Everything That Animates Me is God Within Me

Sunlight, blue sky, breezy white clouds slide across the picture window in my office, my corner of the world, away from worry, striving and stress.  My prayer beads rest on the desk, fresh from a recent round of al-Wird. A purple silk scarf drapes my shoulders over a lilac blouse where a golden pendent with the name of Allah reflects the sunlight.

You keep showing me myself, Yourself in the world, seeing You here and there.  And here and now.  The peace and serenity seem daunting.  Can I simply surrender and receive the grace, Your grace within me? And so, I keep writing, watching the words form on the page.  And then a pause, as self-consciousness slows the flow.

Last week Your presence so strong I wept as I stepped out of the shower.  Your presence conveying to me that the life I feel, the life I live is Your life within me.  I could barely move—not knowing what to do with this sudden, complete wave of Presence.  Surrender is all I could manage, standing on the bathmat, dripping wet, towel in hand, unable to dry myself, unable to move. The overwhelming sense of You dominating every thought, every breath and so I stood there dripping wet, sobbing as You simply made Yourself known. “Let go, let go, just keep letting go,” my only thought.

About then my husband walked into the bathroom and found me sobbing over bent knees.  His immediate reaction, loving and kind, his presence lifting me out of the cauldron of light, fear, surrender.  I was able to tell him, “I’m OK. Just had a revelation that has brought me to my knees.”

Gradually the intensity diminishes but the sense remains.  My life is not mine but His; His life within me is what animates my flesh, gives me life.  And so now when I think of me, it is really You I feel.  My moods, desires, wishes are orchestrated, energized, by You in me. 

The Blessings of Lailat al-Qadr

On Monday, June 11, I am hospitalized with septic shock, a serious, often deadly infection that spread from a urinary tract infection (UTI) to my kidneys and into my blood.

I had gotten sick on Friday June 8 with back pain and then overnight Saturday I ran a fever of 102+, which we assumed was from the flu. By Monday, June 11, the fever is 104 and my husband, Abd al-Qadir, takes me to see my doctor who prescribes oral antibiotics for a “whopping UTI” (her description). I say to him as I take the first pill, “I feel I need to be in the hospital on intravenous antibiotics,” because as I take this first pill it feels like spitting on a wild fire. But I am too weak to evaluate the importance of this insight and so we go home. At home I begin having chills, which cause severe shaking throughout my body. I take a hot salt bath and the shaking subsides but I can barely move. A dear friend and neighbor Rahima Pasko (an MD) calls me and says, “These are not the usual symptoms of a UTI; you need to go to the ER!” In less then 5 minutes she is here and drives Abd al-Qadir and me to Fulton County Medical Center where I am diagnosed with septic shock and admitted for observation.

In the ER my blood pressure drops to 70/52 and another IV is added to increase the fluids. However, the fluid begins to fill my lungs and it seems I may need to be moved to the ICU facilities at Chambersburg Hospital for additional emergency treatment. But finally my blood pressure stabilizes and after a breathing treatment, my lungs begin to clear. I am still very ill but it looks like things are improving.

This night is Lailat al-Qadr, the holiest night of the year in Islam. At the beginning of the all-night silent prayer retreat or khalwa that night, the gathering of beloveds is asked to pray for me, as I am in the hospital seriously ill. 

Then early in the morning, just before sunrise, I wake and see a beautiful soft, white light on the edge of my room—a knowing comes to me that I can take leave of this world. I ask, “Can it be that easy?” and again hear a very clear, soft, loving voice reply, “Yes.” I am not afraid or concerned, just curious. At home, twenty miles away my husband feels the choice I am being given at the threshold between the worlds. With his heart connecting to mine, and praying that I will stay, he sends me his love and blessings for whatever choice I make. Salima, in prayer at the khalwa, sees herself washing my body in the Islamic way, and petitions Allah if it is time for me to go, to release me with love; but if it is not my time, to please allow me to stay.

I wonder what it will be like to take this next step and as I turn to consider this possibility, I feel a protective barrier of prayer come between the next world and me. As I turn my head in the opposite direction I see the Farm of Peace and streams of pure, white light connecting me to all those I love and all those who love me and I realize I want to stay, that there is more I can do. I see the angels and saints descending to support the khalwa gathering on this holy night and I fall into a light sleep knowing it is the prayers of this holy community gathered together on Lailat al Qadr that has kept me safe. Thank you beloveds! Subhana’llah (Thanks be to God), alhumduli’llah (Praise be to God), la ilaha illa’llah (There is no God but God), Allahu akbar (God is greater)!

