A Ramadan Report
As presaged, it was on day four that I almost cracked. Though, funnily enough, it wasn't about food: it was coffee.
I first noticed this curious feature of the fasting on the first day, actually - how much I really didn't care about not-eating, or even not-smoking (which struck me as even more odd), but rather, the fact that what I craved most was coffee. And this continued, through day two, and day three, into day four. I was driving back to Guilford from Hartford to help Ellen B, a co-worker, set up her computer (I convinced her to switch to Linux, and so needed to offer some basic assistance in setting it up - though she paid me $30 an hour for said assistance. I attempted to get out of her paying me, but she insisted, and in my current state of near-broke-ness, I gratefully accepted).
Anyway, I was driving back, and while I did so, my mind went slowly, loudly crazy. It began cutting deals with itself - just this one day, I would have just a single cup of coffee, and then I'd return to fasting. But I knew that if I gave in, I never would return to the fast, and so I didn't. Then I rationalized that hey, most Muslims don't fast Ramadan anyway, so why should I? Anyway, He said His Mercy encompasses all; He'll forgive me. It's His Nature. I thought of some sufis, lax in their observance of the rituals, and thought well hey, they're spiritual people, so why not me too? The problem is that I then thought of the Prophet (sawas), and Imam 'Ali (as), and they fasted. And even though refraining from judging the spiritual status of others who did not fast, I knew that I had to do so.
At which point the mind got decidedly tricky on me, trying to talk me out of Islam itself. Maybe I should be Baha'i? It's, you know... similar. But then I realized that I couldn't accept Muhammad (sawas), not really, if I didn't accept the fact that he was the Seal of Prophethood. I couldn't accept the Qur'an, but reject the bits that I didn't like. I thought of becoming Christian; but I can't believe in Jesus (as) as an avatar, or the son of God. I'm not Jewish. I can respect, but not feel, Hinduism. And Buddhism, while it will always have a special place in my heart, I knew is not my path.
And so I kept coming back to the fact that I was simply going to have to fast.
What occurred to me, finally, was the fact that all of this, every bit of it, was ego, nafs al amarra.
It has nothing to do with hunger, or eating - especially because I wasn't hungry, I wanted coffee. It was about a part of me trying to tell me what to do.
And what began to dawn was the realization that fasting is nothing more than a form of meditation. It's a formless meditation; it has no concentration or focus involved. It is simply allowing oneself to notice all one's reactions come up in the mind, or on the tongue, to see them in a stark relief, to watch them come and go. I snap at people more easily, when I am hungry; but unintentionally. I want to be alone, by myself, when I am hungry. I become quieter, more inwardly-drawn, when I hunger. I don't want to have to deal with anyone or anything. I want to sit still; I want to watch the clock tick away the moments until sundown, when the blessed relief of 3 dates and water comes.
Today was entirely different. It wasn't that I had more resolve against the hunger and the thirst. It was more that I didn't need to have resolve. I was going to fast; there was no question about it. And throughout the day, my mind was light, empty, quiet. I noticed that I spent most of the day with a slight smile on my lips. It was like reaching the quiet place one gets to in long meditation sessions, after all the hullaballoo as the mind tries to keep itself busy, that place a few hours in when things settle and one is simply present.
I'm looking to go further into this Ramadan with the intention of watching. Just watching. Seeing how all of myself rises up and struggles against... well, me.
I find this all hard to explain. But I feel as if I finally understand what the point of fasting is. In fact, after Eid, I hope to fast the 6 days of Shawwal that (apparently) count for a lifetime of fasting. And I'm looking forward to the fast of Muharram, later on. I'd like to make it a part of my practice.
I've been feeling less than spiritual of late. I've been out of the loop, AA-wise; I haven't been engaged by spiritual literature, and my prayer-life has seemed, frankly, dead. I realized this, alhamdulillah, because there was a piece on NPR a little while back about the aridity of Mother Theresa's spiritual life, and I remembered the concept of aridity, and I realized that I'm going through just this right now, where it's harder to pray, harder to feel connected to people and God. Recognizing it is good; now I know that it will pass, as long as I am patient and persevere and remember that spirituality isn't about the ecstasy, it's about the laundry.
Speaking of which, I want to try to read some more, and pray before bed, so I'll take my leave now.
I hope my Muslim brothers and sisters are having a blessed Ramadan and one as fruitful as mine has turned out to be. Keep your chins up, y'all - Allah is with us whether we know it or not.
