. Action to help others, to share, to alleviate their suffering, to give them ease. Good habits like withdrawing from frivolous social discourse, spending time wisely, being mindful in every endeavour or intention and conduct, increasing time spent in prayer and dhikr.  Fasting re-acquaints us with what it feels like to be pure.

And these habits are 'like friends who want to help'. The more you do good, the more refined your actions, the easier it becomes to perpetuate them. The barakah is inbuilt. I particularly appreciate the idea of habits as friends, for it reflects not on our essence, but on who we become through our actions and choices. We exist and act in the realm of Mulk but in the Malakut and Jabarut we are in tact spiritually;  what goes on in the Mulk can affect us on subtler levels. By persistent inappropriate actions we can deform ourselves and become removed from the conscious awareness of being in the sacred precinct. Good habits act upon us to keep us there.

Legend goes that when Solomon (Hazrat Sulayman, upon him be peace) had his ring he was powerful beyond all human imaginings. With it his dominion was held in balance. Yet he lost his ring - wrested from him by an evil Demon called Sakhr who then took over his throne - and supposedly with it all his powers and was dethroned. In the Sufi Weltanschaung enlightened beings do not react to apparent misfortune with dismay but equanimity. Hazrat Sulayman never flinched at the loss, for he knew that the power was not imbued in the ring, but merely symbolized by it. In truth, the power lay within him by the grace of God.

Legend further has it that the ring was returned to him in the belly of a fish, which had been given to him by a fisherman out of pity as he was wandering destitute. From Rumi's words we can infer that a prophetic being of Soloman's stature, however, would not have cared for all the power given to him, for it was God's alone to give or take away. The belief that you have power of your own is a persuasive illusion, but one from which you can be relieved by fasting, for then you experience how weak a being you really are, so dependent on physical nourishment for your ability to just operate basically. There is no real independence! To know this is to disappear into utter humility.


Many of us fear the weakness brought upon us by fasting. We fear that it will diminish us in our daily powers. At the level of survival fasting is contra instinctual. And yet, by the moderated weakening of outer sensory faculties, our complementary inner faculties are gradually enhanced. You have no choice but to submit! So even if you do fall into the trap of believing you have lost your powers - which are Allah's in the first place but just devolved onto us - through the fast your weakening is transformed into a strengthening of certainty and resolve that all is by Allah, from Allah and unto Allah.  

And then, just as happened to Solomon, help and means manifest. He regained his throne and power and went on to build the famous temple, for the legions of obedient soldiers symbolize the capacity to execute will. During the trial of a day of fasting, we might be rescued by a verse of Qur'an, by a cooling wudu', or indeed, by the relief of fast-breaking itself. And by that enhanced awareness we will find ourselves blessed with 'other food', honoured and elevated, as Jesus' table is mentioned in the Qur'an as a sign of reassurance of God's truth:

[And remember] when the disciples said, "O Jesus, Son of Mary, can your Lord send down to us a table [spread with food] from the heaven? [Jesus] said," Fear Allah , if you should be believers. They said, "We wish to eat from it and let our hearts be reassured and know that you have been truthful to us and be among its witnesses. Said Jesus, the son of Mary, "O Allah , our Lord, send down to us a table [spread with food] from the heaven to be for us a festival for the first of us and the last of us and a sign from You. And provide for us, and You are the best of providers.""[5:112-114]. 

Would any of us swap cabbage broth, the humblest and poorest of dishes, for the higher order of nourishment that comes from being empty and emptier?

* Trans. Coleman Barks

Faadil's question on identity & beingness

 After reading my Blogpost 'B & B', Faadil, a friend from South Africa, wrote to me with this question:
  
'The self is inextricably linked with the social organisation. Identity is derived from the contrasts of the "otherness" of social organisation. So much of Sufism centres around this theme," See creation as yourself or even better than yourself", says Shaykh Fadhlalla. So, is the experience of  identity also the experience of "otherness" of the social group? How does  this relate to "beingness"?'

