How often is it that when I ask someone how their fasts aregoing that I am met with the classic, politically correct, and emotionally safe-guarded response of: ‘Alhamdulillah, great sister, how about yourself?’ I am awkwardly left feeling as if I too need to respond with the same gentle nod of the head and polite smile back, suggesting just enough of a hint of genuineness to be believable; a response that manifests itself in the nice,neat, little package of my response of ‘Alhamdullilah’ reciprocated right back at them.
In the high prevalence of these social exchanges that are occurring in our mosques, on our street corners, at work, and within families in Muslim communities this Ramadan, how often are we actually telling the truth of how our Ramadan is going?
I liken the question of, ‘Salaam, how is your fast going?’ to the classic question in Western culture of, ‘hey how are you doing?’How often do people reveal how they really are and how often do we actually care to know the truth? Or rather how often are we emotionally prepared to handle the truth? It is almost as if we have been conditioned to be emotionally withdrawn not only from one another, but rather from ourselves, to the point where we may just start believing the monotonous conditioning of our own lies.The culturally conditioned phrases of, ‘I am fine,’ or of ‘Alhamdullilah,’become the language, or means to often repress and deny what is really going on inside of us.
On the one hand, our Alhamdullilah carries some degree of integrity. We all have things in our lives to be thankful for, to indeed say 'Alhamdullilah' for. For each of our individual sufferings there are millions of others who can be counted toward having situations that are worse than theones we may find ourselves in. However, should this recognition operate in away to conceal issues in our lives that require not only our confrontation, but rather an ongoing and open dialogue within our Muslim communities? What space do we leave for this to occur with our simple and dead-end response of'Alhamdullilah'?
Maybe it’s about time that as a Muslim community we wake up to our internal states. What would happen if when asked how my fast was going,that I responded with the truth. What would happen if I really spoke my mind on how I felt that day? Perhaps if I responded with, ‘I am exhausted, I have a migraine headache, I am dehydrated, I cannot think or walk straight, and I feel like I am lifeless.’ What would happen then? Would I be denigrated in the eyes of my Muslim community? Would I risk being ostracized and be the talk of the town during the breaking of the fast? Additionally, how would God feel? Would I be angering him? Am I a ‘bad’ Muslim for thinking this, for feeling this?
What do I do?
The overwhelming nature of these questions can often cause us to walk around the safe borders of our ‘Alhamdullilah’s’ to the point where we maybe leaving ourselves emotionally hijacked and spiritually deluded.
This Ramadan, I am finding myself asking the question of: Where are the Muslim narratives of those of us that are struggling to fast, of theMuslims who feel spiritual conflict during the fast, and to whom can they turn?What can we, as a community do to remove the fear associated with addressing and speaking up on the negative feelings that may be arising within us during the spiritual experience of Ramadan?
In the ideal world of sainthood, the fast should make one feel pure, whole, spiritually renewed, and awakened, but what if the person withholding the fast is experiencing the complete opposite, or a range in the spectrum of human emotion? Where is the space for them to speak and to be heard within Muslim communities?
What language is available to us beyond the 'Alhamdulillah?'
The fact that these conversations may not be occurring in the magnitude that they could, or rather ought to be, makes me question that if we as Muslims are repressing and denying conflicted emotions within ourselves during our fast. Additionally, I question how solid our communities really are if people are so afraid of honestly speaking their minds. How can we help eradicate fear so that Muslims can create safe, judgement free spaces for a dialogue on the struggles of Ramadan this year?
For me, my faith is an ongoing journey, but what justice does the ‘Alhamdulillah’ give to the trials of this journey?
How do we as Muslims go about reconciling these mixed emotions of our religious identities? How can we go about allowing these emotions to be experienced without feeling the guilt and shame that may come with them? There seems to be a lot of narratives on the beauty of the Ramadan this year, on the love for God, and the Prophet that are invoked through thisHoly month, but where is the more complex narrative that sheds light on the true natures of our souls? Souls that are restless, that are shifting, that are in constant transition, and even turmoil.
This Ramadan, it is my hope that as Muslims in the West, we stop internalizing our spiritual conflicts as a form of weakness, and rather start to build Muslim communities that are free of judgement and filled with love and acceptance not only for one another, but first and foremost for ourselves.
Indeed, this will certainly be deserving of my ‘Alhamdulillah.’
No comments:
Post a Comment