I first noticed this curious feature of the fasting on the first day, actually - how much I really didn't care about not-eating, or even not-smoking (which struck me as even more odd), but rather, the fact that what I craved most was coffee. And this continued, through day two, and day three, into day four. I was driving back to Guilford from Hartford to help Ellen B, a co-worker, set up her computer (I convinced her to switch to Linux, and so needed to offer some basic assistance in setting it up - though she paid me $30 an hour for said assistance. I attempted to get out of her paying me, but she insisted, and in my current state of near-broke-ness, I gratefully accepted).
Anyway, I was driving back, and while I did so, my mind went slowly, loudly crazy. It began cutting deals with itself - just this one day, I would have just a single cup of coffee, and then I'd return to fasting. But I knew that if I gave in, I never would return to the fast, and so I didn't. Then I rationalized that hey, most Muslims don't fast Ramadan anyway, so why should I? Anyway, He said His Mercy encompasses all; He'll forgive me. It's His Nature. I thought of some sufis, lax in their observance of the rituals, and thought well hey, they're spiritual people, so why not me too? The problem is that I then thought of the Prophet (sawas), and Imam 'Ali (as), and they fasted. And even though refraining from judging the spiritual status of others who did not fast, I knew that I had to do so.
At which point the mind got decidedly tricky on me, trying to talk me out of Islam itself. Maybe I should be Baha'i? It's, you know... similar. But then I realized that I couldn't accept Muhammad (sawas), not really, if I didn't accept the fact that he was the Seal of Prophethood. I couldn't accept the Qur'an, but reject the bits that I didn't like. I thought of becoming Christian; but I can't believe in Jesus (as) as an avatar, or the son of God. I'm not Jewish. I can respect, but not feel, Hinduism. And Buddhism, while it will always have a special place in my heart, I knew is not my path.
And so I kept coming back to the fact that I was simply going to have to fast.
What occurred to me, finally, was the fact that all of this, every bit of it, was ego, nafs al amarra.
It has nothing to do with hunger, or eating - especially because I wasn't hungry, I wanted coffee. It was about a part of me trying to tell me what to do.
And what began to dawn was the realization that fasting is nothing more than a form of meditation. It's a formless meditation; it has no concentration or focus involved. It is simply allowing oneself to notice all one's reactions come up in the mind, or on the tongue, to see them in a stark relief, to watch them come and go. I snap at people more easily, when I am hungry; but unintentionally. I want to be alone, by myself, when I am hungry. I become quieter, more inwardly-drawn, when I hunger. I don't want to have to deal with anyone or anything. I want to sit still; I want to watch the clock tick away the moments until sundown, when the blessed relief of 3 dates and water comes.
Today was entirely different. It wasn't that I had more resolve against the hunger and the thirst. It was more that I didn't need to have resolve. I was going to fast; there was no question about it. And throughout the day, my mind was light, empty, quiet. I noticed that I spent most of the day with a slight smile on my lips. It was like reaching the quiet place one gets to in long meditation sessions, after all the hullaballoo as the mind tries to keep itself busy, that place a few hours in when things settle and one is simply present.
I'm looking to go further into this Ramadan with the intention of watching. Just watching. Seeing how all of myself rises up and struggles against... well, me.
I find this all hard to explain. But I feel as if I finally understand what the point of fasting is. In fact, after Eid, I hope to fast the 6 days of Shawwal that (apparently) count for a lifetime of fasting. And I'm looking forward to the fast of Muharram, later on. I'd like to make it a part of my practice.
I've been feeling less than spiritual of late. I've been out of the loop, AA-wise; I haven't been engaged by spiritual literature, and my prayer-life has seemed, frankly, dead. I realized this, alhamdulillah, because there was a piece on NPR a little while back about the aridity of Mother Theresa's spiritual life, and I remembered the concept of aridity, and I realized that I'm going through just this right now, where it's harder to pray, harder to feel connected to people and God. Recognizing it is good; now I know that it will pass, as long as I am patient and persevere and remember that spirituality isn't about the ecstasy, it's about the laundry.
Speaking of which, I want to try to read some more, and pray before bed, so I'll take my leave now.
I hope my Muslim brothers and sisters are having a blessed Ramadan and one as fruitful as mine has turned out to be. Keep your chins up, y'all - Allah is with us whether we know it or not.