99 names: 11: al Bari ii: the Maker of Order ii

in the name of ALLAH, the One, the Only, the Uni-, the begining and end, the no end, the no begining, the that which cannot be created nor destroyed...

i bear witness that there is no One, but One...as is evidenced in al Bari, in the divine Order...

the human is the microcosm of all that exists in the world. everything that exists in the universe, according to the hatha yoga pradipika, exists in us...

the Order of divinity is evidenced in our movment, in thought, in creation, and in being so, we have the opportunity of connecting with al Bari, the Maker of Order. 

the Maker of Order, is known through surrender (islam).

what is revealed in the great surrender? what is revealed when you really surrender? 

firstly, definition of terms. what is meant by surrender? the police were behind me, next to me. my boy shah and i were on the road, on 2nd ave, behind his wheels, heading downtown. the cops had guns to our head. this is a stick up. they told us to get the f out. said: Now! 

whatever we were doing at that moment: driving down midtown, shooting the breeze,, sharing anxiety and future dreams, went out the window when the blue and red lights colored us, sirens blasted and .38's pressed our temporal. 

what do you surrender to? when?

get your f'n hands up! the cops blasted, as we came out the car, me through the passenger side, shah through the driver side. hands up, i pressed against the hoopty as the cop slid his hands up and down my body. 

surrendered to the boys that day. surrendered cause they had guns, cause they were the law, cause they said so, cause jail, cause they were the authority of the order.

which order do you surrender to? which order do you surrender to when there are no guns to your head?

surrendered to the stick up kids on 8th st, 3am, august 30th...surrendered cause we were outnumbered and they had fast fists and drink and flashed weapons. surrendered to them cause i didn't want to get beat up, down, black and blued. surrendered to their authority of hard, tough...

what do you surrender to? who do you worship? who are you afraid of? why? 

these days i am more mindful about surrendering to only the One, but the senses get the best of me. fear is a sense, fear is set off by our limbic system, by our sypathetic system - our flight or fight. our hypothalmus releases neurotransmitter-chemicals to our pituitary glands, which release hormones that activate the hormones on our suprarenal kidney. cortisone, aldosterone release. our body heats, heart rate quickens. the sympa and paraympathetic portions of our pns are said to be part of the autonomic nervous system, meaning they are involuntary, like the blood pumping in your heart at this moment, on its own, without conscious control. this is the autonomic nervous system. but what gives rise to fight, flight?

in Quiet surrender, in the practice of salat, dua, meditation, life becomes an act of active meditaiton, of a doing from a deeper place, of a release of the senses. the senses distort our view of reality, keep us locked into the maya. 

whats real is that this body passes, is that it is fragile and powerful, and divine, and you and not you. what's real is the this moment, the thoughts you are having as you read this, will arise and pass, and may or may not influence your process. but change, passing, is inevitable. there is no reversing this. we are constantly writing on water, hugging water. 

words of laughter, anger, sarcasm, cynnicism are just words, will pass. economics, house and car, apartment and eviction, will all pass. rich and poor will pass. so what? so what then?

worship is the key to this path of Surrender. worship happens through complete surrender. complete surrender is made possible through purposeful, fearless surrender, through Quietude the Order becomes clear, and the Maker and the made, the Creator and the created merge...

worship is the purpose of my life my abba tells me. life is work, my amma reminds me. work is worship, the prophet muhammad (s.a.w), guides us. everything is work - walking, sitting, speaking, quietude, prayer, eating...

in understanding purpose, go with faith, a friend told me recently. go with faith instead of making a decision. faith comes from complete surrender.

in the babylon system, the order is made possible through replicating what has always been - communities of worship. when there is past a certain number of being in any one space, then identity forms. when there are 40 people on the block, we are a community. when there are 400, like my block, then we become multiple identites. 

order is community. this is observable in the ecosystem, in forests, in the cosmos - solar systems. communities are built on principles, laws, just like the orbit of the planets. 

if life is work and work is worship and there is an absence of community, and instead there is a presence of deep individualism, then what? how do you address this? 

happiness is only found in letting go of world attachments, and in replicating that which is truth - sacred communities in worship. what is involved in the sacred community in worship - work. 

