Prayer (2/2)

Again and again, I read from the opening chapter of the Qur'an, "Thee do we worship, And Thine aid we seek," and realized I could, in fact, must seek the help of God as both my duty, and my right.  This was a fact that no one could (or should try) to take away.

It was ironic that how I felt about the imperfection of my prayers, both as a result of my own beliefs, and as a result of the comments and lessons  from  other  Muslims,  the very  lessons  and  beliefs  that were supposed to prompt me to improve my prayer, in fact only served to increase my alienation.  I was approaching prayer in the belief that I was so bad, that my prayers were so far from some lofty ideal, that God would never listen to me or offer help.

In my long and solitary walks, in the midst of my self-imposed seclusion from the "community," I began to gain a new perspective on how I interacted with other Muslims - as well as my motivations for doing so. I admitted that, more than anything else, in the last few years, all of the talk, activities, and efforts to "belong" in the Muslim community, all of the effort that had supposedly been about God, had a great deal more to do with appearances and "fitting in." In this reality, there was little wonder that my prayer suffered.

The rather surprising and nice thing about my realization was that, like turning on the light after a nightmare, being honest about what my "Islamic experience" had degenerated into, marked the beginning of clarity, and actual optimism.

I went home and instigated some changes.

First, I stepped back from the "community."

This may seem a bit strange, and even "sacrilegious," but for me it was absolutely necessary. I knew that the community was good (in theory) and ultimately important, but for me it had become a quest to "belong," and as such had put a wall between myself and real faith.

Unfortunately, guilt proved to be a major obstacle against this step.

After all, I worried, aren't we all responsible for building the Islamic community?  If we all start dropping out, how will any good be accomplished?  After much thought, I ultimately decided that the answer had to be found in the oft-repeated phrase, "first help yourself - only then can you help others."

Second, I made the conscious decision to go back and discover my real self again. As trite as that sounds, it was quite necessary. I accomplished this by simply doing what I loved, writing, and taking turns around my neighborhood in my trusty Keds.  Simplistic? Yes, it was, but the neat thing about it was it worked.

I now understood that I hadn't been bringing my real self and heart to my religion.   I buried that self in a million affectations that I thought were better than what I actually was. As a result, there was no hope, no possibility for real faith or a strong connection to God. My public performance of faith surely shined by all outward measures, yet, inside it smacked of a hollowness that eventually ate at my soul.

Third, I had to resolve to show up at prayer.

This meant that I had to simply pray. I didn't approach it negatively, worried about my "feelings." I didn't think about God being "angry" with me, and instead constantly recalled to mind "Most Gracious, Most Merciful." I decided to take the Qur’anic requirement, "establish regular prayers," quite literally. Along with consciously tossing the complex feelings I had about prayer. I simply had to "show up" to pray, committed to the quantity. Strangely, the quality began to grow as I came back to myself.

Finally, I began to do some things to encourage myself. Although these things are different for every person, for me it simply consists of doing "tricks" that put me in a prayerful mood.

First, I made a list of verses from the Qur'an that stirred my heart and gave me hope. They could be any verse that seemed to "speak to me." What was important was that the list was private and of my exclusive choosing. This step had the nice fringe benefit of recharging my genuine interest in the Qur'an.

Creative by nature (I am so right-brained my head leans to the side), I went all out, using beautiful paper, calligraphy pens, and even framed some.

Another trick I used was making my own special place in my home where I could pray-it's  not particularly grand, actually a just a corner of my dining room. There, I have a gurgling fountain, a soft, and fragrant prayer rug (Ah, the many wonders of Bounce), and a completely toy and clutter free atmosphere. It is a tiny place really, no more than three feet by five, but the carpeting, seldom trod upon in that spot, is still plush and thick. It is an area that gives me, albeit, not quite, Virginia Wolf's ideal "Room of One's Own," but an island of serenity that is mine, nonetheless.

The idea of a "special place" may seem silly, but the respite it provides from visual distraction, clutter, paperwork, toys, and all of the emotional distractions they evoke, as well as the added dimension of focus and meaning that creeps back into the prayer itself, well outstrips its intrinsic hokeyness factor. Further, I believe this is the very essence behind the famous hadith, paraphrased, "the best mosques for women are the inner parts of their houses." Unlike the popular (male) interpretation, that it is meant to discourage women from mosque attendance, I believe that many women are more privately spiritual, and, for us, the best connection between the soul and God is the one made in solitude.

I also began to keep a prayer outfit, the simple cotton two-piece skirt and scarf that covers everything necessary for prayer. Keeping it in my prayer area affords me respite from the hassle of having to find something suitable to wear when prayer time comes around.  Further, having clothes exclusively designated for prayer helps me to "switch gears" into a more spiritual state of mind.

The last trick is my favorite. It involves praying outside during warm nights. There is something special about being outside, under the night sky, or in a warm breeze, that lends itself to a feeling of closeness to God. A warm summer or fall night, alone, free of noise, conversation, and lights can rival the greatest mosque in its ability to evoke feelings of true faith.

As simple as it sounds, praying outside has become quite rare in modem life, and the opportunity, one Muslims in former years took as a matter of course, has become lost to many of us. The wonderful thing, however, is that it is also one of the many experiences life has to offer that we can simply decide to do. It is only a matter of moving out of the fog of habit, stepping outside, looking up, and saying, ''Oh, yeah ... "  "That's what the stars look like!"

A note of caution, should you decide to try any of these methods, or any of  your  own division. Use a ruthless selection process when deciding to share what you are doing with others.  Essentially everything should be experiences of solitude, geared toward the self, not the group. Although nothing in these experiences are "secret," one runs the risk of encountering, at the very least, playful teasing, or at the worst, out and out criticism for embarking on any endeavor of self-improvement.

Unfortunately, it is often those closest to us that are eventually our most active saboteurs. This is not due to a lack of love or care, quite the contrary. In fact, often this negativity is subconscious and even more often veiled. They may say things like, "Why are you doing that?" "You are acting so strange lately," or any other of the myriad of comments designed to let the wind out of our sails, and maintain the status quo.

As I mentioned before, resistance to change is a powerful human trait. It is necessary to be both protective of yourself, and, at the same time, understanding of friends and loved ones.

Not sharing ones "tricks" or the reasons for doing them is probably wise, unless you are confident that you will be supported. When in doubt, keep it to yourself. Upon reflection, you will usually find the real motivations for sharing them are for validation anyway. Ultimately the only validation we really need comes from within.