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celebrated Eid, the holiday marking the end of Ramadan, at a Bat Mitzvah of all places. The day was a whirlwind of transportation and logistics performed in various heights of high heels, but somewhere in there I managed to rejoin the living and eat lunch right there in public in the middle of the day, with everyone around me acting like it was completely normal. It's the small miracles that count the most.

At the reception, M. interrupted my conversation with my long lost relative, the Indian Chief, to guide me outside where the lawn overlooked the flat marsh. There in the distance, about to set behind a silhouetted hill, was the most perfect sliver of crescent moon hung in the inky pinky swath of dusk. In Islam one is encouraged to see for one's own eyes the changing of the months as signified by the new crescent moon, to personally engage with the cosmology of each event. And when one spies it, we can say what the Prophet (SAAS) said:

Ya Hilalun, Rabbee wa Rabbuka Allah — O Moon, my Lord and your Lord are God.

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ight and I are not necessarily friends. The consistent blackness outside makes it hard for me to find my bearings. It's colder, and the glare of the lamps inside obstructs the world beyond the windows. And I am inside, because what business does a lady have out there when darkness falls? I heard someone's mother once say that nothing much good ever happens after midnight, and the squeaky clean part of myself tends to agree.

But we've formed an uneasy pact, night and I. Because it's prime time for productivity these days when I can have a full tummy and a hot cup of coffee. Otherwises I'm useless, listless, distracted. My work is suffering from lack of rhythm. I'm suffering from lack of rhythm. So I need the night to hold onto, to get a thing or two done, to tip the scales of the day back a little bit toward normalcy.

I don't like it, being a night person. But it's a temporary arrangement. Ramadan challenges me to probe around outside my comfort zone. Before it started I thought to myself, "I'll just keep on with my normal day, I'll just be hungry and thirsty — so what?" But it's not that simple. It's one month of submission, over and over. With every rakah I'm being kneaded. I wake when I do not want to. I fast when I do not want to. I work when I do not want to. It's a vulnerable state, being jostled outside of oneself. So I'll take what the night has to give.

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1. The light of the full moon pervading the house

2. The refreshing feeling of ablution first thing after sleep - the water tingles on my skin

3. The comforting burbling of the coffee pot being the only sound

4. The sense that all the world is asleep, the day full of possibility not yet begun

5. Getting back into bed afterwards!

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onight M. and I had a party to attend in the city from six to eight, though I wasn't able to break the fast until 7:06. We timed it so we could pick up some dim sum from our favorite place on the way, and I could eat it in the car as soon as the sun set, at which point we'd be arriving at our destination. These are the types of mundane little things that suddenly become quite important when you haven't eaten for thirteen and a half hours.

By six forty-five we were headed south across the Golden Gate Bridge, with the sun taking its time to descend into the ocean. It was an exquisite paradox between wanting the sun to set so I could eat and drink, and enjoying the utter beauty of the moment. If you've never seen it, the approach into San Francisco from the north is incredible at sunset. You round a curve from the hills and suddenly the whole area is laid out before you: to your left, Alcatraz, with the Bay Bridge and the Berkeley hills beyond - the water between is dotted with white sailboats. To your right, the endless ocean, perhaps with a lumbering shipping liner bobbing its way to destinations unknown. And in the center is San Francisco, a sweeping view from the Transamerica Pyramid and the tall skyscrapers of downtown to the small little houses nestled on hillsides, separated by the green swath of Golden Gate Park. As the sun goes down it pours rosy gold on everything, and the sky is still blue to the east and a nearly full moon is becoming brighter and bolder.

The smell of dim sum nearly overpowered me, but the hunger is the important part. The empty belly, the dry mouth, and the tender spot on my forehead from prostration. They're the offering and I give them all willingly - to ask for a prayer to be answered, to acknowledge a gift received, or sometimes - most of the time - just to say hello.

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he first week of Ramadan is almost over, and I'm settling in I think. This morning I cracked the face of my alarm clock by flinging it off the nightstand when it went off at five. Oops. There is a slight cottony film over everything - hard to tell if it's from a disrupted sleep schedule or the fast. Sometimes I'm on auto-pilot from one prayer to the next. At moments I'll feel such a strong need for something - a cup of coffee perhaps - that it's almost hard to bear. And then it passes. When I get lonely I think of anonymous Muslims in San Francisco fasting along with me. I think of them lining up at Gordo at sunset, timing their transaction with the very moment they will be able to chomp into a hot, cheesy burrito. The fact is, I believe in the work of the spiritual path, in drudgery and hunger and longing. It's all right with me if it's difficult. For some of us, it's supposed to be difficult.

Posted by Satya at 11:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

ay one of Ramadan is in full effect. I guess "full" might be the wrong word, though, as I'll be fasting until sundown (at 7:23 PM here). I woke up at five for breakfast and fajr prayer, and it's only a couple hours later - just trying to get some work in before the hunger and thirst set in, and then I'll go back to bed until the next prayer time.

My complete disclosure is that I only pray five times a day when I'm observing Ramadan, which isn't every year - just when I feel compelled to do so. But when I am observing, the rhythm of the prayer cycle adds a lot to the experience for me. My day revolves around prayer, and the day is broken up into smaller segments instead of stretching out interminably. I also find that I have more mental space once the primal hunting and gathering instincts cease to rule during the day (okay, so I'm hunting in the snack drawer and gathering a handful of chips, but you get the idea).

This year I feel drawn to do it because it's such a huge time in my life. I turned 30, finished Suluk, and passed my first degree black belt test all in the span of a few months, and in one more give or take I'll be married. It's a good time in my life to enter a reflective and meditative state so that these changes don't pass me by in a blur of mundanity. And Ramadan, though difficult, is a good way to do that.

Read on if you'd like a more complete picture of what Ramadan entails.

Continue reading "Ramadan Mubarak" »

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