what kind of shared work do you and your family/community have? does everyone have a meaningful role? is the work facing the qibla? 

to address this order in aligning with the Maker of Order, al Bari, in a capitalist environment, work with the deeper. work in fulfilling a purpose in your entrepreneurship. 

there has to be something that you, i, we are struggling with together. this can be raising a family, and the struggle involved in striving to keep the lights on, and pay rent, while raising children with values and meals, and making sure no one goes hungry.

this struggle of raising a family, on the economic margins, as was the case for my family, can leave you lost and default on the authority. this may look like the law of the cops who had the gun to my head, or the stick up kids with blades and grins. this may lead you to believe in this authority and the larger system that cultivates this. so then, what?

values, values that are in harmony with the Harmony, that are in qibla, will keep your family in surrender, in more than the mundance of being pigs and beasts. 

the key to Surrender in the absence of community, within the babylon designed to fragment community, that is designed to leave the base lusts of man in hyperbole, in being, wanting to be chief, king, god, leader, chef, president, boss...me, me, me...

the key to Surrender in this frequency is to engage with purpose and building institutions based on  offering. the intstituions are those that alreeady exist or that you want to exist - family. sustaining family requires working together on an offering. what will be your offering royalty? 

medicine in exchange with others

morning asana practice - faith. faith. faith led me into the asanas that dripped from my brow, even as my dad came in to the rearranged space we call living room - a space competing to be a library, garden, entertainment center, my bed. after prostrating to the One, i began movement and listened to a youtube on pathologies wondered if i should stop, if i should give in to the emotions that arose when i felt my abbu's presence, the judgements that my movement battled with. stayed and kicked the air, fell into chattaranga...moved through doubt, irritaiton, judgement...moved till i could stand the city red hot with Love. 

lesson 1: stay grounded in limit-pushing ritual, like galaxies that orbit in constancy, with the vaccum of a blackhole besides it - the drop down potential is at any moment. the quote on the graveyard comes to mind - live life like a traveler with the understanding that the graveyard is besides you. - prophet muhammad

mid-morning. fruits at the grocery, then tea and study at leli's bakery/cafe on 36th and 30th. safi, the 30-something brunette from the neighborhood, who works there, asks how the studying is going, her dark eyes softening the bright lights overhead, as she collects the plates of half eaten food and cups from the table next to me. 

cool, i say.

cool, she smiles. safi and i are cool. she's cool with my whole crew here. 

take a practice test. get 22 out of 100 wrong. a 78. been in the 70's much of my life. born in the 70's. came to astoria in the 70's. 

dimitri comes by. dimitri is a late-50 something, bull built, eccentric. his paisley silk shirt is open like a 70's travolta, under silver disco balls - except, instead of the top few buttons being open, the top middle and bottom buttons are open, all but the one or two below his navel. hair spiralled out his mediterranean skin like a wooly mammoth. 

what do i need to do to slow down the ageing thing? dimitri asks me, overlooking the test taking i was doing. needed a break, and i have an inclination for adha (the favortive bangli pastime - hanging out).

well, a couple things, i said. move and coordinate your movement with breath. it could be asana, could be a jog. whatever it is, do it with breath alignment. 

yeah. that makes sense.

two, sweat. 

how?

go to a sauna. if  you can't, get it out of your movement.

that'll get rid of toxins.

yeah. and three, figure out what your people ate, and eat it with raw fats from that diet - olive/coconut/etc-oil. 

listen, dimitri said. i'm going to share something with you, cause i think you should know. when a master tells you something, you do it for 50 years, you know. dimitri's large wig-like red-brown hair leaped around like little house of horrors. his  large handlebar mustache fell over the stubbles around his face. 

you tell one of these doctors out here that you don't have to die, that you can live for 300 years, and they'll be like, the cell can only last for blah blah blah. man, these people have no clue. you gotta be kidding me. the masters don't want to hear that. you tell a master that, he'll look at you and be like: 'okay, i'll see you later.' they don't have time for that ish! listen asif, when a master give you a breathing technique, you do that for 50 years. we're not talking about 2 weeks. could you imagine? tell someone out here to breathe a certain way and practice that for 3 days and they flip out. 

