Performing

did a show at Ghost Ranch retreat center in Abiquiu, New Mexico a few weeks ago. It was magical to be standing at the mic in front of an audience. I had no jitters. None. I was confident. I stood there and gave one of the best performances of my life. I don’t say this based on the audience response, but from my own feelings of being present with them all in that space. I really was THERE and I love it! It felt like raw sacred space. We were in it together.

I’m ready for more of that – so I’m putting it out there universe. I’m ready for more!

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On Being a Mother

He won’t eat or sleep these days, and even though these things frustrate me, somehow they make me love him more(and worry about him more too!) I’ve left behind much of my identity and have become “mama,” plain and simple, like billions of other women. To him, I’m not a poet or activist. I’m not a vegetarian or a spiritual person. I’m “ninneh” or mama. Ninneh is his word for breastfeeding and often he won’t even look at my face, but straight at my breasts and screams “ninneh!” as soon as I enter the room. I’ve become the ninnehs. Nothing more.

I know this stage doesn’t last long, and that babies his age are weaned and happy, but I’m pretty much at my wits end. I believe in breastfeeding. We sit down with him to feed him, we follow him around with food, sing songs, do dances and all for nothing. He pretty much will not eat. On the rare day he does, it’s kale, which basically has a negative calorie count. He’s living on breastmilk and air. “Wean him!” Everyone yells at me. “Stop co-sleeping” is the other one I get yelled at for. I’ve read everything you have. Believe me. I really have. Both sides. All the articles. All the studies. I’m not one of those staunch decidedly attachment parenters. I simply believe that for this child, this is the right thing. I’ve made my decisions to parent this way based on his temperament and for the most part it works!

I’m the ninneh and I love cuddling and snuggling. I love all the things that come with this part of his life. Even the poopy diapers are still okay. We’re in the process of working on potty training. Slow and steady- but he’s getting it. He sings songs and dances like a champs. He notices butterflies and airplanes. He picks tomatoes and loves the garden. It’s such hard work. The day in and day out. The labors of love of every meal being a fight and every bite a victory exhausts me. I’m so tired. And I’m so grateful. I have never had to be so selfless in all my life. My world literally revolves around what he needs, when he needs it- anticipating those needs, and fulfilling them. I’ve never gotten such little sleep while having to do so much. My love and prayers goes out to all the mamas out there!

<3

 

 

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Vulnerable

On vulnerability:

I’m feeling quite groundless and vulnerable these days. Not sure where we will settle. Not sure where we will end up. Vulnerable and open. and scared. The rawness of not having a “home” is setting in and I’m feeling it deeply. It strikes into my heart that I am indeed a vagabond. A homeless traveler in a world with a thin and wispy veil, trying to make herself seem real. Only, I know she’s not. She’s a total fraud. A fake. All dolled up, make up tutorials, hair glossy and gorgeous, sweet talking,  taking her Xanax, Codeine, and then of course the Ambien. How can I keep up my own charade seeing through the veils of illusion? Why do I worry about a home when I know it’s all so temporal? Why do I dream of a homestead with chickens and goats and fields of strawberries and kale when it will all come to nothing?

 

I’m feeling the agony of what Ram Dass calls playing out karma. I’m feeling it deep down into the depths of my soul. The only way I can keep going is to live strictly in the right now. This present moment. I am alive. I am awake. Breathing. Heart beating. Allah. Om. All of it, Muhammad. I call on my courage to face only the present and leave the shirk that is living for tomorrow or yesterday. That is shirk. Shirk is not worshipping other than Allah, because indeed that is an impossibility when each one of our cells is in a constant state of remembrance. Shirk is the conscious mind dwelling in some illusion of past or future.

We will drive East again, because that is the call we hear. Be with family. Soak up spring and luscious summer there and all the while we will continue to pray that God will make our path manifestly clear. There is a plot of land somewhere that has our names on it. But first the call is clear. Help mama take care of baba. Be there for them in the hard days of his disease. Set up good structures that will serve everyone’s physical and mental health. Am I capable of making it all better. I certainly want to think so. I want to believe that I can cure him with my positivity, with my love. The love of a daughter, a newly made mother. Surely Love can heal anything can’t it? Even baba’s Parkinsons, right? A woman’s love is said to be the most powerful force there is. I believe that.

