Saturday, June 27, 2015

R.S.V.P. +1


“How can you do it?” she asked with extreme shock. “I wouldn’t be able to survive that long without food or water.” It’s amazing how much people underestimate themselves and what they can actually do. It’s also interesting how much we are so quick to judge something we have never actually tried ourselves. I smiled and said, “It becomes second nature when you’ve done it so long and when you submit to the reality that you’re doing something for God.” Little did she know though, that for about 99% of Muslims, giving up the food and drinks is the easiest part. It’s a piece of cake (total pun intended)!

To summarize this article, let me say this: Ramadan isn’t really all about fasting from food. That’s the external tangible piece we’re given. If we can strive to refrain from the temptation of food during times of hunger, what can we train our souls to refrain from? The real struggle comes when you realize that in Ramadan, you are fasting for an inner detox, an internal cleanse. And that, my friends, is the hardest part, especially when life has thrown you far too many sour lemons to make a decent sweet lemonade. Oh these puns!

Recently, on what unknowingly became an online Facebook poll, I had asked about the concept of forgiveness. What is it made of that we humans are so matter of factly expected to hand it out like free samples? The responses were quick—they usually are when it comes to hot topics people attach hidden agendas to, though I had simply asked out of mere curiosity, because I never understood the concept of unconditional forgiveness. What I was able to gather from everyone’s comments were the following three points:

1.      Forgiveness is believed to be an act solely for the forgiver’s sake, a sort of inner peace, a letting go.
2.      Forgiveness does not need to be earned, as in, no apology from the offender is necessary in order to forgive.
3.      Forgiveness is seen as a divine revelation that comes to an individual when it’s meant to be, and that timeframe is subjective to each person and how he/she perceives what was done to them.

When it’s all said and done, I guess I can say I agree, but only with the third one. Numbers one and two, not so much. That’s why it’s like nails against a chalkboard when random people come up to me demanding I just forgive and forget certain things in my life. Everyone seems to so easily forget that it is far easier said for the outsider than it is done for the insider. In Arabic there’s a saying, “The hand that sits in water is unlike the hand that sits in fire.” Let’s just say, you can’t force-feed forgiveness. It must come unequivocally from within. It must be purely wanted in order to be truly peaceful, and I’ve learned, quite recently, that it only comes after you break open the shell of wholeheartedly forgiving yourself. A concept that people often forget to educate on when trying to induce forgiveness.

The first ten days of Ramadan have come and gone with such swiftness it’s absolutely disheartening. Ramadan is broken down into thirds. The first ten days are considered days of seeking Mercy. The last ten days are considered days of seeking protection from the Hell fire. Then there’s these middle ten days, the ten days we are about to launch, these days are designated as the ones we are to seek forgiveness.

To me, these seem to be the hardest days, and maybe more so recently. There’s always that infatuation that comes before Ramadan that glistens the beginning ten days. Then there’s that fear of withdrawal symptoms that has us holding on for dear life to those last ten days. But in the middle, when we’re amidst the self re-evaluations, it’s a struggle to review everything and begin the filtration for forgiveness, especially when we realized we never forgave ourselves. We never set our own souls free.

It’s so easy to skip lunch, despite the sudden increase in work parties. It’s so easy to just add a few extra pages of Quran or a little prayer here and there. However, it’s undeniably difficult to recognize who you’ve become, what you’ve been through and where you need to go. Ramadan is the ultimate New Year’s resolution for Muslims. It’s the time when we sit down, reflect on how our souls and spirits have evolved since the last Ramadan, and start drafting the blue prints for the coming year. Architects and engineers know all too well the meticulousness required to perfect such a thing, for one small err and the entire creation could collapse. The same goes for our souls. It needs a reboot, a massive system reset, because sometimes our daily rituals have become too habitual for our spirit that we’ve become almost numb to it.

This only recently dawned on me, on my first silent (almost two-hour) commute to work. I unplugged the new Florence + The Machine album for Ramadan, found I didn’t have my “Sheikh Al-Afassy” Quran CD like I thought, and headed to the desert in surprisingly blissful quietness. It was in this peace that my memories began resurfacing.

How come I don’t feel the way that most Muslims typically feel? Why, unlike everyone else, does it seem like Ramadan hasn’t come to me in decades? Where did my last one go? With every mile, there was a flashback and a watery eye or two. I realized my last one had been stolen and it was the key to why life had felt excruciatingly heavy in the last year. No wonder forgiveness sounded more like hunting for a unicorn in the Sahara. An oppressed soul can handle so much weight before it breaks and sometimes it takes a lot longer for the pieces to gravitate back to one another and mend. Even more so when you discover, you never even forgave yourself in the first place.

There are those that belittle Muslims who return to faith in the month of Ramadan. Some call it hypocritical, others call it pathetic. I see Ramadan as a beautiful invitation that God sends us annually. Sometimes we miss it. Other times we are waiting by that metaphorical mailbox, anticipating the moment we will R.S.V.P. and attend with full glamour. Some find themselves entering it forcibly, like being pushed into an ice cold pool. But you know what? It was a hot day anyway and when they resurface from that plunge, they’re going to feel more invigorated than ever. That’s faith.

I still can’t tell which of those attendees I am this year, considering how oblivious I was to it last year. With every passing day leading up to it, I knew that I kind of, sort of, should attend this year, but a part of me was afraid and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that I feared until one night when reading Quran. I reached Chapter 13, Verse 28 and just gasped. This isn’t the first time I read Quran and it (God Willing) won’t be the last, but sometimes we read the same thing we’ve already read time and time again, but it speaks to us differently than ever before.

