As
usual, the call to prayer sounded loudly outside my bedroom
window early this morning, something around the ungodly-hour of
5:00 am. I woke up, silently said a few prayers, then nodded
back to sleep. Though I normally have to get up at that insane
hour, it's a holiday here today so I was able to fall
back to sleep once the Muezzin finished shouting "Allah
Akbar" through the crackly PA system. Snooze, snooze,
snooze. Ah, the glorious feeling of snuggling with soft velour
blankets is on the list of my Top 10 Favorite Things To Do When
You are Single. Snooze the morning away--that's what
I love to do! And dream deep, mystical dreams which convey
top-secret codes and messages for spiritual deciphering.
In my waking hours I am an ordinary psychiatric
nurse practitioner and educator. I am an unofficial ambassador
to the Middle East. In my sleep hours, however, I am a high
level cryptologist maneuvering through clandestine symbols
and esoteric meanings. Night time dreams speak to me in a
profound way and challenge me to be someone important. Early
this morning I was about ready to travel to the moon. I had
just been assigned this high level position of space travel and
was preparing myself physically and emotionally. I was on the
verge of taking off for outer space when, suddenly, I awoke
again as the Muezzin led the faithful into yet another rigorous
round of "Allah Akbar" chants. I could hear hundreds
of men repeatedly chanting in Arabic through the loud speakers
over and over again "God is Great. God is Great. God is
Great."
I am startled by the sudden shift of focus from moon to Allah.
"Huh?" I think to myself. "Where am I?" I
look around my bedroom. There are a few sacred objects nearby, a
large picture of Mother Mary staring back at me, and a few
mini-teddy bears gawking at me with assymetrical wide-eyes.
"Oh," I remind myself, "it's Eid. Uh,
oh...."
Yes, today is Eid Al Adha. This is the moment which marks
the end of the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia.
Millions of Muslims in the land of the prophet Muhammad's
birthplace are fulfilling one of the most important
spiritual duties required of them during their earthly life.
People I know who have participated in this rigorous
discipline report it's a truly difficult, yet blessed, time.
When I see the pilgrims returning from Hajj I always sense
renewed spiritual light around them. Several of my male nursing
students are there now, sending me text messages every few days.
I look forward to seeing them upon their return and
congratulating them for their spiritual dedication. They
will return with head completely shaved. They will have a gaunt
and weary look about them, but beneath the strain I will see the
radiance. It's a glory to behold. That's the good news
about this holy day--it celebrates the completion of the
spiritual pilgrimage! Now for the bad news. Well, gulp, it's a
day of animal sacrifice.
I
drag myself out of bed and focus more and more upon the
environment around me. You would think that by now waking up in
the Middle East would become second nature, but everyday I wake
up here I feel disoriented. I need all the visual and auditory
cues I can get to remind me that I am in this other world. I am
in Kuwait. No need to panic. No need to be alarmed. Just a need
to re-adjust to the reality.
It's
still too early in the morning to think in Arabic. I want to
shut out the "Allah Akbars" until I am more fully
oriented. I saunter to the bathroom and splash some
untreated, desalinated pipe water onto my face. It feels good
and I have finally learned to stop worrying about all the
bacteria and viruses that could be bathing in that water.
Four years of immersing myself in this water, even on days when
the water is quite brown, has proved to be harmless. "Ah,
this water feels so good...."
I
complete my dental and skin cleansing treatments and
then pile a heap of sunscreen on my face. Even though it's
winter here now, the desert sun is still merciless. Careful
as I am, freckles, moles, and wrinkles keep invading
my pale facial tissues. What to do? I'm in the Middle East.
Surrender, dear one, surrender.
I walk barefoot to the kitchen, wiping off sand
particles from the bottom of my feet. Just yesterday I swept the
house thoroughly, but already the dust has crept back in.
I drink a glass of cold laban. If you have never tried this
before it's a cross between yogurt and sour cream. It takes some
getting used to, but once you get the hang of gulping down this
Arabic treat, you can't live without it. It's a holiday and I am
in no rush so I treat myself to a second glass full of
dairy bliss. "Uh, oh, don't think about animals right
now...."