The truth is, I am human. I am afraid. I have doubts. I have judgements. I’m afraid of not being enough. But I am grateful because I am not afraid of being human. I embrace my humanity with love and mercy and pray that others do. My capacity to do is only as broad as my capacity to be. I welcome my fears that I will be judged because we don’t have a plan or a house and most of what else constitutes “success” to most. I am afraid of being judged by others because even this is connection. Judgement is one kind of connection. Same with fear. I welcome them to act and play within me to create beauty. I pray for my trust in God to grow so that I can let go of my own self judgement. I pray for deep trust. I call on my deep well of knowing that I am loved and cared for, that I am safe. I am content with my limitations. I am content with my creation. I am content with my lot. I am content with my humanity. I am even content with my illogical nature, my contrariness, and even my contradictory feelings. I am afraid and I welcome the fear. I am love and sometimes I hate myself. Vulnerability at work inside me is letting go of the “should” and trusting in what is, giving in to the ever present force of Love. Every time I open to my vulnerability, I find my ego challenged and my heart expanded. Without fail. Every time. I open the vulnerability that makes me human. Sometimes, I am not enough. Sometimes, I am broken by the world. Sometimes, I am the breaker. Sometimes, I fail. But always, I am human and open to the Love in all of it.

Practically:

There are fears that spring up inside me around driving across this country, looking the way I do. Should I make it easier on myself, and just wear a hat instead? Is that unfair to my own beliefs? Is it better to make those around me feel safe and non-threatened so that they don’t have to face their own egos and the diseases that have ravaged their hearts? Should I ease their hearts and make my own heavy? Should I challenge their prejudices with my scarf, smile and warm friendliness? I worry about these things because this issue is as real as it has ever been. So what is right? What do I do? I am struggling with these questions.

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the mountain

Hiking up our mountain and I catch a glimpse of this.
I feel alive on this Earth- with the Earth.
Safi naps on my chest as we climb. Higher and higher.
Through the aspen groves.
Thick. Humid.
Jungle like micro-climate because of the spring.
Past that into open light.
Dead trees all around.
Reminding me that the fire is real
even perched here, in heaven’s terrestrial home.

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growing

Under the shade of a cottonwood
could is mantra
i think i can
i think i can
i can
therefore I am
in the midst of tall grasses
floating butterflies
like clay, cassius
buzzing bees in harmonies
harmoniums and soliloquies
soil between toes
food growing in rows and rows
roses and rosehips
smiling babies on hips
beneath vast new mexican sky
mountain water alive.
God is wind whispering
and leaves dancing
God is green
and brown
and deep wet sand color
God is pillow white cloud
and blades of grass reaching for them
God is full moon rising
in shadow of new moon setting

the waves of change
growth
the comings
goings
Grandness and gentleness
the shhhhhhh of June
and rains of july

the breeze only sings
because trees are there to dance and sway
this is the way of the mountain
the depth of this foundation
goes beyond down-
but back up again
rooted in heavens
nestled securely in earth
i think i can,
grow
just like cottonwood tree
just like tarragon leaves
just like my sweet safi

i think i can
God put that in me too.

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Katya

This is real life. She was a real little girl. Her little body has gone back to the Earth as her soul has returned to God. The Syrian struggle for freedom continues. Whatever you believe about who is right and who is wrong or who is a terrorist and who is not- say a little prayer for this angel. Save the children, God. Ya Rahman.

Via my little sister Noor:

This is Katya. I met her 1 year and 54 days ago (when I took this photo), just a few days before the school near Qah Refugee Camp opened. For many kids, it was their first time back at school in 2 or 3 years.
Today, Katya’s school was bombed via one of Assad’s MiG planes. She and her friend Shams were in the playground. Shams (name meaning “Sun”) was killed on impact. Katya is in a coma. This is the Syria that we are ignoring. Displaced, hungry schoolchildren aching to play and learn…and they meet their demise. For what crime??

