Ramadan is a Time for Feeling, Whether Fasting or Not

It's been a difficult beginning to Ramadan for me. Most of the time, I feel excited for the fast as a time of reflection and community. But this year I've felt stuck.

The night before the first full day of fasting, as we laid out dishes for the coming sehri, I felt irritated and nervous. I'd just come back from traveling across the U.S. and my body was already withered with fatigue; the hours of fasting stretched before me. I always set a few intentions during Ramadan, but this year feels like I'm getting back to basics. Feel more, write/create more, read religious texts and artistic works, challenge yourself. All the same things as the rest of the year but with the additional focus of fasting. I wanted to hurry up and prepare by making a few dishes of food, studying up on how much water to drink, and setting myself up well - in essence, I wanted to control it.

When I actually did begin the fast, I felt by turns resentful of others who were eating/drinking and then guilty for not sitting with my practice. I've been asking again and again the question: Is it better to keep going with a ritual when you feel embittered by it? Will you learn something vital simply by continuing to practice?

I think the answer to the second question is easier for me. I do believe that if I continue to fast, I will gain some greater insights into myself and perhaps even why I feel embittered this year as opposed to others (even while this year I feel like I've got my nutritional plans and other logistics better sorted than previous years). But I also want to respect what my body is telling me, with its mood swings and headaches, and make those decisions on a day to day basis. And so, I have chosen to wake up at sehri and decide then whether I will continue the fast that day.

With matters of religion, there are always people that will tell you that you're not practicing with the greatest level of piety. I have seen people floating around the phrase "let there be no compulsion in religion," which to me helps assuage the guilt of not being able to 'muscle through'. Because, in my heart, I know that's not the point of Ramadan. All of the intentions I've set point towards other purposes: Self-reflection. Going slow. Deepening spiritual practice. Listening to your body's needs and wants.

I'm excited to be going deeper with my practice through writing, reading Qur'an and generally practicing radical self-love. Here's to a month of profound spiritual wellness.

Ramadan Mubarak!

I'm going to be speaking at the 2015 Aspen Ideas Festival next week! I'm honored to be on a panel under the track "Faith, Conflict, and the Future of Religion." Stay tuned for how it goes.

The Almighty Force: Personal Faith and Perspective

In light of the recent death of one of my family members, I have been musing on personal faith and its context in my brief life. This faith has sustained me through both tragedies and triumphs in the past and continues to support me each day. I know that many of my readers are not religious, so please do not take this story as an attempt at conversion - it is exactly the opposite. Personal faith must be approached on one's own path, and this is my story of arriving at it.

I first learned about my religion through the media. Growing up in a secular household, with one parent Christian and the other Muslim, I had never really thought about Allah from the perspective of organized religion. He was a being in the abstract sense when I was younger - I have no memories of faith beyond the paper-thin symbolism of winter holidays. I didn't know about Ramadan then.

I've written previously about 9/11 and its role in making me a reactionary activist to the Islamophobia that followed. But seeing Islam as a personal religion is different than seeing it in the activist light. No, it came to me in another package: The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I read this book at an age that was much too young for its subject matter, though I appreciate that it came into my life at that point (and am intensely curious to see what different impressions I get when I finally read it again). Malcolm X was a convert to the Muslim faith, someone who did not take the teachings for granted and approached them with careful eyes. Though he did not bring Islam to me, the words of his book displayed to me that the religion is loving as it is powerful, and as familiar.

At that time in my life, I needed a force like that. I had been bullied in school and was suffering from depression, though at the time the only names I had for it were apathy and loneliness. I chose personal faith over personal destruction, though the idea was still abstract. To this day, it comforts me to know that this choice was the one that kept me stable and allowed me to fully experience the life that I lead now - faith has passed with me through the shocking times and the beautiful ones, and it resides within me to return to lest I forget.

I suppose that's why I am returning to it now. The reassurances that my faith provides keep the sadness at bay. There is an end to suffering and there is a better place that we pass into once we are in the care of Allah once more. But more than that, the strength and dignity of our religion keep me working to improve my own circumstances and take stock of the life I am leading: what can I do better to take care of myself and those close to me? What can I do to better the world that we live in, so that we are not waiting in vain to pass into death? Even as I am alone, I gather strength and perspective. We are only given the burdens we can carry, and I will carry on with the number of days, months, and years I have left.