I
go back to my room which now smells strongly of the incense
and scented candles I have lit. I plop back down on the bed and
begin my own pilgrimage to the Divine. I pray to Mother
Mary 5 decades of Pope John Paul II-blessed rosary beads from
Rome. Then I do some breathing asnas using Muslim rose-scented
prayer beads from Turkey. As I deepen my awareness of God and
the powerful prophets that have been sent to us from above, I
feel small, humble, nothing. I guess that's why my nighttime
dreams are so grandiose. I can venture off to brave new worlds,
be a hero, be a chosen one, be the bravest of the brave. In real
life I don't feel so big.
It's an effort to fulfill my daily
activities of living--taking proper care of my nutrition and
health, working full time, healing a broken heart, honoring my
many social obligations. But in my spiritual littleness I find
comfort because I know that Allah Akbar will not abandon me and
the more pathetic I am, in some paradoxical sense, the more I am
bolstered and strengthened by the One. I guess that's what St.
Paul meant when he said "in my weakness is God's
strength."
The
ritual cycles of East meets West completed, I read some of
the Holy Bible and some of the Holy Quran. I am definitely more
comfortable with the former. But I feel first-hand knowledge of
the latter is crucial during these times of disinformation.
Whenever possible, I try to go to the source. I guess that's
always been one of my greatest gifts from God: A thirst for true
wisdom and knowledge. What I lack in comfort of intimate
companionship, I make up for in intellectual pursuit. What I
lack in human marriage, I make up for in spiritual
interdependence. I love to learn. And learning loves to reveal
itself through me. I need God. And God needs me. God takes care
of me. And I take care of God. Fair enough....It's a deal.
The
mosque mantras are finished and now I hear "baaahing"
coming from across the street. I recognize the sound and sure
enough as I look out my window I see a big fat sheep with curly
horns and thick curly wool. One of the greatest treats of my new
living space is that from my apartment on the fourth floor of the
large Kuwaiti home, I can see across into a nearby rugged field.
Though I live in a Middle Eastern version of a suburb, there are
still remnants of desert visible here and there. And across the
street is a tattered desert area with both thriving and dying
palm trees, scraggly looking bushes, and dilapidated brick
sheds. Every chance I get, I gaze out this East window keeping
an eye out for the shepherd and his herd. "Oh, there they
are" I say excitedly to myself. And I often spend hours at
a time, just watching this skinny, turbaned man with sandals and
a beating stick, run along with dozens of romping sheep. The
sight tickles my inner child to no end!
But
I know the baaahing I hear now is too close to be coming from
across the field. I look out the West window view and see again
the lone sheep. He's locked outside of the house and is isolated
in a small walled-in region along side the home. He is
pacing back and forth. I notice a large pink circle on his plump
rear end. This is some type of brand that his owner used to
mark him as ready for the slaughter. He is on unfamiliar
turf and he has a sickening sense of what lay ahead. I can feel
his anxiety and now my anxiety is rising as well. He's becoming
a little panicky. He knocks over the metal stand where laundry
is drying out. The Indonesian housemaid comes running out of the
house and chases him away from the laundry. He sees this as his
chance to escape and starts jumping on her. She runs back into
the house terrified of his aggressiveness. He tries to sneak
into the house after her. In fact, he almost succeeds in opening
the back door. I watch him as he uses his horns to move the latch. He nearly opens
it when two men from off the street walk up to the house, ring
the bell, and are granted entrance to the secluded sheep
area. "Uh, oh, this is it," I think to myself.
The
sheep senses what's coming. He starts baaahing louder and
louder. His
distress is so severe that everyone from the nearby homes are
watching out the window. Even the house servants and teenagers
from the home where he is temporarily located come outside as if
they had never before encountered what is about to take place.
The two men receive payment for their services. They take off
their long dress-like dishdashas and put on baggy pants. They
role up their sleeves and begin the sacred, yet not-so-sacred,
task of sacrificing the sheep to Allah. They drag him to the
street just in front of the house. He struggles and baahs and
then silence. They have whacked off his head faster than you can
say "Allah Akbar" and now his torso is dangling from a
rope strung up from the carport. His fluffy wool falls to the
floor as the large knives strip his outer skin and hair from the
edible flesh. Within minutes he is headless, hairless, and looks
like a carcass hanging in a butcher shop.
Yet
a few more minutes later he is cut into dozens of presentable
pieces and placed on two large silver serving trays. As is
customary, one tray will be delivered to the sheep owner's home
where the residents will have mutton for holiday dinner.
