inner religious turmoil (but not really)

I am sitting here ... it's Easter Sunday, the weather is unbelievably perfect, all my windows are open to let in a beautiful, warm cross breeze, birds are singing, and someone is barbecuing. It's a thing up here in my hood. The moment the temperature goes over 60 degrees Fahrenheit, people are at their grills imagining themselves in the still entirely too distant summer.
A perfect moment, but I am huffing with frustration. My kid is being taken to Easter Mass against my will. It's not that I have a problem with her joining church services. She goes to Catholic School, after all. But, the thing is ... we're technically Muslim. And, wait, this gets more complicated.

So - despite the fact that I was raised Muslim and my kids consider themselves Muslims, we don't really practice the religion. Except that we don't eat pork (that's a lie - we all secretly sneak bacon behind each other's back, for we are all worried about each other's judgment. This is particularly interesting, when we are out to brunch together with non-Muslim/non-Jewish friends and there is a plate of bacon, which we supposedly don't eat, but are all dying to add to our pancakes.)

The fact that we don't practice created the problem that my younger daughter, Nini, started to not believe in God. This to me was horrifying, for I find it a necessity of life to have faith. She may not know this now, but things can get really dark and desperate in one's time on Earth. There were times that my God belief saved me or, at least, was the only comfort I had when everything around me was in shambles and I felt completely alone. Anyway ... I don't want to get lost on this tangent but, let's just say, I would like for my children not to be atheists.
Turns out, if you don't talk about God with them (or place them in some religious community/framework), there is a good chance they will be atheists. And so, I decided, Catholic School may be a good place for my little one (who, btw, isn't little anymore - she is 12). This school also happened to be the only good option in my neighborhood.
I want her to know the stories of the Bible, for most of them are also in the Qur'an, and I believe, knowing the main stories of the Abrahamic books is kinda common knowledge. That said, I also don't necessarily want her to believe them, literally.

Easter Sunday is big for Christians. I understand that Easter Mass isn't just regular church service. It means a lot. Urbi et Orbi and stuff. (My mom is Catholic; she, and by default - we, would watch the pope's blessing on Easter Sunday every year.). So, it's one thing if my kid has to attend the service every day at school, but it's another thing if she goes to Easter Mass with other people outside of school. (She had spent the night at a friend's house.)
I decided that I needed to counter-balance this event with some research on my part. Put the whole Easter thing in Muslim perspective for her. Just so she has a reference and her information isn't just one-sided. I felt, it's my duty as a mother. The reality here is, of course, that I am outsourcing her religious education and I need to figure out how to make sure she doesn't get lost over there. (Nini, btw, isn't really that invested. I'm most likely freaking out for no reason, for she just wants to hang out with her friends who happen to all be dragged to church by their more involved parents. ... "They just sang a whole lot of songs and gave us a bottle of holy water, which I forgot at my friend's house," Nini reported when I voiced my concerns about all this.). Nonetheless, I spent my Easter morning researching how Islam sees the whole resurrection of Christ story. Hence the earlier mentioned frustration. It seems impossible to find an unbiased opinion out there. Why can't I just get facts? Ideally, I would like historical facts, combined with direct quotes from the Qur'an and then a juxtaposition of this to the Biblical texts, explaining the differences and why such differences may have developed.

What I have learned from my hours of reading at various places on the internet are the following things:
 - Christians didn't really do Easter since the beginning of their time (it's a thing of the New Testament)
- The cross wasn't a Christian symbol (or, at least, there is a question about its origins)
- Muslims believe in Jesus (of course) but what I didn't realize is that they also believe in him as the chosen Messiah (Christ) who is said to return one day, in Damascus of all places. They also believe he is the only one of God's prophets who was without sin.
- Easter is heavily influenced by Pagan rituals (no news to most of us, as that's a historical fact ... combination of Christian and Pagan rituals to make the transition easier for people .. Easter bunny is a sign of fertility ... Christmas tree is a traditional/folkloric thing .. as we now know, Jesus was born in March).
- Muslims don't believe Jesus died on the cross but that God saved him

But - that's pretty much all I could find until I gave up. It wasn't enough information and, ultimately, just one belief against the other - so, nothing I could work with.

