it may be that
i will lose my hair
my teeth
and the
ability to move without
pain or help
it may be that
the faces of my children
become blurred and forgettable
unknown to me
the people i have tried to love
or tried to hate
but Oh Allah
allow me to have
a gummy smile
for no reason
and to say
"Thank you!"
again and again
and again
ayesha ali
10/4/09
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
A Place for Women in Islam: With the Men or By Ourselves
In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful
To abandon all that he has fashioned,
And hold in the palm of my hand,
The simple proof that he loves me,
That is the goal of my search.
- Rabi'a Al-Adawiyya (717-801) Female Sufi Mystic Born in Iraq; Ninety-Nine Names of Love: Expressions of the Heart, edited by Priya Hemenway
I believe that Allah is Most Gracious and Most Merciful. I believe that when Allah say’s in the Quran that “oppression is worse than slaughter” that it is not a conditional statement. I believe that Allah speaks to my heart and loves me. I believe that Allah loves me. I believe that Allah loves me.
Allah does not want 50% of his believers in basements, beside bathrooms, behind walls, in balconies, in separate buildings, or praying in hallways. Allah does not support apartheid whether it is based on race like the Jim Crow laws of southern states in America and South Africa, or on sex as in most masjids I’ve been to, prayed at, and supported. To support injustice and mistreatment of women in Islam under the guise that Allah tells us so is no different than white slave masters telling their slaves that like Joseph (Yusef), they should be good and faithful slaves and they will get their reward by and by.
I am not angry at Islam, I am not angry with Muslims though I am sad that I actively supported my own oppression and spent many years sitting in basements and behind walls while telling myself that women are “honored” in Islam. I want to pray with Muslims, I want to be able to see the prayer leader, I want to bring my whole self, my whole mind unencumbered by fear of hearing “I seek refuge…” when I speak my mind and heart.
This longing in my heart is not only about treatment in prayer halls, but the treatment of women in masjids is a startling example of the diminution of our voices and the discounting of our equality of spirit and mind that like white supremacy is so pervasive that for many women the ability to question it is limited by our lack of both language and a structure to address injustice. I have watched women fall into depression, including myself, and watched sisters focus their frustration in unfocused anger against their own sisters for lack of a language to express the deep alienation they feel with their communities.
Meanwhile, we stand mute as we watch brothers marry and abandon wife after wife. We are often aware of abuse of women and children through neglect, abandonment and sometimes physical abuse. We stand mute as we allow racism and classism to run rampant and allow our children to be devoured by these evils. Too often women even lead the fight against “uppity sisters.”
Meanwhile, we cover our physical and spiritual scars with wan smiles and Alhumdullilah’s, and no one seems to care as long as we keep “birthing babies,” wearing scarves and jilbabs, and serving food.
It is only when we change our dress, as in my case, or choose not to ever wear the scarf that causes people to ask “What’s wrong with you?” I am an African-American Muslim woman. I now join the phalanxes of black women who are given tribute in Maya Angelou’s poem, “Still I Rise,” and while the particulars of the poem speak to my history, the universal message of the poem speaks to all women and certainly Muslim women.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I am a woman, I am a person, I am a creation of Allah and I reject the notion that I can only be Muslim if I am willing to give up my dignity and my voice. Allah gave a message to Prophet Muhammad that called all women and all human beings to rise! Rise!
Ayesha Ali
10/1/2009 7:05:32 AM
To abandon all that he has fashioned,
And hold in the palm of my hand,
The simple proof that he loves me,
That is the goal of my search.
- Rabi'a Al-Adawiyya (717-801) Female Sufi Mystic Born in Iraq; Ninety-Nine Names of Love: Expressions of the Heart, edited by Priya Hemenway
I believe that Allah is Most Gracious and Most Merciful. I believe that when Allah say’s in the Quran that “oppression is worse than slaughter” that it is not a conditional statement. I believe that Allah speaks to my heart and loves me. I believe that Allah loves me. I believe that Allah loves me.