The other tray will be taken to a poor family who will rejoice
at the sight of such beautiful, tender meat with which to
feast and celebrate Eid Al Adha.
Tears
roll down my cheeks as I watch the housemaids hose down all
the blood. They force the water sprays so that the
blood-tinged water flows properly down the streets. There is so
much blood the street is painted red for awhile and then
eventually it becomes a soft pink and then a burnt brown. After
they have finished hosing everything down, they collect the
strips of sheep hair and unused body parts and stuff them into
re-used department store plastic bags and carry them over to the
trash bin. There they sit. I wonder to myself what happened to
the head, but try not to think about it. I make a mental note
not to put my morning's trash over in that same lone trash bin.
The two turbaned men wash their hands with the hose water,
change back into their dishdashas and walk towards the main
street where they will catch a bus to the next house awaiting
them. The housemaids and visibly shaken teenagers reluctantly
return into the home.
My
tears have dried now and I find the sickening feeling in my
stomach starting to subside. "Well, at least his life was
not in vain," I think to myself. "And these two
families will appreciate the food that he provides to nourish
their bodies and souls during this special holiday."
Eid Al Adha. It's a day like no other. Millions of animals
around the world are sacrificed in memory of the great
sacrificial moment when Abraham was tested by God. Abraham of
the Old Testament of the Hebrew Scriptures, was asked by God to sacrifice his
son Isaac. But in the Holy Quran, the story is not about Isaac,
but about Ismael, Abraham's first son by Sarah's handmaid. Eid
Al Adha is about remembering Abraham's great faith and
willingness to do whatever God asked of him. For me, it's also
about remembering we are all food for the gods (oops, I mean the
one God). We are all here to be served up to our Lord and to be
sustenance to each other.
If
I could have my way, there wouldn't be any animal sacrifices on
this day. There would be great celebrating about the Abraham of Isaac and Ismael and there would be profound reflection upon
the sacrifices we are each called to make in our life in order
to become our most spiritual selves. But I am not really in a
position to change that particular reality at this
particular time in history. I can only try to make sense of it
in my own, narrow way. And the best way I can make sense of it
now as the day comes to an end and I prepare myself for my
evening prayers, is to say, with tears again rolling down my
cheek, "Thank you, sweet sheep, thank you. Thank you
for your bravery and your beauty. Thank you for your baahing and
your clever attempts to open the back kitchen door. Thank you
for your thick curls and your intense eyes. Thank you for your
blood that flows in the pavement where I walk. For now on,
whenever I walk that path to the ugly, over-flowing,
stench-filled trash bin, I will think of your sacrifice. I will
imagine that I am walking not upon your blood, but upon a
royal red carpet placed there especially for you as a
royal guest making his entrance into heaven."
The
Old Testament is filled with images of animals sacrificed in the
Temple for the sake of the beloved Hashem. The New Testament
reveals to us that Jesus was the lamb of God whose sacrificial
death helped to take away the sins of the world. And the Holy
Koran tells us of yet more sacrificial ways to appease, placate,
and praise Allah. One way or the other, sacrifice is an element
of each and everyone of our lives. Perhaps there is no
escaping the element of sacrifice. Not even escape
into nighttime fantasy dreams can keep death and
bloodshed away. A trip to the moon will only postpone, not
cancel, the inevitable. Yes, one way or the other all of
creation ends up being a sacrifice. But, on this day of
celebration and holiness, I must cling to the hope that all
painful sacrifice on behalf of the Divine is somehow redemptive.
It
is finished. The sun sets. The sacrifice is over. I can once
again turn to slumber with peace in my heart for in sleep I will
find meaning for living and strength for dying. I say my
nocturnal prayers. As a Christian, I reflect upon Christ's
triumph through birth, death, and resurrection. As a Native
American I give thanks to Mother Earth who provides the circle
of life and the good red road. As a believer in Creation
Spirituality I walk the Four Paths of the spiritual journey
through wonder, pain; birthing; and transformation.
Yes, God is Great. God is good. God is He and She who gives
birth. God, ultimately, is the only one with true
understanding of the meaning and mystery which today, Eid
Al Adha, represents. Allah Kareem. God is Generous. Eid
Mubarak. Blessings of Eid to you and yours.
