18 May A Circus Pilgrimage
You would have to ask Umme when I completed the Quran…the first time. Then came the second learning and recitation. What I can share is that it was before I was 10 years old. An ancient language, the last monotheistic religion brought to humans by the Prophet Muhammad, encoded in my DNA for hundreds if not thousands of years, since our family is directly descended from the Prophet himself (or that’s what the family tree reads that Puppa has), and I did not understand a word of it. Not a single word.
The warmth of the day was in contrast to the cool water that cleansed my hands in preparation for prayer; my white dupata, a long scarf that covered my head; criss-cross applesauce on the floor; a wooden bench just relegated for the placement of the Quran; and an elder, usually Chotee or Bhari, next to me while I recited the verses. Naturally, my body swayed as the words flowed from my lips, not stopping or ceasing, but stemming from a Source and Power that I could not understand. A melodious chant of ancient texts during a time that I was working through a stutter, probably due to learning two languages at once or the amount of trauma that existed at home, while I bowed back and forth to an invisible being outside of myself.
My ability to learn and recite was less due to God’s will or blessing as Umme thought (might still think), but that Tanessa, my childhood best friend, was waiting for me to play outside (there might be three of us so we could double-dutch!) and it was springtime in Chicago when the blooms and birds and greenery calls to children and adults alike to get outside and experience the world. I needed to get God done and over with so I could play! Little did I know then that God is in the play, in the moments of viewing nature, connecting with friends, and anywhere that you give Him space to be.
“I’ve completed today’s lesson,” the words had barely parted my lips, as I simultaneously threw off the dupata, allowing it to float onto my great-aunty’s face, giggling and laughing on my way towards slipping on my chupel (flip-flops) and bolting out the door. Out of breath but exalted in my liberation, I jumped right into the ropes, singing, chanting and swaying to a childhood rhyme that allowed us to keep beat.
“Girl, it’s not even your turn,” Tanessa would reprimand, but not really. “But go ‘head. You been doin’ your prayers.”
Arabic is beautiful. The scrolls and curves, seamlessly blending one word upon another like animated art on paper. I no longer can read it but feel it; the traditions coming alive – not on my tongue, but in my heart, and Spirit. In our office closet, The King James Bible neighbors the Quran and prayers from The Reform Book of Judaism, as well as other spiritual teachings, all in English translations because that is my preferred means of communication and understanding; it’s blocky print, stiff and tightened like a coil about to break, does not hold the visual attraction of Arabic.
The strength of God’s speech – no matter the faith – when allowed to tap into my Soul leaves me breathless and full.
Lately, the power and brilliance of a single sentence is enough to sustain my Spirit – for days. The strength of God’s speech – no matter the faith – when allowed to tap into my Soul leaves me breathless and full. Today, it was from the Quran, “…the good pleasure of Allah is with those who are sincere…” Sincere…damn, He’s good! Mic drop! The other day, a neighbor, friend, spiritual confidante shared from Luke 1:46, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” Woah! That rested with me for a week and then floated back into the ether, ready to be received again a few days later. What I have learned, am learning, is that God cannot be sustained in our human bodies for extended periods of time – we would explode from his Presence, dissipating into a billion points of Light. So, He wanders in and out, meandering a path in our Spirits, that guides us, preserves us, and beckons us towards Love, but all on our own free will.
My bowed head and tear-stained face has replaced the head covering as humility in front of Allah, God, The King of the Universe, dare I say the Universe itself, but my God, my Beloved isn’t so small that He gets upset at my lack of attire or that I refer to Him as She or It sometimes. Pronouns and status and ego are human troubles. The All Knowing just wants me to show up. And, truly showing up – 100%, no bull, bare and vulnerable, sometimes raw and broken, is the most difficult thing I have ever done. But if not in front of the Truth then who? If not now, then when?
Umme has stopped reminding me, maybe she’s given up realizing that I am going to hell or is respecting the path that I am on (I’ll place bets on hell over respect), but there was a time where she would gently coax me towards the five pillars of Islam.
“Remember that I leave my janna-maz (prayer rug) at your home so anyone can use it,” she would say. “Do you still have a copy of the Quran because my friend was wondering if she could get the same edition? If you’re not using it…”
“MashAllah, your business is going well,” she’d exclaim. “Set aside money for those in need.”
“Oh, did I tell you that your [niece and/or nephew] has completed an entire fast!”
“Oh, did I tell you that cousin [fill-in-the-blank] is going on Hajj!”
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS ME HAVING A REAL CONVERSATION AND QUESTIONING GOD, so…if this goes against your spiritual alignment, stop reading and go on with your merry day, but He is my friend and we keep it real – together, as all friends do.
Out of all five duties, it is Hajj that challenges me the most: You’re asking your followers, over 2 billion of them, to save enough money to go to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, stay, pray, eat and travel some more, so they can be closer to You? Come on now! Why do we need to travel to the Middle East to feel Your Presence? How come I can’t feel your Presence here, in Redlands, where I live? I live in the middle of a desert too, ‘ya know (yes, that is me getting snarky with the Almighty). Show me your Power and I shall Serve your people, I chided. He answered.
During the first full three weekends in May, pilgrims from near and far, packing food in coolers, carrying foldable lawn chairs, bringing jackets and blankets just in case the desert air gets chilly, supplying water and other liquids for the heat of the day, carting make-up Caboodles and hair accessories, glitter and sparkle their way into the Redlands YMCA. We gather, we congregate, we pray – as a circus pilgrimage. My family and hundreds like us have had the great honor of participating and volunteering at the longest running youth circus in the United States. This is the 79th year and it is beyond comprehension to estimate how many lives have been impacted because of this organization. Just as waves in the ocean cannot be counted so the influence of the Great Y Circus cannot be numbered.
Leave it up to God to form such a collective under one roof: A “freak show” of servitude.
The month of May, gifts me opportunity after opportunity to connect with humanity. There are children and adults, each with a story to share, a moment to witness, and a pilgrim’s journey to bear. There are numerous faiths, political viewpoints, ethnic backgrounds, varying budgets, and diversity, converging for one purpose – a good, safe, fast show. In all corners of the Roy Coble Gym, named after the human being and spiritual messenger who began the circus, we weave a tapestry of humanity. Onstage and backstage, we create a bond that could only be formed by Something bigger than all for the purpose of serving one another. Leave it up to God to form such a collective under one roof: A “freak show” of servitude. I knew He also had a sense of humor!
Just some of the glorious human beings who we ran away with to the circus.
Some in our production, choose to be on the literal stage while others hold just as much Light and Promise in the dim space behind the curtain, where darkness hugs me tightly as I make my way behind bleachers, reaching for strong, steady hands to guide me over high wires escorting their travelers cross treacherous territory; men and women in black, dark angels, helping, assisting, and securing their passengers and belongings to safety; leading me to two trailers held together with hopes and dreams and a promise to return again next spring; and this is where Life happens and courage prevails. Where things get lost, feelings are hurt, hugs are needed, empathy reigns, compassion saves the day, and souls whose beauty mystifies me and leaves me in Awe are my friends.
There is a point, if you are blessed to live long enough, where you can look back at the road you’ve traveled and the billions upon billions of moments that brought you right to this instance, and there is immense gratitude. This year’s pilgrimage is coming to an end. Each day at the circus, with my family of hundreds, we have the honor to witness one another, to connect with a Higher Power who has an infinite amount of names in multiple languages but my favorite, the one that leaves me breathless every time, is Love. May you find your Hajj, a pilgrimage, whether close to home or in lands far away, where the realization settles in your being that we are all in this together, created by the same Power who produced limitless universes. How magnificent you must be!
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