Having not actually defined anywhere what I mean by 'being and becoming' (I rather thought to let this drip-feed through the posts!), here's a response to Faadil's question that was specifically triggered by my statement: "And yet. and yet. The only aperture through which you can experience this 'beingness', this miracle of existence, is the self, your 'self'."

That blogpost was only a cursory glance at identity.  I would certainly agree that our identity does derive part of its contours and textures from the 'otherness' of social organization. Aspects of our identity are defined in relation to our role in other people's lives, or larger social units, or organizations. We are each sons or daughters, mothers or fathers, brothers or sisters, friends or co-workers, and so on. We are also teachers, artists, lawyers, counsellors, doctors, sweepers, factory workers, craftsmen, sailors etc.

How we define ourselves is often in correlation to archetypes, stereotypes and human 'tropes' if you like. Psychology has given us several typographies we can subscribe to  - like the Myers Briggs - to help chart our personalities and locate ourselves in relation to others, or how we are perceived by others.

But is the sum total of our identity dependent on the 'otherness' of 'social organization'? To some extent it is dependent on the perception of 'otherness' coming from within ourselves. Carl Jung wrote: 'Not only can you analyze your unconscious, you can let your unconscious analyze you.' Our self-awareness, like the torchlight of a third party on the cavern of our own psyche, can be perceived as an 'other' in relation to an Essential Self - a non-changing background of soul-energy that is linked to Higher Consciousness that is just that - Pure Consciousness,  unlimited, undefined, eternal.

Conscious awareness of beingness, of existing both in time and space and yet somehow connected to something that transcends the limitations necessarily imposed by by these dimensions,  is not limited by the shadings and colourings of our individual identity. Nor is it separate to it. Rather, it is woven through the warp and weft of it. This is part of the dazzling, endlessly interesting paradox of the human condition. 

Your quote of Shaykh Fadhlalla's statement is possibly taken from a discursive context of how one should approach one's 'self'.  He implies seeing things with the eye of tawhid, in which there is no separation between you and anything outside of yourself. Failing that, if you cannot stop seeing yourself in separation, then at the very least you should see yourself  as wanting in relation to the perfection saturating creation, thus placing yourself on the carpet of humility that is per se the portal to higher knowledge and freedom from the illusion of separation. Shaykh Fadhlalla often exhorts us to have least concern with the self. If you are least concerned with the ego-self, or micro-self, the idea is that you should be most concerned with the macro self, the ONE SELF from which Allah created all selves. And what is that but light reflected from Him, subhanahu wa ta'ala, and refracted through the prism of our individual identities.

Hopefully I've answered in part your questions, Faadil. Apologies if I haven't or I misunderstood. I'll leave you with something from the supreme poet and realized master, Maulana Rumi:

We are from above and up we will go.

We come from the sea, we'll go to the sea.

We're from there, not from here.

We are from nowhere, to nowhere we'll go.

Like Noah's ark in the flood

we must move without legs.

Like a wave, we grow out of ourselves.

When we want to feast our eyes, we withdraw.

The way to God is narrow as the eye of a needle. 

We slip though alone like a single thread.

Remember home and companions

knowing that we leave them behind.

You have read: 'We return to Him,"

so you know where it is we are going.

Our star isn't found in the turning wheel.

We're bound to venture past the Pleiades.

O words, stop. Don't come with me - 

I'm leaving even my self behind.

O mountain of self-existence, stay out of our way.

We're on our way to Mount Qaf and the Anqa.

(From: Say Nothing, Poems of Jalal al-Din Rumi in Persian & English', Iraj Anvar & Anne Twitty, Morning Light Press 2008)

Glossary:

Tawhid: unity, the underlying connectivity of everything seen and unseen.

Subhanahu wa ta'ala: May He be glorified and exalted.

Mount Qaf: Mystical mountain that surrounds the world, metaphorical destination of the journey to Divine presence.

Anqa: another name for the Simorgh, the mythical bird that lives on Mount Qaf, symbolizing Divine presence, wisdom and truth (Anvar & Twitty, 130)