I am still trying to get this one right. But learning to know when NOT to talk... when to keep my ego subdued and not push my point on someone who has no hope of getting it anyway. When what you say is only going to make matters worse, best be silent. There is a famous saying of the Prophet Muhammad: Speak of what is good, or be silent.

Short and sweet advice, but difficult to implement...

Matthew Moes

Taking a tip from the question prompts, I want to share a few "inspiring" things I've come across lately. But neither is in the perky positive inspiration persuasion that I would normally association with the word. But both have inspired awareness, and perhaps eventually inspire action. First, I looked closely at a very intriguing magazine this week called Adbusters (see www.adbusters.org) and I must admit I am still digesting it. I was feeling rather disgruntled lately about a number of things and then I was looking at this magazine and found it critical of and advocating for the very things I had just been thinking. Things like the corruptive and manipulative power of big corporations and how out of touch our compulsive comsumerist lifestyles have taken us from the good and blessed world God gave us. And it really boils down to the individual making better more disciplined choices. Turn off the advertising and stop listening to the voices it plants in your head. You really don't need to consume anything. And less consumption means less consumer debt, more money in your own pocket. And support local businesses owned and operated by real people like you. Maybe I will write more on this later.

And the other thing I want to mention is the latest Michael Moore film, SiCKO, because I watched it today. I kept reminding myself that he is a propagandist while I could not help but empathize with most of what I saw there. Healthcare is a life and death issue, while Americans are fed the fodder that protect the investments of the wealthy at the expense of those of us living check to check. What we should do about this, I am not sure. But something has got to change.

Great Question. I was just watching the Live Earth concert footage on Bravo and thinking about the exact same question. I am an educator by profession, so it got me thinking about why I do it. And because my work is never done, it is easy to lose sight of the important contributions educators make everyday by fighting illiteracy and ignorance and helping to raise children to be conscientious people. So before I go off on a new tangent, I want to remind myself and others of how wonderful it is to be able to bread on the table and do something so fundamentally important every day.

God Bless.

I let this question brew in my subconscious for the past day or so. I don't know if I can really answer the question of what patriotism means to me, but I wanted to weigh in at least that I have always been a bit perplexed about why it means so much to others. As a human being, why should my citizenship mean more to me than my favorite sports team? I mean, shouldn't I care about other people just as much regardless of where they were born? And it is not like we BELONG to this or that nation because it's our choice. We just crop up somewhere and we should all start forming alliances along this random line... etc.

Well, so then I got a bit more philosophical about it, like when I was younger and flag burning was a big issue. Wasn't flag burning really a patriotic act? I mean, if you were brought up to believe it stood for freedom, justice, equality, etc. Then you find yourself a bit cynical because the stars and stripes are waving over the effort to "free" a lot of nonrenewable resources from poor people... then you figure out that it is not the first time we fell short of living up to our ideals. So people burned the flag to say, "Hey, if you are going to dishonor it by doing contradictory things in its name, then I am going to show that it was supposed to mean something else..."

And for a minute I got geneaological about it, thinking about all the veterans in my bloodline and wondering why I was born without that, but feeling a bit respectful and proud just the same. Maybe they really believed because they could believe at that time...

And finally, let me say that we do our patriotic duty by striving to live up to the ideals for which it stands, even if that sometimes means being uncomfortable or having to confront people who wave it around without any obvious sign of respect for them.

And God knows best.

I received an email recently from my sister who is serving in Iraq. She was just sent there about a month ago. It is nice to hear from her, and she tries to quell our fears with her optimistic periodic updates. She is getting her first command this month, and I responded to her with some words of encouragement to let her know I believe in her, even if I don't believe in war. At least with all the insanity of it, I know someone there trying to do right. Perhaps, like myself, she gullibly buys the ideals behind what she does and tries to ignore (feign ignorance of) the reality that contradicts it...

Well anyway, when she wrote and I wrote back, it reminded me of this poem I wrote back in the spring. My dear friend Abdalmalik, who really is a poet, actually started it with his own prosed response to the destruction of the sacred mosque in Samarra. Some say it was destroyed by Sunnis and some prefer conspiracies about who is really fueling the civil war there.  My own response is below (see next post).