Read about the incident from the school’s keepers:
جيل الحرية | Generation Freedom| Generation Freedom
http://www.sada.pro/شمس-جيل-الحرية-في-مدينة-قاح،-تفارق-الحي/#.U10FHCqncuN

——

An update to all people of conscience: Katya succumbed to her wounds and passed earlier today after being in a coma for 5 days. Whatever your beliefs, say a prayer and send some good thoughts to her family. Rest in peace, Katya. I’m sorry we have failed you and so many other Syrian children who are forced to flee their homes only to face bombardment and death in their displacement </3

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A Luxurious Life

Today Safi and I took a walk up the mountain to our spring. MashaAllah, the flowing water never ceases to expand my heart. Safi enjoyed it so much he was snoring in a minute’s time. It’s a gorgeous spring day here. The aspens are exploding with lime leafage and the mountain side it turning a very becoming shade of very alive green! But before you start envying me….wait:

This life is hard.

It’s not easy or idyllic most of the time. Generally it’s a struggle not to have running water in our homes. Having a baby has really driven this point home for me. A lot of you think I’m crazy for choosing this life, I know. A one room straw & bail house with no bathroom and no running water. Sounds like a nightmare…I know. That’s what I thought before I lived it. I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I had the courage or the desire to live without the simple luxury of running water. I’m finding that I do have the courage and that I can indeed do it!  It’s crazy, the thought of peeing outside, right? It’s crazy to think about pooping straight into a giant hole dug into the Earth with a little wooden house over it, right? Crazy. I know.

Yes, I think it’s crazy too. But I think not living this way is crazy too. I think God will ask us on the day of judgement about our running water. I think He will want to know how much garbage waste we produced. I think we will have to account for our dollars spent – did our money support slavery? Did it support structures that were unjust? Did it make for a greater divide between the “1st and 3rd worlds?”
We have choices. We have choices to live simpler, cleaner lives. We have the choice to live lives free from the constraints of “what’s in” or “out.” We have the choice to live conscientious lives. In truth, I feel closer to the rest of my human family by living this life. I feel closer to the One who made us because of this life.  It reminds me that clean running water is a luxury. Clean eating and good food are a luxury. I’m coming to understand that luxury means very different things depending on who you ask.

I feel spoiled to drink water that comes straight out of my mountain—-to me it is a true luxury. I feel luxurious to eat food that is grown from this Earth without any help from corporations or conglomerates. Just good old dirt, sun, water and a lil sprinkle of love. It all sounds fine and dandy right? But then you have to use an outhouse and compost all your organic waste. You have to carry water to your home and use it consciously so you don’t run out before you can get more.

I’m a normal girl who went to normal high school who went on to normal college who lived in a normal house in a normal neighborhood with normal friends and family. Now I live this life that isn’t so “normal.” I didn’t think I could do it. I’m not any different than you. I’m not superwoman with superwoman powers. I’m not some rugged mountain hiking bad ass chick. I’m just this girl out of Flint, Mi and here I am living on a mountain because I believe the Earth has rights over me and I hope to fulfill them. I believe I deserve to drink pristine water without chemicals in it and eat food that was engineered in a lab but by God’s perfect original engineering. I believe in this kind of luxury. The luxury of living in a way that draws us nearer to our Creator. InshaAllah.

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Ladies, Don’t be fooled…

Disclaimer: These are my personal thoughts and musings. The following should not be seen as any kind of religious ruling.

Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you are “unclean.”

pffft

So often when I’ve been invited to perform for Muslim audiences, I meet amazing young and SUPER accomplished Muslim women and they all have the same inferiority complex- more on this in a minute. Usually I prefer to spend the night at their homes rather than in hotels even though it’s not always the most convenient or luxurious accommodation but this is definitely my preference and I’ll tell you why….

We stay up late talking about issues only other Muslim women have dealt with or understand. It’s a rare opportunity for “real talk” where we can all be candid and open. Things often come out in these conversations…deep dark secrets, guilty pleasures, guilt in general and what have you.

