Personal Reflections: July 2009 Archives

Ma’s Song

I do not make my abode

On the lofty mountain peaks

For the way of ice and snow

Is not my way.

I have pitched my tent beside you, friend,

In the valley of human experience.

Bring me your tender joys

And I will feed them corn

From my own hands

And take delight as they chirp beside my door.

Give me your mewing sorrows;

I will cradle and stroke them lovingly,

For they are mine.

I hang your tears

As prayer flags in the breeze,

I wear your smiles,

A garland on my breast.

Let me iron the creases of perplexity

And sweep the dust of confusion from your heart.

I will untie your heavy boots of weariness

And worship them on the altar of our longing.

 I pour myself into your thirsty cup,

Offer my grief as ointment for your wounds.

The ringing of your laughter and your cries

Has called me to this holy pilgrimage.

I have come to you from the lofty mountain peaks

For the way of ice and snow is not my way.

Today is my father's birthday so I wanted to post something in memory. Here is a dream I recently had.
I go to a hospital and meet a male nurse dressed in black who tells me Dad is alive. I tell him that I was there when Dad died and all my friends know this. He replies, “He fell asleep for a while but now he’s awake.”  I walk to the hospital cafeteria thinking that we need to proceed with the utmost caution and great boldness. A woman dressed in black walks over and sits opposite me at the table. She has a white and gold name tag saying Dr Alia Moscovitch. (Moscovitch was my grandmothers’ maiden name.) She says to me, “We need to proceed with the utmost caution and great boldness.” I don’t want her to talk down to me so I tell her that I’m also a doctor myself. She replies, “Yes but it’s different because he’s your father and you’re emotionally involved.”
 I get ready to go to see Dad by putting on ‘Sufi order of the West earrings’ which are large oval shaped earrings, white with gold Arabic calligraphy of Quaranic verses.  I also take off the white cotton dervish hat I’m wearing and put on a white felt Mevlevi hat. Then I go down a corridor into a room where there is an elderly Jewish gentleman sitting up in bed. I say, “Is it really you?” “Yes.” “You’re Peter?” “Yes.” “And you’re my Dad?” “Yes”. I give him a hug and then I wake up, not sure whether my father is really dead or not.

Here is the interpretation by Habiba, our Sufi circle leader:
I feel this dream is a confirmation for you that your father has passed safely into the Realm of Beauty and that your grandmother was somehow helpful in this transition.  He is alive, awake and well and resting there. 

It feels as if putting on the Sufi garb somehow allowed you to travel briefly to the other side and make this confirmation for yourself.