March 12, 2006

Between the Tigris and the Euphrates...
How many footsteps have walked there?
How many smiles and laughs,
And generations of families have passed?
How much business and wealth exchanged?
How much blood been shed in God's name?
How much blood been shed in progress's name?
How much blood been shed because of pride?
In the land of the Great Flood, where Noah did reside...
Where it is said that God wiped humanity clean
So that we would have a chance to start all over again.
Where God made the fire cool for Ibrahim
Just to show his people they had a fool for a king.
Where Nebuchadnezzar marched Bani Israel across the sand
And brought destruction and ruin to the heirs of Sulaiman.
And now centuries later on top of black gold
Bombs efface the monuments of humanity's bold
Temples and Mosques and Minarets built high -
They mean little if women and children are left to starve and die.
Yes, for tens of thousands of years, archaeologists say,
We lived in the forests like children at play.
No property or territory or possessions to protect,
No superhighways or skyscrapers or emails to check.
We hunted and gathered with the birds at each dawn,
But now those wonderful simple days are gone.
Because now under the illusions of pride and vanity
We've "civilized" the world beyond the Tigirs and Euphrates.
We've replaced our forests with concrete and steel
And we watch the television if we want to feel
Corporations and governments now provide instead of God
Buy an SUV and an IPod and all your problems are solved.
You'll spend your time in gridlock instead of with your kids
And the money you make pays the interest on what you already spent.
Yes we need the oil even if babies must die
To preserve the Great American Lie...
For if a conspiracy ever were true,
It was when Iblis promised to lie in wait for you -
He promised you comfort though your back still aches,
He promised you the happiness your presciption must make.
He threatens us with poverty and I guess we believe,
Because we'll kill in an instant for the fears we conceive.
But when the bombs have fallen and the war booty is handed,
When the water resides and the Ark has landed,
The shattered Golden Dome will be remade,
The Call will be called and the Prayer prayed.
And those two Great Rivers will continue to flow -
For it is from God we come and back to Him we'll go,
Whether or not we know...

I wrote this little reflection in honor of our annual pre-Ramadan tradition.

ISNA announced this year that we in North America, should all follow their calculations, thereby abrograting their previous policy of pretending not to follow calculations while simulating a moon sighting. Others of course, preferred to wait until someone purportedly sighted it, locally that is, if you consider 9,450,000 square miles to be "local". And then there are those who like the idea of calculating, but insist that ISNA's team of advisors are following the wrong calculations - everyone else understands the lunar pattern except ISNA.

Personally I can't "calculate"  when the moon would be "sightable". All I can see is that there are some claiming it will be visible and some others saying it won't. Where does it leave us? Either scientific calculations of the moon's cycle can be as accurate as those for prayers (by the sun) or not. If they are, then why all the disputation? If it is because of calculation methods, then we could accept that too - as we do accept the various prayer time calculations. As for the issue of calculating, it seems, according to our Imam here in Richardson, that the Ottoman's did that for years. And why not? If we can calculate our solar timed prayers every day to the point that everyone depends on their PC adthan clock, then why not calculate the visibility of the moon too?

As for uniformity, I have always been for it when it comes to calendar days. Prayer times are different, they occur each and every day according to the position of the sun on that particular day in each particular place. But as for naming the day itself, it is odd that if a day starts here today, that it would not be counted as the same day elsewhere. This means that I could note that I wrote something on Ramadan 1, and you, on the same day, note that you wrote something the day after or before. How so? We are writing on the same day. Even if it takes a few hours for my day to start. It is not tomorrow, it is not yesterday. It is today. If for some reason we are isolated and we cannot get on the same calendar as everyone else, then OK. But how strange, even comically ironic, that with all the communication technology, the thing we would actually agree upon is not what day it is, but that today, is actually two different days, depending where you are! I can email you this message today and an instant later, you will receive it yesterday! Now who would dare call us backwards when we are so close to inventing time travel?

So really, where does it leave the average person? Maybe confused, definitely distracted! For sure, this is not the point of the blessed month for which we choose to exercise our independence in calendar following. Unity, Unity, on my calendar, no, no, on MY calendar, etc. Every 29 or 30 days a lunar calendar month goes by, but let us just make sure we focus on this issue at the one time in the year that our disputations must be abandoned! HA! Who gets credit for our fasting on the day of doubt? Who benefits from our abstention from food and drink while our quarreling persists?

