Ramadan Night 20 - The Third Entry

Or do those in whose

Hearts is a disease, think

That Allah will not bring

To light their rancour?

Had We so willed,

We could have shown them

Up to thee, and thou

Shouldst have known them

By their marks: but surely

Thou wilt know them

By the tone of their speech!

And Allah knows

All that ye do.

S.47 S.29-30

Sometimes, things hit uncomfortably close to home.  God knows me, He is talking about me here! I have shared recently that I am working to improve my communication with others by refraining from engaging in gossip and enmity. In essence, I guess, I am trying to cure my diseased heart.

I am marked though, precisely by my tone of my speech.  I know I am because I attract like-minded folk that recognize in me that canker in my chest that should be a heart. More importantly, I know I must have repelled hundreds of others, not wishing to contaminate themselves with my malady.  I want to change this mark, not just the outward stigmata, but in the inward recesses God peers into.  Pray for me. 

Ramadan Night 20 - The Second Entry

We created not
The heavens and the earth
And all between them
But for just ends, and
For a term appointed:
But those who reject faith
Turn away from that
Whereof they are warned.
S.46 A.3

I have been thinking a great deal about nature as I read everyday.  I have also been thinking about the relationship between God, nature, and man. Reading back through my posts, it occured to me that I found the evidence of God in nature, in its glory, majesty, and beauty.  This verse has added a different perspective to me, and I hope I can articulate it here.  "For a term appointed" means that everything, except God's word, is temporary, fleeting - even the rivers, oceans, and mountains will disappear.  Everything but God's word!

Nature is still an evidence of God for me, but in a much different way.  I don't think it is the existence of these marvelous creations that brings God to mind to me, but the inner pleasure I feel, the incredible sense of the aesthetic appeal of these physical manifestations that murmurs through my heart that connects me to God.  We (humans) alone have been blessed with this gift, and it is one of the many God has granted us in reward for our pious adherence to the awesome responsibilities He has charged us with.  Nothing else in His domain realizes these treasures, nor the pain of not deserving them.

I have read with pleasure the major philosophers. I have read their explanations of the creation of the earth and all that is in it.  I have read their theories of the complex nature of man.  What I have not read is any compelling account of the beauty I feel in my heart  when their words touch me and remind me of the glory of God and His universe.  There I find God, in the gentle receptive folds of my heart. 

Ramadan Night 11

Those who believe, and whose hearts
Find satisfaction in the remembrance
Of Allah: for without doubt
In the remembrance of Allah
Do hearts find satisfaction.

For those who believe

And work righteousness,
Is (every) blessedness,
And a beautiful place

Of (final) return.

S.13 A.28-29

This verse reminds me that I think I am backwards on many things. I don't fret about an afterlife, as a matter of fact, I rarely think about it.  It is not the motivating factor in my faith - living a good and honest life is.  This is enough for me to focus on, and it takes up a good part of my time.  Evaluating my thoughts in order to change them is my current vocation, and I have much left to do yet.  "Do hearts find satisfaction" concerns me now, knowing that which will make my heart satisfied is what will make me a better man, a better Muslim.  I have reached an important milestone - knowing what will truly make my heart satisfied - I am on my way.

And I do want a beautiful place of return at the end of my life.  I have just been careful to make sure the improvements I am making are for the right reasons, not simply a free pass to heaven (knowing full well that doesn't work anyway).  It takes quite a bit of thinking to stay ahead of myself, to make sure I am not rationalizing or intellectualizing the wrong things.  Perhaps that is why I keep coming back to many of the same themes in these posts, as they reflect the constant struggle I am waging.  I don't think the struggle will end either, for every little bit of progress reminds me of how much further I can go, how much better I can be.  So no, I am not worried about heaven right now, I am concentrating on my next few steps.

Ramadan Night 9

Behold! they fold up

Their hearts, that they may lie

Hid from Him! Ah! even

When they cover themselves

With their garments, He knoweth

What they conceal, and what

They reveal: for He knoweth

Well the (inmost secrets)

Of the hearts.

S. 11 A. 5

On my thirty day exploration of the Holy Koran, I might have come across this admonition a bit prematurely. Prematurely in that I am not sure I have reached the proper, honest level of introspection needed to tackle this verse - God knows my heart?  He is in there? To this point, I was content in the knowledge that He had left me a few good and decent things there, but to know He has unfailing access is overwhelming.  I don't yet love my heart, and until I do, it is not a fitting place for my Lord.