One of the things that always comes up is the question of why girls cannot read/hold the Quran while bleeding. These girls often feel bad and are raised to believe that they are less than and are incapable of connection during their menses.  Now I am not a scholar of any sort; nor am I divinely inspired by God and have visions or revelations so everything I say here is purely my opinion based on the saying of the prophet Muhamad, prayers and peace be upon him, “Seek the counsel of your heart, even if/when advised by people.”

I believe that women can and should hold and read Quran while bleeding.

I know what you’re thinking….”Where are you getting this from, Mona? You’ve studied Shafi’i fiqh. How can you go against something that is generally agreed upon by the 4 schools of thought?”

Let’s keep in mind that in the time of Prophet Muhamad, there was no written, compiled Quran. This notion is based on the idea that a woman is cannot be ritually cleansed while on her period and thus should not touch the Quran. It is based on the verse “None shall touch it but the purified ones.” 56:79

It is my understanding that this verse refers to the tablet(lawh) and the angels. This verse was assurance that Allah sent the words of the Quran with purified beings who had no will of their own and thus would not alter, affect or change the message. The “touch” mentioned is an altering and not a physical touch.  This verse does not indicate that we must be in a state of ritual purity while “touching” the physical book. While it is recommended that one be in a state of wudu while reading, as this increases the reward, it is not haram to touch or read while not in this state.

Don’t be fooled, ladies; When you’re bleeding, you are in a constant state of prayer and thus are exempt from needing to enter into a physical state of prayer. Your heart is torn open by the One who made it and made you bleed during this time. Are you not more emotional when you bleed?  Your emotions are deepened and your openings are heightened. Tears are closer to the surface during these days. Hearts are more tender. God has ennobled us with this time of deeper connection. Call it hormones or call it a spiritual experience, our periods are a way to connect with our Creator. God has gifted us in this spiritually open time, a week of each month where we are majthubīn, we are pulled to the One by a force or event that we do not have to choose to engage. It is simply the way we were created. Perfectly.

In my personal experience, some of my favorite and most cherished moments with my Creator happen while I am bleeding. This blood connects me to my mothers: Hawa, Maryam, Amina, Khadija, and Aisha, my ancestors and made it possible for my beloved RasulAllah to be born into this world.

It isn’t a hatred for men or any such thing that causes me to say that those who have interpreted much of Islam are generally men from patriarchal societies. This is a historical fact. Their readings and interpretations are often misogynistic and patriarchal. They are not infallible beings. While we respect their opinions and interpretations, we can also approach these matters from the feminine perspective with respect and true critical thinking.

Would Allah command a woman to cease interaction with the words sent down with the precise expectation that she would and should interact with them? Would Allah deny a woman a week of every month of her childbearing years in which she was not allowed to interact with the Divine word? Would Allah put a woman in the position of distance and separation when connection to Creator is the mission of our lives?

My heart has a “no” to these questions.

Our mother,  Aisha (God be pleased with her) said, “The Messenger of God, prayers and peace be upon him said to me,
‘Get me the prayer mat from the prayer area.’ I replied, ‘I am menstruating.’ He said, ‘Verily, your menstruation is not in your hand.’
[Muslim]

I don’t feel the need to go deeper into the matter than RasulAllah did in the above narration.

And Allah knows best.

 

 

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Hineni

Clear sky, blue.
Evergreens snow capped peaks.
White mimics sky cloud white.
Wiped clean of thoughts.
Only God. Here I am.
Moses to Jesus to Muhamad.
Here I am.
only God.
Buddha inside Rio Grande gorge.
Om.
Ripping open delicious desire
to be
closer.
closer.
Here I am.
Birdsongs beckoning heartsongs sung.
Here is where Presence presents herself.
Here is when there is only God. only now.
Crisp light, sunny warmth.
Dripping melting moisture into Earth.
Here I am.
Feeding the feeding. feeling the fullness.
Here I am.
Only God.
Mother of dirt, blackness, rich soil.
Puddles, pebbles. Clean green scented.
Streaming down mountainside.
Exposing sparkle. musty musk.
Here I am.

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