I don’t know why, but this verse called to me. God was reminding me that those who believe have hearts reassured by the remembrance of God, because it is through this remembrance that hearts are at peace. I had to stop and ponder for a while, contemplate the depth of this word “remembrance.” It’s not that I had forgotten God per se, I don’t think anyone ever fully, really, legitimately forgets God, but even God says that torture supersedes death and when a soul and spirit are broken, one feels like giving out just as much as giving up. That’s where the new battle begins. The battle with oneself. The purpose of Ramadan. I think I’m a broken record with this verse, but it’s a healthy reminder. In Verse 53 of Chapter 8, God tells us that He does not change the state of a people until they change that which is within themselves.

Had I fallen off track of true remembrance since last Ramadan and everything that unfolded thereafter? Maybe that was it. That was the fear that had me a little ambivalent about the arrival of Ramadan. They can tell you that words are easily brushed off but when it comes down having your inner psyche destroyed, you can only minimally believe the truth. Your worth becomes worth second guessing. Your strength seems to have been tested and failed. You look back and wonder if you are the blame because that was all that was shouted in your face after every abusive episode. You begin to think you are the sinner, the one who does not deserve forgiveness, and you discover, that you adopted the idea of never even forgiving yourself.

It begins with accepting the fact that it happened, whatever “it” may be for people. There, I said it, it happened. It happened and I…survived. Yes, I had fallen into ditches, but I was pushed, and in that dark grave I wasn’t entirely of a sound mind to make the best judgments, and so when I was dug out and brought back into the light, it was really hard not to hate it. All of it. Everything. Hate the good. Hate the sun. Hate the air of freedom I hadn’t tasted in so long. It had all unfortunately come after last Ramadan too and it killed me to realize that I had missed the biggest spiritual revival of the year when I apparently needed it the most. Until the next one was to come, I had been sulking in the pain of wounds that seemed to take too long to fully heal. Little did I know that the cure lies in self forgiveness.

Forgiving myself for being trusting enough to let my guard down and reduce standards. Forgiving myself for not fully remembering God because the fear of a human being outweighed it. Forgiving myself for the stress and pain I had put, not just myself, but my entire family in. Forgiving myself for the accidental wrong turn I took in life that almost took my life. That, in and of itself, takes time. Before reaching the stage of full self-forgiveness, how can one forgive another? Especially when the other is the cause?

Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves and boast forgiveness all around quite yet. One of my most favorite stories in the Quran is actually a story that God Himself labeled as “the best of the stories.” It is the entire chapter 12 of the Quran, titled after the main character—Prophet Yusuf (Joseph).

The entire chapter is worth reading from start to finish, but the verses that spoke to me the most this year were verses 89 to 98. It begins describing when the brothers of Yusuf realized that the man they have been talking to all along is indeed their brother, Yusuf. Immediately they are enveloped with sorrow and guilt over what they had done to him ages ago. They instantly claimed their realization that God had chosen him above them and that they were certainly wrong in their doings. The amazing part is Yusuf’s reaction. Despite what he had endured, he instantaneously forgives them. He lets it go right then and there. That takes one phenomenally strong personality.

Next come the verses that describe Yusuf’s father’s reaction—Prophet Ya’qoob (Jacob)—after his sons confess their doings. They apologize to him and ask for his forgiveness to which he replies, he will ask his Lord to forgive them because surely He (the Lord) is the Forgiving and Merciful.

Unlike his son, Ya’qoob holds on to what he experienced a little bit differently, and this directly links to the aforementioned point number three deduced from the Facebook poll on forgiveness. It is indeed relative to the forgiver and cannot be coaxed. Yusuf and Ya’qoob both experienced the tragedy but in distinctive ways. Yusuf was young when his brothers tried to get rid of him but despite the hardships he faced, he grew to be a handsome strong man who ended up running the finances of a nation before reuniting with his family. Ya’qoob, on the other hand, experienced the loss of a child, which impacted him a lot deeper. Regardless of the fact that they were both Prophets of God, they are different individuals. Different ages, different outlooks and their lives unfolded differently, therefore their expressions of forgiveness would differ as well.

However, what captured my attention the most were the following two facts:
1.      Both Yusuf and Ya’qoob offered forgiveness after actually receiving an apology.
2.      Forgiveness was born almost decades after the actual incident happened.

Quite contrary to the first two points summarized from my poll, it seems forgiveness can be attained a lot more peacefully and wholly with an apology or act of repentance and some well needed time to accept and heal. The very end of the long Verse 31, in Chapter 24, God tells the believers to repent together so that they may be successful. It’s a clear cut call to action because repentance is not simply a thought. Even in Chapter 25, Verse 71, God connects the act of repentance to good deeds or acts of kindness. For when one does both, it’s a complete submission to requesting forgiveness and erases the mistakes erred before.

Whether we are devout worshippers or souls lost and thirsty for a reconnection, we are to strive first and foremost with forgiving ourselves and asking God to forgive us. From there we continue this internal cleanse as we build a blue print worth implementing each day until next Ramadan. After all, Ramadan is the perfect opportunity to begin manifesting this call to action. The sooner the better. We never know how much “thyme” we actually have. Okay, that’s tacky, but I needed to end this heavy post with a touch of comic relief.

Have a happy and blessed Ramadan!