Allah does not want 50% of his believers in basements, beside bathrooms, behind walls, in balconies, in separate buildings, or praying in hallways. Allah does not support apartheid whether it is based on race like the Jim Crow laws of southern states in America and South Africa, or on sex as in most masjids I’ve been to, prayed at, and supported. To support injustice and mistreatment of women in Islam under the guise that Allah tells us so is no different than white slave masters telling their slaves that like Joseph (Yusef), they should be good and faithful slaves and they will get their reward by and by.
I am not angry at Islam, I am not angry with Muslims though I am sad that I actively supported my own oppression and spent many years sitting in basements and behind walls while telling myself that women are “honored” in Islam. I want to pray with Muslims, I want to be able to see the prayer leader, I want to bring my whole self, my whole mind unencumbered by fear of hearing “I seek refuge…” when I speak my mind and heart.
This longing in my heart is not only about treatment in prayer halls, but the treatment of women in masjids is a startling example of the diminution of our voices and the discounting of our equality of spirit and mind that like white supremacy is so pervasive that for many women the ability to question it is limited by our lack of both language and a structure to address injustice. I have watched women fall into depression, including myself, and watched sisters focus their frustration in unfocused anger against their own sisters for lack of a language to express the deep alienation they feel with their communities.
Meanwhile, we stand mute as we watch brothers marry and abandon wife after wife. We are often aware of abuse of women and children through neglect, abandonment and sometimes physical abuse. We stand mute as we allow racism and classism to run rampant and allow our children to be devoured by these evils. Too often women even lead the fight against “uppity sisters.”
Meanwhile, we cover our physical and spiritual scars with wan smiles and Alhumdullilah’s, and no one seems to care as long as we keep “birthing babies,” wearing scarves and jilbabs, and serving food.
It is only when we change our dress, as in my case, or choose not to ever wear the scarf that causes people to ask “What’s wrong with you?” I am an African-American Muslim woman. I now join the phalanxes of black women who are given tribute in Maya Angelou’s poem, “Still I Rise,” and while the particulars of the poem speak to my history, the universal message of the poem speaks to all women and certainly Muslim women.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I am a woman, I am a person, I am a creation of Allah and I reject the notion that I can only be Muslim if I am willing to give up my dignity and my voice. Allah gave a message to Prophet Muhammad that called all women and all human beings to rise! Rise!
Ayesha Ali
10/1/2009 7:05:32 AM
A Heart’s Journey
In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive
- from the poem “Litany for Survival” by Audre Lorde
I am a very hard woman. When I am not hard I can be soft. Both the hard and the soft have come from fear. I have grown tired of being afraid, like Fannie Lou Hamer, “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” I have discovered by my true heart leans toward love and compassion. That is where I find my rest.
The hijab started as a sanctuary for me, a metaphor for a place of rest. Covering, head to toe, I withdrew from the world, taking myself from being an object to being a person. I was Allah’s and was not interested in proving my attractiveness. Likewise, separation from men seemed to serve my focus on Allah. But, for me, in short order my dress and my faith became a function not of my love of Allah, but integration into a Muslim culture that embraced me and at the same time sweetly demanded that I conform.
Strangely, development of the love of Allah was sacrificed in the name of community and slowly and surely I drifted from that first love. Classes, conferences, marriage, babies, working, cleaning, cooking were my life. Separation of the sexes in order not to be distracted became the separation of women because we did not belong. We were Allah’s auxillary branch.
I remember I cried alone. I performed strength when my first child died. I knew by then that they do not respect tears. Brokenhearted women are not women of faith and I wanted to be a woman of faith, even as I was losing mine.
So, I left my true love and performed for the audience in my home and masjid. These were bad performances and I wondered why no one asked, “How is she able to smile as she bleeds all over the floor?” but no one asked. We do not have these conversations.
Even my brush with Sufism, where I found beauty in zikr (remembrance of Allah), women were held at bay along with the realities of life. Perhaps that is why woman have to be held at bay—we bring LIFE with us. I certainly brought mine. I brought my sadness, my depression, and my scars. Neither my presence nor my realities were welcomed. Ecstasy found in Allah did not lend itself to issues of sex, race and class.