If there is more to this story, Allah He knows. I share it with gratitude and as a reminder of the holy gift we have been given to be part of this beautiful community that is knitted together with love of Allah and of each other. And as a prayer that we are able to keep this Farm in our hearts and hands as an oasis of peace and love for all those who are crying to taste the love and mercy of Allah.

Jamila, June 27, 2018

Stepping Stones

I am use to having a sense of what is moving; of the direction that life is taking.  But recently that sense is shrouded and all that is left is for me to take one blind step after another trusting that the ground will support my footfalls. It usually does but there are times when the step is more of a leap, the ground further away than an easy next step. I am asked to trust that support will be there, while the sequence and direction remains a mystery.

Jamila Davies

April 13, 2018

Ramadan 2017

 Potluck every night. Dinner for 10-15-20-25, just depends.  Food scattered and gathered.  Dishes reheated, leftovers from the previous day or two. I make a mad dash to the house to pick up more food, grabbing whatever I can when surprise guests, unexpected visitors arrive!

Cleanup begins the moment the meal ends.  Endless dishes, dishwashers filled, food dated and put away, floors swept, tablecloths shaken or changed, floors mopped, pots and pans dried, counter tops wiped with citrasolv, lights out—time to pray. Then repeat the next night and the next and every night for the next thirty days.

One week into Ramadan I am sure I cannot do another night.  I decide to take a day off but there are no days off in Ramadan.  If I skip a night, I will miss the teachings offered and Qur’an reading with the group. And if I don’t fast one day it is just one more day to make up! Ramadan is unrelenting, tedious, time consuming and Divine! There is nothing quite like Ramadan.

The relentlessness of this process is the gift of Ramadan. Allah holds my feet to the fire so I can walk—really walk. The first ten days is Mercy. Thank goodness because in that first ten days all I see are the worst pictures of me, ones I have meticulously painted over the years through disbelief and turning away from Allah, not looking to find, to see, to hear.  Of course, you think you know the Truth but you are mislead by delusion. Ten days of Mercy pass as this cavalcade of images reverberate in my awareness. Oh Allah, help me forgive myself; release me from this prison of pain, sorrow, disgust and ignorance.

Then the next ten days, days eleven to twenty establishes Forgiveness, not mine but Yours. I am still plagued with my pictures but somewhere in the progression of days Forgiveness seeps into my being, into my heart, soul, spirit, bones, blood and flesh.  I am released from my images. Allah as Fashioner, al-Musawwir, covers over my pictures with His. I transcend the struggle and float free in His grace.

Days twenty-one to thirty begin and the call to night prayer intensifies with Tasbih repeated three, five or more times at each position of the Taraweeh prayer.  “Not possible,” I think, “I can’t do this!” But Freedom is the quality of the last ten day; Freedom from my beliefs in limitation, in boundaries and in pictures.  I am free from this imagining as Allah shows me pictures of unimagined beauty.  Lailat al-Qadir comes next. I wonder what mysteries may be revealed on this night of power.

This morning after Fajr prayer I walk out of the house into the pre-dawn light.  The sky is a tapestry of colors: blues, pink, white, shades of grey. I am enraptured, lifted up by His beauty al-Majid and magnificence al-Azim.  The day begins, the sun rises, the birds turn the morning into song and I remember Cat Stevens: “Morning has broken like the first morning, black birds have spoken like the first bird…” The glory of creation repeated again and again each morning, each dawn.  It is one of the most perfect gifts of Ramadan—being up as the sun rises and being out in the fresh morning dew, feeling the damp Earth as the sun rises and warms the world around me.  

Ramadan reveals a mystery.  God’s might is tender and merciful. How do I know this? Because He has gently moved me in the direction of His love even while I resist. He does not hesitate or ease off; rather He consistently moves me toward His perfection that I might see and feel and taste and touch the essence of His Divine Mercy ar-Rahman, His strength al-Qadir, His endurance as-Sabur and His love al-Wadud. It is a mystery, an unexplainable conundrum how He shows up even now, in this moment.

Love Thy Neighbor

The commandment “Love thy neighbor as thy self” implies that to love my neighbor I must first love myself. The expression “love thy self” is not clear to me.  How do I do that? New clothes, fine car, big house? What about the self inside that shows up periodically wrecking havoc with my sense of wellbeing? How do I love that self?

