Every year, I get some kind of cold or flu in the month of September. It definitely has to do with the weather changing. It works like clockwork, too, which is both reassuring and alarming. Because I know it's coming, but I also know there's not much I can do about it. I suppose you could say it's a small version of death. That leads me to think, in a ridiculous way, about this Ramadan, and what makes it different from last year's. Last year, if you remember, the month began on the first day of the semester. Because I was teaching two Urdu courses, I was pretty much freaking out hardcore: how was I going to teach a language course? How was I going to handle nearly 35 students? Most of them desis calling me Haroon Ji and making me think of Uncleness (which is a progress to the end of all things here.) Nothing in my research, nor in my academic plans, had factored in teaching a language course, let alone two courses of students simultaneously taking Hindi. Looking back, it was an amazing experience, and I wish I had the chance to do it again this year, as it did wonders for my Urdu and my Hindi (not to mention it would've been a lot easier with a year's experience under my belt.) This year, though, it's a Persian FLAS. Khayr.
But I couldn't get into Ramadan because I never really prepared myself. It's like school started and the month started and in between juggling all my academic responsibilities, Ramadan got put on the back burner. This year, thank God, things have been a lot better. I notice then how faith fluctuates; in some weeks or months, sometimes even just for a few days, you hear something or you read something or you see something or you experience something which either causes your faith to go out or causes your faith to rise. This year my Ramadan has been apparently more productive. Of course, only God knows what is accepted and what is not, but I feel that -- I know that -- I have done a lot more this time around than I did last year. More time in the masjid, more reading of the Qur'an, more du'a period a lot of it, surprisingly and unsurprisingly, has to do with attitude. I'm not saying this to show off, but rather to provide some insight. Into how attitude works: Am I going to allow myself to take advantage of this time? Does it mean something to me? Even though other people's words and actions may sometimes turn us, including me, off from some part of our religion (or, God forbid, the whole edifice -- and that's happened at times in my life), do I let that person or those persons deny me this month and the opportunity to pray for all the things I want to pray for? Do I allow myself to lose the chance to giving charity, to stand in prayer, to read what God has to say to me? I could, and I have.
Going into the month with a positive and eager frame of mind has made a huge difference. I have to say I'm a little bit terrified about what happens the day after: how much of this is just the fact that Satan is not able to influence us (apparently, he got Kanye West at the VMA's). By no means do I suggest that I've been a saint. I found that many negative aspects of my personality remain, and frustrate me, even in this holy month, and finding what is wrong with me internally is somehow more disheartening -- it's easier to fight the other than to fight my own self. But what I have found, and I have found it to be very interesting, is that the main thing that Satan has over me is his ability to sap me of my drive, of my motivation. I would not go so far as to say I am a particularly religious person, but my commitment to wanting to live Islam is real, and feeds off of a sense of community and a sense of contribution. When I'm active with other people, and surrounded by people who take their religion seriously, I find myself more and more eager to be a part of religious practice. To incorporate faith into my daily routine. To have that opportunity, late at night, to turn to God in prayer. This seems to have more of an effect on me than anything else, even nature. And what Satan does is he makes me feel that these things are a priori negative. While we should not discount the importance of purified intention in our practice (riya), we should also not discount the importance of being around people whose social pressures push us in a positive direction. And in this month, I have been far more active, as a person and as a Muslim, and that activity is itself good for me, in a human capacity and in a spiritual capacity. It's going to be a lot harder when the month is over. It's very hard to lose that feeling of community.
That's why we have to make its a matter of attitude, a decision of our frame of mind, to continue. To keep on being a community, to look after each other, to take care of each other. That takes a lot of work. But that is in the nature of Islam. Paradise is worth a lot of work.
You are awesome.
Posted by: Fariah Amin | 17 September 2009 at 09:24 AM