This whole excursus just reminded me of the fact that accurate accounts of anything are hard to come by. People twist stories the way they want to see things all the time. I believe, now we have a term for this: "alternative facts". Even when we have EVIDENCE to the contrary (e.g. video footage), people are still able to perpetuate completely fabricated "truths".
Now - what are the chances, man has been in the habit of doing this since the beginning of time?

Just sayin' ....

I guess, that's why we have to take all these stories with a grain of salt, or a big pinch of it, or, the whole salt shaker on occasion (especially, as it comes to religion).

I suppose, the best way to approach this is to find statements and messages that overlap or repeat in all the main religious stories. Those are probably the most accurate and worthy of consideration, if you so will. Also - the ones that speak to your inner compass. I think, we have all been equipped with it, but it can get corrupted over time and then those general rules come in handy (given, said people accept them as God-given laws).

 - Thou shalt not kill
                    .... steal
                    .... commit adultery
                    .... covet your neighbor's stuff (and wife)
                    etc., etc.
                 
plus ....
- honor your parents
- pray
- treat people the way you would like to be treated (you know, ... the do unto others thingy)

Not bad guidelines to live by.


Btw. ... I totally gave my kids chocolate Easter bunnies yesterday, as they were leaving for the weekend. And Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year - mostly because of that pretty tree.

a true revelation

I have been struggling with a certain inability to get over someone I should not even be having to "get over." It is a guy who is 10 years younger than I, a total playboy (or f***boy as they call them nowadays), someone who drinks and smokes too much, someone I would have never thought I could fall for. And, I probably didn't, ..... but it feels like it.
And here is what I mean by that.

Let's call this (29-yr-old) boy Tiburon. The Spanish word for shark, which is what they call him out there, as he is known for his womanizing ways. I chose to hang out with T deliberately for these reasons. I didn't want a relationship or anything serious.  In the beginning of last year I had attempted to have one of those and failed miserably, for I was simply still grieving over J, who I lost in 2013.

T was perfect. He was honest, funny, and charming. And he danced with a special kick in his step.
In the summer, I took a break from him, because I noticed that I began to get emotionally involved despite the fact that we were in a completely open arrangement. I'm one of those people who runs away when they feel vulnerable (i.e. develop feelings for someone).
T stayed away but kept reaching out for months asking to get together. I finally gave in on my birthday. I was alone and thought, foolishly, that I could keep it at coffee and would be able to resist him otherwise. From that day on (back in October), he came over almost every single day. It was beautiful. We never fought - because we weren't in a relationship and made no claims over one another. It was nothing but positivity and carefree evenings together, followed by nights in each other's embrace.
There were a few strange elements - for example, Mr. Player who used to come over for nothing but sex in the beginning suddenly didn't want to have any at all for long stretches of time. He also used to kiss much more than he then did when we saw each other daily. But, somehow, our intimacy still grew stronger despite this lack of physical action.

By the end of the year - around Christmas - he had an emotional breakdown. And, I don't mean that in the traditional sense of the word. I mean, this boy, who never let me in emotionally (i.e. we never talked about us ... and especially not about what he was feeling), suddenly opened up to me big time. It could all have been the liquor talking. Or the smoke or whatever. But, what he said, he told me while holding both my hands with tears streaming down his face. He said that I was perfect, that he didn't deserve me, that he can't give me what I want (he may have come to the conclusion that I want a baby - my fault), but that he can't even go with other girls anymore because he feels guilty. Now, if that isn't honesty then I don't understand this world. But, the things he did say to me were later identified as three red flags in identifying a man who is about to run. (I have learned this because I spent weeks watching dating advice videos after we split - trying to [a] understand what just happened and [b] get the F over this pain I felt over the loss of a relationship that wasn't even officially a relationship!

Anyway, so - naturally, the baring of his innermost thoughts suddenly created feelings on my end. Or, should we say, revealed them, for I was not aware that I felt this way, at all. Two days later, my jealousy had become so intense that I told him this isn't working and cut myself out of the equation. Because, here I was, falling for a total player. Danger! Danger! So, I ran because I was afraid of getting hurt down the road. What I did instead, of course, was hurt myself (and maybe him?) prematurely and I totally didn't anticipate how badly it would affect me. How could I be this emotionally touched by someone who barely wanted to sleep with me?