Does He know how hard I have to struggle to pacify this jealous and petty organ?  Does He see the battles I wage to keep a simple, virtuous sentiment from slipping away at the first sign of adversity? Is He aware of the maintenance I must do just to claim the status of a human heart? There are ugly and improper things in there, and if He has visited, I cannot understand why He would wish to return.  I was far more comfortable an hour ago, before I read this verse, when I thought I could work on my heart and present it to Him properly when I had made it suitable, when I had made it whole.  The prospect that He is watching the process is terrifying.

I suppose too, that the "garments" I have covered my heart in were meant to shield me from His vision, much in the same way they had shielded me from my family, my friends, my loved ones.  I cloaked myself in the garments of hard work, good deeds, and gentle platitudes - projecting a distorted hologram of my heart.

Perhaps I have always known He was with me, for even when I was praised or lauded for these manifestations attributed to my heart, I was never comfortable receiving the acknowledgement, never feeling worthy. Perhaps it is the shame I feel for squandering the simple gifts He had given me, for failing to nurture them properly. God has tested me greatly today, and I will need some more time before I answer Him.

An Old Letter, Sadly Never Sent

My Sweet Mind, My Black Heart
You are gone, I know it now, perhaps far later than I should have. Gone, not that you just are no longer mine, but gone in every other sense. The pain is intense and deserved, a masochist's paradise I suppose. Driving away the pain has been an avocation as of late, an effort to find hope, to find a semblance of what I have lost. In this battle, I find my heart and mind perpetually at odds, thwarting my progress. My thoughts are beautiful and magnanimous, my feelings brutish and ugly. Neither seems to prevail.
I once read that it was good to think of all the negatives about someone, that that would help ease the pain. When I try, I fail for many reasons - there were things I resented, things I never reconciled, but they were never worse than those I perpetrated on you, and my sense of equity defeats the exercise. Trying to indict your love, trying to deny or defame it provides no utility either, for I have realized it is not the absence of your love that burns so deeply, it is the burden of my own love for you, no where to place it, no where to lay it down. You opened my heart, taught me how to love for the first time in my life - tragically, you never taught me how to stop.

My mind paints the canvas that should stretch my soul. It is a picture of you, with your new love, your true love. Happy that the woman I loved so much, is happier and loved so well. I see you together, smiling, walking through your days in wonder, as only two people who know they will be together eternally can walk. I want these things desperately for you, and I smile beautifully when I ponder them. But my heart objects, gnaws at the decency of my thoughts. It hurts and wants to hurt, but has no target, no relief. It is not smart, and cannot construct elaborate mechanisms of revenge or malice, I am thankful for that. All it can do, is temporarily derail that which I need to do, want to do.

The pleasure my thoughts bring me is slowly abating the distress my senseless heart interjects. Those perfect, pure images fade slowly now, and return bright and vividly ever more often. I will prevail, and there will be no more letters, no more affirmation of my selfish pain. When that happens, I will be a good man, worthy of the time you gave me, the wonderful gifts you shared with me. A good man.