I have walked around in garments which had become a wall between me and myself like so much of the dogma had become a wall between me and Allah. I survived, but felt abandoned by the love that I had abandoned. No one cared that I was only going through the motions, caring only that I go through the motions.
I’ve been a hard woman and I’ve been a soft woman. I’ve been both types of women out of fear. Now, like Fannie Lou Hamer, “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” I have discovered by my true heart leans toward love and compassion. I return to my first love and my own heart. Uncovered, like the day I was born.
Ayesha Ali
10/3/2009 2:41:45 AM
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive
- from the poem “Litany for Survival” by Audre Lorde
I am a very hard woman. When I am not hard I can be soft. Both the hard and the soft have come from fear. I have grown tired of being afraid, like Fannie Lou Hamer, “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” I have discovered by my true heart leans toward love and compassion. That is where I find my rest.
The hijab started as a sanctuary for me, a metaphor for a place of rest. Covering, head to toe, I withdrew from the world, taking myself from being an object to being a person. I was Allah’s and was not interested in proving my attractiveness. Likewise, separation from men seemed to serve my focus on Allah. But, for me, in short order my dress and my faith became a function not of my love of Allah, but integration into a Muslim culture that embraced me and at the same time sweetly demanded that I conform.
Strangely, development of the love of Allah was sacrificed in the name of community and slowly and surely I drifted from that first love. Classes, conferences, marriage, babies, working, cleaning, cooking were my life. Separation of the sexes in order not to be distracted became the separation of women because we did not belong. We were Allah’s auxillary branch.
I remember I cried alone. I performed strength when my first child died. I knew by then that they do not respect tears. Brokenhearted women are not women of faith and I wanted to be a woman of faith, even as I was losing mine.
So, I left my true love and performed for the audience in my home and masjid. These were bad performances and I wondered why no one asked, “How is she able to smile as she bleeds all over the floor?” but no one asked. We do not have these conversations.
Even my brush with Sufism, where I found beauty in zikr (remembrance of Allah), women were held at bay along with the realities of life. Perhaps that is why woman have to be held at bay—we bring LIFE with us. I certainly brought mine. I brought my sadness, my depression, and my scars. Neither my presence nor my realities were welcomed. Ecstasy found in Allah did not lend itself to issues of sex, race and class.
I have walked around in garments which had become a wall between me and myself like so much of the dogma had become a wall between me and Allah. I survived, but felt abandoned by the love that I had abandoned. No one cared that I was only going through the motions, caring only that I go through the motions.
I’ve been a hard woman and I’ve been a soft woman. I’ve been both types of women out of fear. Now, like Fannie Lou Hamer, “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” I have discovered by my true heart leans toward love and compassion. I return to my first love and my own heart. Uncovered, like the day I was born.
Ayesha Ali
10/3/2009 2:41:45 AM
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Learning to Love Surprises
Surprise! I had emergency gallbladder surgery. Surprise! Because I had the surgery I am unable to attend the POC Retreat in New Mexico. Surprise! I am not fearful about health outcomes or despondent about my inability to attend the retreat. Surprise!
I have formally embraced mindfulness and recent events have shown how important the practice is in my spiritual development. Instead of wallowing in fear and having erruptions of dissapointment, I have been able to enjoy the tremendous gift of good surgeons, loving friends and family. At the same time, I've felt none of the sadness I might expect with inability to attend the Retreat.
In fact, I feel grateful to know I can weather the surprises of life with a smile on my face (which is my best "look").
I found this poem by Rumi, that I want to share.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and attend them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture, still,
treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Mevlana Rumi (1207 - 1273)
I was blessed to open my door and welcome both the pain of surgery and my inability to attend the POC Retreat with a smile "because each has been sent as a guide from beyond."
I have formally embraced mindfulness and recent events have shown how important the practice is in my spiritual development. Instead of wallowing in fear and having erruptions of dissapointment, I have been able to enjoy the tremendous gift of good surgeons, loving friends and family. At the same time, I've felt none of the sadness I might expect with inability to attend the Retreat.