T obeyed my wishes without a fight. A fight, I wish maybe he would have taken up. But, I guess, the lack thereof should be a testament on its own about the true depth of his feelings for me. Maybe he was just not that into me and whatever he said, he said because he wasn't sober.

But - whatever it may be - the separation was an agonizing struggle for me. To make matters worse, he had another chick in like a minute, something he didn't feel the need to be discreet about as he posted picture after picture of her on his social media feeds, which brings me to the conclusion that this may be more than just one of his many alternatingly used girls. I still see them together. Looks like he may actually like this one more than anyone else. Or, maybe he saw what a nice relationship could be when we were together and finally opened himself up to the real thing again. That thought feels better on the ego, so I'll go with that. Alas, it doesn't make the sadness any less intense.

What did take away some of my melancholy and obsession about this (or maybe not, since I am now writing about it) was a nearly spiritual experience I had last Friday. And this is why I am actually here. To document this strange revelation.

So ... this whole past week had been a struggle. More so than usual did I obsess about T, and then, simultaneously, spent time upset with myself that I was still m-f-in' thinking about him. It made NO sense! Why? He clearly had moved on. He clearly was never into me. We clearly had no future (for I have no interest in being with a self-involved player and yet another man who doesn't know he has a substance abuse problem.)
By Friday, after working until 1 a.m., until I literally couldn't look at the computer anymore, I stood there in my office room frustrated that I went right back from work focus to being sad about T. I ordered myself to stop thinking and decided to just relax, listen to music, and smoke (by myself, which is something I never really do but I didn't want to talk any of my friends' ear off  about T for yet another evening). As I sat there, the music's beat synchronizing to my heart, looking out the window, I noticed from the corner of my eye that a picture of my kids had fallen over on the shelf over my desk. I decided to get up and fix it and when I did, I noticed, that it had revealed my copy of the Qu'ran standing on the shelf. It was a copy that my ex-husband had brought into the house more than a decade ago and I had never actually opened it. I was raised Muslim, but I'm just not a religious person anymore. I believe in God (in an abstract way) and even in guardian angels (and that is a whole other story), but I don't really want to have anything to do with organized religion anymore. I believe it has its benefits but, I feel, mostly, it divides people when it should bring everyone together. ... Anyway ... this experience, even though it was religious .. ironically .. did bring all my friends of different beliefs together.. but let me not jump ahead of myself.

So - there it was ... this old, heavy translation of the Qu'ran. "This seems like a message", I thought to myself as I looked at all the other propped pictures on the shelf standing right were they were before. I dismissed it and returned to my futon to sit down. "Yea, but I don't want to read any heavy religious texts right now. ... I don't want to run into anything sexist that's gonna upset me .. I just don't want to ruin my high here." ... S! You listen when you're being spoken to. ... "Yea, but, I have my period anyway, and I'm not supposed to touch the Qu'ran on my period." (Something that I had learned when I was a kid and that kind of stuck. Like the not eating pork thing. Not religious anymore, just ingrained behavior.) ... -- Lame excuse. .. But, anyway, ... in case you haven't noticed ... you may be on your period - BUT - you have not bled ONE drop today all day. ... so, what is your excuse now?
I decided to end my inner soliloquy, for I began to feel guilty, and got back up to retrieve the book from the shelf. I sat down and opened it to a random page, starting to read in the middle of the page, and - I kid you not - this is what it said:

A direct response to my agony over how this didn't make sense but then again, maybe I had really fallen for him?! I was about to completely lose my way when this kinda set me straight.

T is not real love. It is all about self-indulgence. It is all about me, not him.
T managed to bring light into my life and make me forget, for just a moment, that there is a giant void left by J's death. T brought light-heartedness and hope back to me. He wasn't meant to stay and me now finding myself convinced that I must love him because I can't get over him, is a false conclusion.

I shared this passage with a few girlfriends and each one of them was able to relate to it in a different way as it applied to their situation, which made me think about how beautiful (but also dangerous then) it is what one can do with religious texts. Beautiful because it can be so versatile in its interpretation as to fit many different situations in life; dangerous because we all know what people throughout history have done with religious texts (interpreting them to their advantage). Let me not get started on this, because just the thought of this makes me upset. Extremist groups in the Middle East being some of the worst examples for this abuse of a guidance book that is meant to help people live better lives. And all in order to serve their own selfish desires. Ok, must stop now before I start an unrelated rant.

where have i been? life update in 8 paragraphs.

