The Pacific Ocean
stood right before me in all its perfect blue glory. If it weren't for a slight
reddish line that sat between it and the sky, it would have been hard to tell
where the two separated. I had worked hard at keeping my composure for the sake
of supporting my mother in her upcoming speech on the Surf City Pier for the 6th
Annual Blessing of the Wave Interfaith Event. For more than six years I have
been by her side at almost every interfaith/public speaking event, feeling supportive,
proud and enamored at the words of praise people offered me for her efforts.
But today it was slightly harder when I wanted to be a little selfish. Dwell in
a bit of sadness for losing someone recently, and my mother, bless her soul,
only knew that all too well and let me indulge.
Before we headed out
to the Pacific Ocean (of which I was reminded by many different interfaith
leaders that it was named after its peaceful demeanor that I now envied) she
held me tight as I let out the tears that had clearly not run dry. And as I
stood at the mouth of the Pierside Plaza, looking out at the crowd in front of
me, the gorgeous sands I wanted to just sink into, and the mesmerizing cold
blue water I wished I knew how to swim in, I released the tears I knew I had
waiting. As my thoughts moved in and out of focus, between taking numerous
pictures of the event and trying to temporarily ignore my reality, I wondered
could our ocean be composed of human tears? Salty tears spilt into this large
body of water collected over centuries and ages of painful years? I felt a poem
coming on, but instead the next interfaith leader walked to the podium and I
had to get my camera in place. Another thought came to me right then, at how
easy it could be for me to be a photographer and hide my emotionality behind
large black equipment in that career. My tears however, were not so invisible.
And when one impromptu speaker got up on that podium, I found that he was sent
to speak today for a reason—me. He was right up there speaking straight to my
heart, leaving me no choice but to fall prey to a really good cry.
His words were so
powerful and breathtaking that the entire audience, even the passersby on the
beach, stood in silence taking in the much-needed spirituality of being one
with God. Longing for His presence and His blessings, and I felt it the most.
Having lost two loved ones in one week, continuously witnessing the world play
with my land of origins—Syria—like it were some trinket they can do away with,
while hearing my grandparents’ voices across a 21st century
Bluetooth speaker in my car pretending to assure us of their safety over there,
and a friend from Egypt explaining her recent visit to that land of turmoil
with explosions, riots and fear, I lost it.
However, amidst my
tears I did notice one thing: The way a crowd of maybe 200 people gathered on
a gorgeous cool Sunday morning in September to unite in the spirit of God, ask
for His blessings, while indulging in the beauty that is water—the utter source
of our lives and apparently our human unity. I wondered if we could do it here
why can’t we do it everywhere else? Why can’t we remember God and our good
deeds and love? Why can’t we deal with each other with the best manners rather
than always looking for the worst? Assuming? Presuming? Judging? Hurting? Even
killing?
The wheels were
spinning faster and faster as we all bowed our heads in prayer, asking God for
blessings, and that’s when another question came in mind. Once upon a time
someone told me I had no right to ever be sad because I was a lucky girl. It
stuck with me but in an analytical manner. I don’t think I’m “lucky” but I
think I have been blessed. There is a difference. I recently met someone who
has had a lifetime of honest to goodness bad luck but an eternity of incredibly
miraculous blessings. Often however, people like him (and myself) don’t
recognize it till a sudden moment of calamity. When our faith is tested and our
patience is lost and we have nowhere to turn but up, to God, the One we almost
neglected.
I spent the rest of
the day in a daze: One third from remorse, another third from an official
sleepless night mixed with tears and forced in contact lenses, and the last
third from the overwhelming sense of spirituality. They say spirituality is
something you can only feel but I could have sworn I witnessed it. I witnessed
it crushing me in a way that I hadn’t felt in years, and maybe even more so
this time around. I witnessed its threatening reminder to not let it go like I
had before, that although I may not have all the luck in the world I have the
blessings. I have the blessings of God (God-Willing), I have the blessings of
my family, and most importantly I believe I have the blessings of myself. That
conviction that although I will stray on and off the right path in life, my end
result will always be returning to it in some way, shape or form.
I really do hope that
the sincere heartfelt prayers made at this event bring the blessings needed to
every human on this planet filled with some bad luck. To you. To me. To every
innocent civilian suffering for someone else’s behalf. May we all be blessed in
our hours of need.