My Corrupted Heart - A Letter Written a Lifetime Ago

It took me a long time to sort things out in here. And just before I emerged from my thoughts, I passed through the darkest places I have been. Dark in that I pushed past the extent of my own insecurities, my own pettiness, the last vestiges of my selfish sense of love for you. I am not sure how I persevered, as the pain was so engrossing, so self-pitying, I was tempted to languish there, to lay in wait for you, to hurt you in proportion to the distorted image of my suffering. Instead, I resolved to break the pattern of my love logic and look at my heart and my feeling for you from a different perspective. Immediately, I was struck by the constricted thing I had called my heart.
From the moment I had met you, I felt what I knew to be love for you. Your face, your gestures, you kindness all called to me. When I eventually reached out to you and you returned my affection, I knew I was in love and that nothing before had felt warmer or so engrossing. And when you asked for all my heart, I thought I had given it to you openely and faithfully. But it wasn't my heart that I had given you - it was the sense of the love I felt from you wrapped haphazardly in the barbed-wire of my shallow, selfish needs. I am sure that you must have felt the love buried there at times, not even my worst insecurites could completely stifle it. This thing I buried in the cavity of my chest, and thought of as my heart.
As we travelled, as we embraced, as we laughed and cried, I pulled you closer ripping you open with the promise of the love beneath that you deserved. And as you bled, I believed it was you that had wounded me. I compounded that delusion by making you believe it was your fault, your lack of commitment that separated our hearts. I am so, so sorry.
I can blame my history, I guess, for this pathetic concept of love. If there had ever been a functioning heart there, it was most likely beaten out of me before my first failed attempts at intimacy and love. But that is no excuse, as I always knew that my relationships were not doomed by my tragic choice of partners. I knew it was me and my selfish, stunted desires. I probably had no business touching your belly, kissing your forehead all those years ago. Despite my issues, you gave your love to me. A testament to the beautiful soul I tried to embrace so awkwardly.
I should have loved your need for privacy, your concern for the real obstacles the world confronted us with. Instead of respecting you, I let that weed-like wire wrap itself tighter around my love, the barbs biting both ways, piercing me, tearing you apart, all in the name of my martyrdom. I did the impossible, I took your unconditional love and impaled it on my own pity and insecurity. I see that now.
But I have done that which I could never do, I have cut that wire and released my love for you. It is no longer tangled with my needs, my desperate desire to keep you, my vain attempts to possess you. I must confess it hurt, pulling those prongs from my heart, but it also feels good in a way I never expected. I am no longer worried about my heart, just warming myself with a true love for you that is not confined by my ego or my expectations for your return. The thought of another man cupping your breast, even being held closely in there by you no longer rips me apart. The pain has been replaced by a genuine hope that you are loved as you deserve to be.
I hope you feel that now, that you understand that no matter what happens to you, you are deeply and truly loved, no matter how far we move apart, no matter how many years between a conversation. I hope you close your eyes at night and know that my love is with you, tenderly watching over you as if I was there, perched on an elbow marvelling in your beauty. I pray that you feel this, no matter what difficulties you face, regardless how alone you might feel. At any moment, know that my thoughts are with you, and that my new heart is warmed by the thought of you smiling. This love is yours, always.
I won't blame you if you doubt the sincerity of this note, or my intentions. Until you do, I can only content myself with this new feeling. My memories of you no longer haunt me as losses or squandered love. I smile and appreciate the experiences, knowing how lucky I was then and that you must have a few nice thoughts too. My self-induced trauma is gone, I am happy.
Yours,
Michael

My Heart

My heart must be a lonely place: I don't often let people in, and I seldom visit it myself. Now that I have been asked to do a presentation at a large ESL conference in Jordan, I am thinking a lot about my heart. I am thinking about my heart because I have realized that when I teach, I feel grace. When I teach, I am honest. When I teach, I give. And sometimes, when I teach, I let my students in. I let my students see who I really am, not afraid of the vulnerability or risk. I want to talk about this in January in Jordan, I want to share what I feel, I want to share what I do well.
If you asked me a few years ago about sharing my heart with my students, I would have had a good laugh. It has only recently dawned on me that I do reveal myself (appropriately of course) in the classroom. This realization has come, in part, through encounters with former students. I have taught thousands of students in the past 25 years, and many have made a point to touch base with me. When they do, they seldom talk about a specific thing I taught them (I will not be listed in luminous volumes of great quotations), they comment on how I helped them. I never thought I was helping them, I thought I was teaching them something specific at a specific moment. This has made me reconsider the teaching process, at least maybe the most import process - sharing myself.
There are other things that have made me consider the state of my heart recently. I have realized that there is actually a wonderful potential being an American Muslim. Being an "American" and not looking like an "Arab", I am often approached by other curious Americans. It is an opportunity to share something of my faith, and to violate some terrible stereotypes. But before I can share, I have to come to grips with the aspects of my faith that impact my heart. I suppose if I lived in a predominately Islamic country, I wouldn't have to express this to many folks, as there would be an implied consensus. That understanding doesn't exist here, and there are many very nice and genuine people who would like to gain a better depth to their knowledge and acceptance of my faith. It has caused me to open up in ways I have never done before.
I feel a peace when I pray, knowing that I have put my own needs and desires aside to pray to my God, Allah. I feel a sense of purpose when I read my Koran, understanding more and more of the lessons the Prophet Mohammed (PBUH)has laid out for me. Sometimes, I believe I was a Muslim before I converted. My actions and thoughts (particularly in the classroom)were often noble and true. I love the fact that I have to reflect on my faith and my subsequent actions; there has to be a concord. My task now is to take that presence from my classroom to the rest of my life, in the shadow of my faith. This will involve opening my heart to more people and experiences. This is my task.
So, in January, I want to share this with a group of other teachers. In this age of technology, science, and innovation, I want to return our focus for an hour or so to our hearts. To that aspect of teaching where we open up and give to our students. Where we help and by doing so are helped. A state of grace that surpasses the moment, and is indicative of a larger connection that touches us all. I have no idea how I will articulate this..............