2007-2014

Since I am returning to this blog, I guess, a quick update of the past 7 years is in order.
D and I divorced. The year that followed was the most difficult of my life, or so I thought.
I expected that we were going to be together forever but after three years of trying to save our marriage (without much of his participation or interest), I finally called it quits.

Entirely too soon after my separation from D, I got together with J, which - never in my life - thought would have been a plausible possibility. His marriage of 14 years also had ended and after a year and a half of not speaking, he looked me up, catching me right at the tail end of my separation from D, which allowed for an emotional openness I wouldn't have allowed myself during my marriage.

And so I fell for this troubled man. Fell deeply and madly.
This relationship has a blog of its own I don't want to share but to put it into a few words ...
     I learned a thing or two about unconditional love. He brought me to hell and back but we survived .. or, actually, he didn't. .. Just when I thought we had made it and were heading toward normalcy, after more than 6 years of on and off struggle, he died suddenly at the age of 36. Heart failure, says the medical examiner, claiming the drugs and liquor of his relapse had nothing to do with his death.
J couldn't help it. He was bipolar and he ultimately fell victim to his disease through one of the many cliche avenues - addiction. Nonetheless, I blamed myself. If I had been more supportive, if I had not had this fight with him, if I had been more present, or told him more often how much I loved him .. maybe this wouldn't have happened. Alas - our lives parted with the most awful words imaginable, said in the heat of an argument, never to be taken back again. "Get the f out of my house and don't you ever come back! You hear me? Ever." .. And, he didn't ... even though I was waiting for him to disobey my angry orders. Waiting for him to knock on my door the next day to tell me he knew that I didn't mean it and that we were going to make it. That his recovery from this beast was on the horizon.

The months after his death were a fog. I went on leave from my job and finally quit, after 13 years of service. I cried almost every single day in that first year after J's death. I also had dozens of spiritual experiences I never had in my life before. In a way, this tragedy has instilled much more faith in me than I've ever been capable of. And, it brought a new dimension to my faith, which I thought to be a silly concept until I experienced their presence and guidance first-hand. Angels. And this is where I will leave this topic because, my spirituality is very personal and about a year ago I would have made fun of someone who believes in angels. You may as well have said to me you believe in fairies. But, I have changed. My life has changed. I could write a whole separate blog on this  but I'm trying to bring this baby back to its roots: Light-hearted observations (and lots of ranting [bitching!] about frustrating crap that seems to always happen concurrently at any given moment of my day).

So - a few months ago I decided I'm done with crying. Death is a part of life and I needed to accept what awful hole in my heart and life I now had and make it work somehow - just as millions of other people do and have done throughout history and the world. This, of course, I told myself all throughout 2013 but only recently did I manage to actually put my words into action. I guess, I needed to live through this awful grief to arrive at the point at which I could make such a choice.

It is now autumn. School has just begun and I am getting adjusted to another year without my other half. Lucky me, God has blessed me with two unbelievably awesome daughters, who occasionally stress the heck out of me but who - overall - are two pretty cool and loving people. They are 10 and 12 now. I like our little family unit  ... but, honestly, I wouldn't mind to get laid again sometime in the near future. The question is .. will such a thing be possible or will I become a cat lady because all men are dogs? Because, I refuse to entertain any flirtations with men who are in relationships, let alone married, and that seems to be the only kind out there.
... But, that can't be true...  I personally know several men who are really nice, non-cheating individuals ... so, maybe I'm too jaded or pessimistic?

Photographing weddings helps with keeping my romantic hope alive. I have to fight my tears of joyful compassion every time I am witnessing a couple's vows. It is such a significant and beautiful moment. I believe. I believe in it!
If J wouldn't have been so unstable, deeply in debt, and a raging alcoholic, I would have married him in a heartbeat. ;)
.. He wasn't really a 'raging' alcoholic... he was honestly trying to fight this thing. He tried so hard. I saw the desperation in his eyes. But I also saw defeat. I often felt just so bad for him. :(

Anyway .. so much for my "quick" update.
Sorry it was mostly depressing. It's deceiving, for a lot of good and a lot of love has sprung from this.

why all the hate?

