Author: Mona

A month or two ago, I was entering the masjid to teach sunday school and as always said the duaa:

        اَللَّهمَّ افتحْ لي أَبوَابَ رَحمتِكَ

    “God, Open for me the doors of your mercy.”

It struck me. deeply. That morning, after praying fajr I thought about my womb and the One who made it. I thought about the One who called himself the most merciful, by connecting mercy to maternity.  In Arabic, the name of God “AL-RAHMAN” means “The Merciful” and the root of the word mercy- is “RHM” which means “womb.” As I entered the masjid, I was overwhelmed by receiving the glad tidings of the prayer that would get me through labor. “God, Open for me the doors of your mercy.” Open this mercy to the world. I prayed- Let me remember these words as I am in the pains of birthing. Let me breathe Mercy through this prayer as my body opens to deliver mercy. Let this child be mercy to the world, in the tradition of his teacher and master, Muhammad alayhisalaam.

I found it to be such an obvious prayer for a woman in labor, but have never heard of it used in this way. I know I will be calling on my Lord in many of His Divine attributes through that time- but Ya Rahman just seems like….the right one. Doesn’t it?  Salawat on the Prophet bring such ease to the heart and so much so that I feel it will be a time of great repetition of those beautiful salutations and prayers. I pray that my heart and lips will find the right words to make this time in my life gentle, sweet, safe and fruitful…full of mercy and grace!

I’d love to hear of prayers that helped you through a time in your life. There are so many duaas for so many different parts of life that are encouraged as they are from the tradition and life of the Prophet. I would however like to hear of the prayers that came to you through your own inspiration….

love,
mona

So this is a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down and I’d like to take a minute- just sit right there – let me tell you all about how I got my Lama flair. I used to love The fresh prince of bell air. still do actually. Anyhow…
I came to this place called Lama Foundation on May 18th(my birthday!) 2012. I’ve basically been living here since. SubhanAllah how life presents itself and lays itself out when you least expect it. Long story short:
I fell in love with Lama Mountain. I fell in love with Lama Foundation. I fell in love with my husband who was the first person I met when I arrived here. We’re now expecting our first child inshaAllah (duaas please!) We both live and work here full time.

What a shift in direction my life has taken! SubhanAllah. Had someone told me a year and a half ago that this is what my life looked like, I probably would have told you that you were sooo “trippin.” I was too busy traveling, performing- being an obnoxious artist. Not that I’m any less obnoxious now. I’ve just settled down a bit! 😉

Life here isn’t as glamorous as it looks on my instagram….(@radayhanom on insta). Needless to say “living close to the Earth” in a sustaianable way, is beautiful- but it certainly hasn’t been easy. The little luxuries of having a bathroom let alone running water in your home are things I don’t take for granted anymore. It gets bitter cold up here on the mountain. Making my way from my little house to Lama central for morning meditation every morning is like gearing up for the arctic (not really… but it’s cold as a mug!) We have wood burning stoves for heat in our little homes here. For bathrooms, we have outhouses. But if you have to pee…don’t even think about peeing in the outhouse buddy. We pee straight on the Earth. The nitrogen in urine is good for trees and plants. I figure if the Prophet Muhammad, alayhisalaam- did his business in the wildreness- who am I to be too good for it!? It was hard to get used to, that is not something I can sugar coat. It was really hard early on to convince myself to squat outside in the middle of God’s Earth. But alas, I got used to it and now can’t really understand why in God’s gorgeous names, as a culture/society we pee and poop into perfectly good drinking water?! Anyhow, living off the grid- in houses that run on the Sun’s energy and not propane is me kind of living out my dreams in many weird ways. Composting, permaculture, solar power, alternative lifestyles, off the grid, far from bustling city life, deep in nature, sacred mountain spring water, etc etc etc. Too many things to list but God knows…I am grateful for these blessings!

So far, I’ve loved community life. It’s been kind to me. Someone does my laundry. There’s a designated person to cook each evening. We share our spiritual practices with one another each morning. There are countless reasons this place has been a huge teacher on my path. More on the lessons later. I just thought I’d share a little bit about my life lately.

love love,
mona

I’m inspired to write about my life but feel unworthy of the words.
Alhmdulilah-
the only sentiment that doesn’t sentence me to guilt.
My life is full bodied flavor but insipid and insolent
at the crisis inside and outside
Torn between the goodness and content with the misery.
Dear God, I’m done with me.
Alhmdulilah.

She turns on the water-
First too hot. too cold. good and warm.
She washes her worn hands at the kitchen sink.
The dirt of the day, down the drain.
Her hands tremble momentarily.
But she knows what stills them.
She’s tired.
Her hands soiled with the blood of a boy.
Her spirit sullied watching his soul breathe out of his little body.
She’s tired.
She tried to save his life.
But He died.
She thinks of his dark brown eyes.
Full of life. Then, not.
The water washes over her hands.
Violent water rushing out over her aches.
The only massage she’ll get.
She has running water, still. That’s a blessing. She thinks.
She passes her hands, one over the other.
Sudsy. Lathering.
More soap.
The blood stains around her fingernails are stubborn.
The little boy.
The blood.
All curly hair. Big ears. Small nose. Sweet lips. Missing teeth.
The blood.
Hasbi Allah wa ni’malwakeel.
Over and over and over.
She repeats it.
It’s all that stills the tremble in her hands.
The tremble in her throat when he tells his mother that there was nothing more she could do.
Over and over.
The tightness in her heart.
The fullness in her throat.
She cleans each hand, methodically.
Under this fingernail. Then the next.
Ah. This is why Muhammad ordered them to have short nails.
Because her people would be persecuted.
They would bleed.
And blood stains.
The boy.
Hands clean now. She starts to scrub the sink.
One more time with the soap and her hands.
How many more nights like this.
How much more caked on blood
blood stained hands
hands that tremble,
she wonders.
She turns the water off.
______

I’ve stopped posting things. Imam Suhaib wanted to read a poem on Syria so I thought to post it. Pray for Syria. Pray for the hurt and the hurting. Pray for health and healing. Pray for progress and peace. Pray for freedom and fortitude. Pray for courage and commitment and conviction. Pray for prayer. Pray that God accepts it all in His name, for His sake, in His way and on the path to Him. Shahada.

So I’ve been doing this thing recently where I ask people how their heart is. I’m loving it. I’m loving the open hearted responses. I’m loving the consciousness it engenders and the closeness it builds between our hearts. This is my new mission. I’ve seen beautiful healing begin after this question is asked. I’ve heard surprisingly candid and sincere answers. Some put their hand over their heart and close their eyes before they answer. Some take a deep breath in and look out into the distance. This is the #Heart movement. The more we understand our hearts…the more we are able to see and feel past our bodies- the more capable and compassionate human beings we can be. The question “How is your heart?” grows a cosmic consciousness between humanity- between our hearts and makes a real <3 connection--- and so friend, I ask you: How is your heart?