In fact, I feel grateful to know I can weather the surprises of life with a smile on my face (which is my best "look").
I found this poem by Rumi, that I want to share.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and attend them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture, still,
treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Mevlana Rumi (1207 - 1273)
I was blessed to open my door and welcome both the pain of surgery and my inability to attend the POC Retreat with a smile "because each has been sent as a guide from beyond."
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Uncovered Me
This is ME! I have uncovered and want to know and be known. More on this "transformation" later.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Joy In the Morning
"Despair not of the mercy of Allah." Quran
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. (Psalms 30:5)” Bible
"When you think everything is someone else´s fault, you will suffer a lot. When you realize that everything springs only from yourself, you will learn both peace and joy..." Dalai lama
This is me, uncovered and swimming in Mercy Oceans. Much has happened since my last posting. I decided to stop covering my hair and wearing Islamic dress. Interestingly, I haven't felt this close to Allah in a long time. Since my last posting, I've had on a swimsuit for the first time in 25 years, entered a pool and felt the water all over my body. I've bought clothes that fit my body. I'm real in touch with my inner 14 year old (smile).
The hijab/modest dress became a cave that I lived in and looked out at the world but was restrained from full participation. For me, it became turning my back on my body and my full interaction with the world. I'll be exploring this more as I continue to explore the world uncovered.
My Internet service has been having many technical difficulties and I've been rediscovering myself and reconnecting with my own heart and soul. I've been blessed with amazing people in my life who in their own unique ways are waving banners of direction and celebration.
The woman is this picture, with her big grin and her huge fish is ME. I'm living in joy and also terrified that so many of my undreamed dreams are not only coming true but abound in my present life.
I attended a workshop on Saturday entitled, "Transforming Barriers with an Open Heart" with Cheri Maples and rather than finding a "recipe" to teach my boys how to deal with the police, I transformed or at least acknowledged some of my own barriers, including my deep belief that I'm not very smart. I had enough courage to say it out loud and received such loving feedback. My heart family doesn't love me because I'm a hard worker or make them breakfast (although, I'm willing to do that and more), they love ME for ME.
I am in tears remembering the outpouring the the hugs I received. I am so blessed and my heart is opening to acknowledge the ways in which I have allowed abuse in my life and accepted mistreatment as "normal."
One of the exercises was to identify your core values that you want to stand for. Here are mine: Love, Gratitude, and Joy. This blog is part of the journey to develop and serve these core values.
So that plump lady is me smiling and on my way, Inshallah, to New Mexico at the end of the month to discover the heart I so love sharing.
Friday, June 12, 2009
I'm Breaking Out While Some are Breaking Down
One of the surprises I'm experiencing is how some people in my life have depended on me remaining the same. I write this now because at my stage of life, middle-age, I'm experiencing a great amount of growth or perhaps it is that I'm rediscovering parts of myself that I walked away from years ago. It means I'm embracing my body and its needs, but even more my need to be engaged with the world and with people in positive and important ways.
It also means that I'm embracing clothes that fit my body and I've uncovered my hair for the first time in 20 years. My smiles are larger, my laugh heartier and my love of Allah has been reignighted. Interesting, that my love for my Creator is coming through the practice of meditation and Three Jewels (Buddha, dharma, and sangha).
For some there are questions like "What are you doing?" and of course there are queries about the whys and wherefores of my changes. Did they actually think that menopause meant I was going to be set in stone, unchanging and dependable in look, outlook and spirituality? Well if they did, they now know that like them I'm still a work in progress.
It also means that I'm embracing clothes that fit my body and I've uncovered my hair for the first time in 20 years. My smiles are larger, my laugh heartier and my love of Allah has been reignighted. Interesting, that my love for my Creator is coming through the practice of meditation and Three Jewels (Buddha, dharma, and sangha).
For some there are questions like "What are you doing?" and of course there are queries about the whys and wherefores of my changes. Did they actually think that menopause meant I was going to be set in stone, unchanging and dependable in look, outlook and spirituality? Well if they did, they now know that like them I'm still a work in progress.
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