I usually don't post whole articles I read into my blog ...but the link seems to not be working so I am making an exception:

In Iraq, reverence for ancient tomb of a Jewish prophet
by Peter Ford

The bearded worshiper moved slowly round the shrine in his bare feet,
uttering Muslim prayers and pausing every few steps to bend his head
and kiss the golden cloth that covered the holy tomb.

The dome above him, though, bore the painted floral traces of a very
un-Islamic past. And the script running around the walls also bore no
relation to the flowing Arabic calligraphy that decorates most mosques
in the Middle East.

It was in Hebrew. The body lying in the tomb that this devout Muslim
was venerating is that of the prophet Ezekiel. And until just 50 years
ago, the building sheltering it - first recorded by a 12th century
Jewish pilgrim - was a synagogue.

I knew Muslims revered many Jewish prophets, and Jesus, too. But to see
this Shiite Muslim paying respects at a site of Jewish pilgrimage more
than two millenniums old was a striking reminder of how universal
Iraq's heritage is.

Ezekiel, who preached to the Jews in exile by the waters of Babylon
during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, lived here relatively recently, by
Mesopotamian standards. At the time he wrote down his ecstatic visions
in the 6th century BC, local people could already trace their history
back 2,500 years, to the dawn of our civilization.

In contemporary terms, these last few weeks have been historic for the
Middle East. And over the month and a half that I have been reporting
from Baghdad, I have come to realize what an extraordinary privilege it
has been to witness historic events in the land where mankind's
recorded history began.

I have watched Iraqi society start to recreate itself, bereft of
central authority, on the same soil where society as we know it first
emerged 8,500 years ago - when nomadic hunters in northern Iraq stopped
wandering and began to plant crops around the settlement of Jarmo.

Because for North Americans and Europeans it all began here, it is not
surprising that the Garden of Eden was reputed to have been in Qurnah,
near Iraq's outlet to the Persian Gulf. Abraham came from Ur, near
Nasariyah.

The first human settlements, the first writing, one of the first-known
legal codes, the first use of zero: the land now known as Iraq (which
means "firmly rooted country") can boast them all. Those of us who saw
the place through two-dimensional glasses that reduced it to Saddam
Hussein and weapons of mass destruction have a lot to learn.

Not that we have not already learned. Few people superstitious about a
black cat crossing their path know that they could trace their fear
back to a Babylonian belief. Nor do many of us think of the Babylonians
when we look at our watch faces, divided into 12 segments.

The average Iraqi, of course, is no more aware of his debt to ancient
Mesopotamians than is the average Westerner, although Saddam Hussein's
megalomanic propaganda made constant references to Iraq's glorious past.

But in Kifl, at any rate, the older people do remember the Jews,
despite Mr. Hussein's efforts to obliterate and vilify their memory.

Until the early 1950s, when almost all Iraqi Jews moved to the new
state of Israel, Ezekiel's tomb was a popular pilgrimage destination,
attracting Jews from as far away as Calcutta.

The Muslims coveted it, too: 20 yards from the shrine, above the ruins
of another mosque, stands a brick-faced minaret - built more than 1,000
years ago. A late 19th-century mayor of Kifl claimed it was evidence
that the tomb was an Islamic holy place, because Jews didn't build
minarets.

The Turkish sultan - who ruled the region at the time - first
dispatched a team of officials from Baghdad, then a commission from
Istanbul to get to the truth of the matter. Sitting in the shade of the
antique tower (which today leans alarmingly), both sets of
investigators compiled reports stating, contrary to the mayor's claims,
that they had seen no sign whatsoever of a minaret.

Two contemporary chroniclers, one Jewish and one Muslim, suggested that
this extraordinary oversight owed more than a little to the generosity
with which the Jewish community of Kifl received the officials, and to
the gifts with which they were sent on their way.

It is hard to see how the Jews might ever reclaim their synagogue
today, however the new Iraq may turn out. But one can hope that all
Iraqis, divided as they are into many ethnic and religious groups, will
come to share the straightforward wisdom of Haji Hadi Mitaeb, a
resident of Kifl for the past 88 years.

"I am an old man, I cannot read and I cannot write," he replied when I
asked what he would think if the Jews returned to his town. "But a good
man is a good man."

(c) Copyright 2006 The Christian Science Monitor. All rights reserved.
Click here to read this story online [if it works]:
http://www.csmonitor.com/2003/0602/p08s01-woiq.html