So for years I always thought it made perfect sense that if "Fast when you see it" (i.e. the new moon), was the simple directive of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), then that is what we should do. Who could turn a simple five word statement into such legalistic haggling: And Moses said, "God says, sacrifice a cow". His people replied, "How old is the cow? What color is the cow? Of what quality is the cow?" Rather, "How old is the moon? What size is the moon? Where in the world is the moon?" ....and so on. So why not just take it for what it is. When you, the general you, as in "you all", see it, then start fasting. If we hear that someone reliable saw it, (not an insane person or a known liar), then we should fast. No matter where we are, or what boat we are in. Or what boat the guy who saw it is in.

And I guess if that makes me a literalist, then I stand convicted - but convicted only of fasting when somebody in this Ummah saw the new moon. And while everyone is busy punching each other's lights out over what day it is, I will be hungry and thirsty and wondering what time it is... because I am not THAT self-righteous, I just want to break my fast on time so I can have a cup of coffee.

The Funeral Prayer

M. Moes

August 30, 2006

“There will be a janaza¹ in about five minutes in the multipurpose hall,” stated the Imam² in a somber tone after completion of the afternoon prayer.

Only moments later a small number of people shuffled into the large gymnasium. I entered with the men, heading for the pine wooden box in the northeastern corner of the room. We shuffled past a small group of women, sobbing beneath their black dresses for the deceased. The simple box was draped in a black cloth with gold-colored Arabic calligraphy. It reminded me of the black cloth covering I had only seen in pictures adorning the Sacred House in Mecca. We formed a row for prayer. Today's was a small crowd and we did not have enough people to make more rows. I considered the humble setting. The scuffed blue unadorned walls belied any attempt at an aesthetic befitting a funeral. Someone fumbled with the public address system and tapped the top of the microphone to ensure that it was working. I looked down at my feet as we aligned ourselves for the prayer. The uneventful floor tile evidenced the remnants of a shine even though the lights were not on. Skylights lit the room with natural sun, which shone on the array of lines demarcating the floor for the youth to play basketball.

The Imam offered a brief explanation of the short ritual we were about to perform in commemoration of the soul before us and his sojourn. Four takbirat³, three minutes later, and it was all over. An entire life, maybe sixty years or more, and this was all we could muster. The sobbing increased in the back of the room. The men went forward and gathered around the box while the Imam implored the people to pray for the deceased and all the other souls who have gone before us. Then maybe eight or ten pairs of hands competed to whisk the box and its exhausted contents outside where the funeral car awaited. I did not follow to the cemetery.

Seeing the end of the affair some of the men chatted in slight voices about mundane matters while they walked toward the door as if the event were of no particular significance – at least not as significant as whatever pressed them to converse at that time. I wondered what the daughters thought of such men. For how could the world spin on so casually when the man who had given them a life and a home for their first twenty years had just been prayed over? Whatever deeds he had done, awards he had earned, people who he had brushed elbows with and schemed and planned with over lofty goals were now gone. And who would remember? Who had written it all down for his honor to be ever after known?

A life simply over and done with, I guess. I did not even know his name. I did not know a single thing he had done. I was just asked to join here to send him off, and I did so out of a mixture of politeness and nagging obligation. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and prayed for his forgiveness hoping I might be fortunate enough some day that some stranger might do me the same courtesy. For I am aware that my turn will someday come. Granted I am in denial that my turn may come any time soon, but I have no doubts about the actual event. And while I will have little control over the process at hand, it is my ardent wish that I not be sent off like this.

I do not want to be ritualized as a matter-of-fact in a room intended for sports and dinners. I pray that my crowd of well-wishers gather with me in the outdoors under the expansive roof that has no pillars. Let them form their rows in the grass under the shade of tall trees – trees who have witnessed the history of many men and women, but defy their own mortality by reawakening for the next round each spring. If it is spring, then let the noses of my relatives and friends rejoice with the fragrances of fresh budding flora. And if it is fall, then let their olfactory sense endure the decay of leaves – leaves that protest their own demise through the splendor of their warm autumn colors. Let my brothers and sisters feel a merciful breeze on their faces as they appeal to Our Lord for my enduring fate. Let me ride on that breeze and meet my questioners with the grace and ease reserved only for the truly successful. Then let the people walk with my body to its place of repose. Dust will gather around their ankles and there will be nothing to think of, let alone speak about, except their own unwelcome visit by Azrael, the angel of death. Let the earth remind them that from it we came, by His incomparable hand, and to it we shall all return.

It is not that I am any more deserving of such a farewell, but rather, let each death be a reminder of how precious is the gift of this fleeting life.