John described in a recent conversation that our memories and experiences are stored in the cerebellum. When triggered by an outer event, a memory or impression surfaces from this stored reservoir overwhelming the conscious mind with that memory: fear, lack of worth, ineptitude, etc. I know this experience well.  When life elicits an old memory or impression, I am thrown back into the consciousness of that circumstance and am overwhelmed by the old beliefs. Without a deeper sense of self, I am caught by that image or mirage and lose myself in that history.  It becomes my reality. 

However, due to years of meditation, spiritual practices, and prayer I have begun to connect with a deeper healing presence, a sense of myself separate from this sudden resurgence of old memories. I can hold steady, saying to myself, “It’s OK. I’ve got this. You can trust me,” watching as the sense of overwhelm subsides. In the face of old habits of thinking and feeling I chose to comfort and love that part of myself, the “mangy dog” self, the shamed and broken self that I, with great effort, have kept under wraps, horrified that I will be exposed to its censure and debasement. This deeper conscious self acknowledges the stored memory of pain and fear and self-loathing and loves it, comforts it, embraces it.  These wounded places of stored self hate and fear feel loved, cared for and protected. I love the broken wounded, fearful places. I love myself. And now maybe I have a chance of loving my neighbor.

It occurred to me that what stopped my writing is the belief in my lack of wisdom.  There is a level of knowing, a broader vision, an intelligence that I just don’t grasp so what can I possible have to offer. Seems I am caught in a belief that what I know is not good enough. The perfection I am seeking is the mistake. What I know is sufficient.  I am only being asked to say what I know, to contribute my thoughts to the continuum of all human knowledge.  This is how it looks from here.  This is what I see, hear and feel.  I can write from what I know and trust that what I know is sufficient to share with the world.

Today while walking I began to think about writing and the lack of it I seem to be doing.  Immediately my chest caves in, my pace slows down, my shoulders hunch as I succumb to the torturous sensation of guilt and hopelessness.  But I refuse to give in to this sensation and immediately start chanting God’s name—Allah, Allah, Allah. My attention is drawn to the electric fence surrounding the upper meadow.  Tiny crystal raindrops cling to the bottom edge along the length of each wire reflecting the world of color around me. This exquisite detail and simplicity draws me back to the present moment and I remember my wholeness and perfection. I turn back to the beauty and perfection here in the natural world. I turn back to that perfection in me and trust. 

Jamila Davies

September 21, 2016

Writing is a tool...

At a recent day of writing together Writing from the Heart, many of you expressed a desire to write a book or tell a story or felt a longing to express something that niggles at your heart and mind.  Not everyone wants to produce a book or an article or a product but many of you asked, “How do I begin? What do I do first?” Someone even asked, “How do I get published?” Since I am not a published author, my advice in that area would be limited. But one thing I know from my work writing and from reading and talking with other published authors is that publishing is the last step in a very long process. 

In order to be published you have to produce a work of art—at least a work that has the qualities of that genre—a unique expression of you.  What I mean is, you need to focus first on your writing.  Think of writing as gathering wheat, not how it is done these days where huge farm equipment clears a field in a matter of hours.  But instead think about how women and men would gather wheat in the old days gathering stalks of wheat by hand, tying the stalks together in bundles with rope or string and then transporting the bundles to the threshing floor by horse and wagon. Then the threshing begins, beating the long stalks of grain against the hard ground or stone floor to separate the seeds from the stalk and then grinding the seeds into a fine powder that when mixed with yeast, water, oil and salt and allowed to rise is baked into a delicious loaf of bread—and there’s you book! 

This process takes days of steady labor. And it takes lots and lots of stalks of wheat! Lots of gathering, lots of writing, lots of separating the wheat from the chaff and even then you need inspiration (yeast) to make the dough rise, to form the loaf. Writing is a tool that opens the door to your own creativity and thought and good writing requires refining (threshing and milling).  Thinking about how to get published before you’ve even begun to write is like trying to make bread without flour. Got to do the hard work first!

I’ve been writing a memoir for years now.  Maybe I am slow, not as genius as another, but the process of writing and re-writing has honed my skill, has clarified for me my voice—who it is I am that is telling the story.  This has been an invaluable process. And will I ever get published? God knows! But will I write, will I keep writing and refining and understanding myself better with each revision. You bet!

Just start writing and keep writing and maybe one day you will have a great big wonderful loaf of bread to share.  Pass the butter and jam!!