dispatches from Ramadan
Ramadan Mubarak!
this year I’ve decided to start keeping a log with reflections every day this Ramadan. I’m not gonna share all of them because some of them are really personal— or maybe I’ll share some of the more personal ones for paid subscribers, but I wanted to share the first two.
Day 0
The new moon before Ramadan begins my ancestors come to me at my altar with beautiful messages. I woke up in a fog, the shadows cutting through my mind. But they come, reminding me of the light I have inside me, how sweet and delicate it is, how brightly it shines. Even when no one understands, stay in your light. Divineness if yours, even when—especially when—no one understands. They tell me to wear white. Make a list of when it’s hard for me to love. Of who and how I am working to forgive, so my heart can be lighter. Rebirth, they whisper, and I oil the jasmine into my skin. Rebirth, they say, as the white dress falls over my legs, as I wrap my hair and stare into their eyes. Here, is the month of rebirth. Light comes again, when I pull from my ruins—the first, Taita Inti, father of the sun, reminding us to extend our gratitude towards the sun. And here he comes, the sun, peaking through my blind. On the first day of Aries season, on this new moon, awakening. Radiate from the sun and extend it gratitude. And then, my ancestors show me Amaru, the serpent, turning the pain to medicine. Letting the medicine flow, and a reminder to shed my skin, to come to the world anew. And lastly, Mama Quilla, gentle moon mother, saying to stay in accordance of nature, to bless the natural endings and beginnings. Transformation requires phases, and it requires the light and the sun in ourselves to enter the darkest parts of our minds. So, here we go.
When I stir my cacao, my prayer forms—Allah, awaken in me my light. Let dissolve anything in me that keeps my from my light. Let it be the beacon to my darkest shadows. Let my falling away and my restructuring move with the rhythm of the moon. Allah, walk me into Ramadan with this strength, this spirit, this knowing. Allah, let me leave Ramadan transformed.
Day 1
The first day of Ramadan gifts me my period. I am unprepared; or underprepared. The first time I ever tried to fast I was in first or second grade. Too young, but excited. I wanted so badly to be able to fast, to learn, to show Allah how much I loved. When I got to school and wasn’t eating during lunch, the principle called my house. On the phone, my uncle said I wasn’t allowed to fast, that I needed to eat. I was devastated.
Now, the zeal of Ramadan feels far away from me. Sometimes I feel like I default to auto-pilot during Ramadan, just going through the motions and not being fully present. Getting my period on the first day of Ramadan is hard—it feels both like an intentional moment to slow down and become present, but that I’m also being kept from the ritual of Ramadan at the very start. I know that’s a quite small-minded way to think of it, but I can’t help it.
At Iftar, a friend talks about a return to gratitude: how much his intention for Ramadan is to embody gratefulness, to prioritize gratitude above all else. And I start to see, my blood, the gratitude I have in it for its creativity, for the way it puts me in my body, how it slows me down to be intentional, how it brings my mind back into my body, rather than letting my mind be miles ahead.