deep, i said, recalling the words of my yoga teacher: practice, practice, practice. 

thing is, dimitri said, looking around, like someone might be watching us. these masters have been living for centuries. jesus' master is still alive. he taught jesus from 13 to 30. jesus went back there, to india, after being crucified, dimtri said. listen, time isn't a line. these people here think it is, so they die. people aren't dying cause of disease. they're dying cause they think time is this line and they fall into it. time is killing them. 

whoa, i say, wrapping my head around his words - people dying cause of giving in to linear time. 

noon. 

black coffee, the balding guy orders. 

yeah, i say. that's the way to go.

i'm going vegan, dude says. mostly vegan is the best thing you can do. alex, that's my name.

asif, i say.

have you ever heard of the byzantine diet?

nah.

the byzantine diet was mostly vegan. in fact they fasted from all meats for 40 days a year, and then fasted throughout the year.

alex is tall with soft curious eyes. he recalls some contemporary authors on diet and fasting.

yeah, i said, thinking of the prophet muhammad's prescription on intermittent fasting. ancient mathematics. 

told alex about the new juice spot that opened across the street. 

where? he asked. walked him out, pointed past the clutter of mostly new restaurants across the street.

1-3pm siesta. slept. slept so hard, dreams tried to wake me. siesta reminded me of how important it was, how there was a reason why things closed down from 1-4 in bangladesh, 1-7 in spain. nanabhaiya used to sleep right after lunch. everyone did back in '92 when we visited. 

3:30 dropped into primary series, after stepping away for a week. the tightness of contracted muscles, resisted the moevement. dripped all over the rug and wondered if the living room would permanently stink like armpit. 

5pm on my way to the cafe again, stopped by the 24 hour grocery again. online for some fruits, i hear some loud cuss words. look outside. this 13 year old with an afro that made his 5feet close to six, shouted, while pushing a shopping cart: F*^! your fruits!!! i can't stand it! 

cafe...petra asks me if i want the coffee to stay or go. i tell her i always have it to stay.

you know that...

yeah, but i don't want to assume, she says. it could be different this time.

wow, i think. right. no two moments are the same. every moment is new, and pregnant with the possibility of something deeply different. when did i fall into such a rote?

5:30 chris walks in waves hi and sits in a corner on the opposite end. i go over.

didn't want to bother you, he says, speaking soft through razor sharp teeth. 

how's your day going?

ah, well, it's good. somehow we get into a conversation about women and marriage and kids. he has two of them. both in canada. two different mothers, he says. chris tells me to sit in the two seater table. i tell him i'd rather stand, and continue to gyrate, shake and jostle, while he speaks. 

i left my first wife for this other woman. he tells me, after being married for 22 years. i believe in family and maintaining this, but i'm an artist, you know?

yeah. 

it was a mistake. the one pearl was my daughter. but i regret being with my second wife. she used me.

karma, i think. action, reaction. all our actions have a consequence. 

6pm, i go for a walk, get some fruits for myself and a bag of grapes for petra. at the grocery, the chick behind the counter is the same one i'd purchased fruits from 7 hours earlier. 

still here? i ask.

and your here again, she says. third time.

didn't think she noticed. 

you must be tired, i say.

yeah, but it's okay. another few hours. done at ten. covering for a friend.

well, that's nice of you, i say. that's good karma. 

she smiles. we exchange byes. the kind that is kinda tense, like you're kinda cool.

6:30pm dimitri comes in to the cafe and comes straight to me. he's in gym clothes this time. his sports jacket only zipped in the bottom so his entire chest and some of his stomach is exposed. 

listen, dimitri says. i've been thinking of what you said, you know, breath and movement. well, the thing is, your right. most people out here don't want to believe it, but time doesn't exist. listen, dimitri says, while i keep my head low and watch his words through his mustache. age and death are a decision. 

7pm abdul, who came by to say what's up, returns. this time he waits for his dad. we talk about working out, exercise, diet, religion.

movement is so important, he says. i see people in the bronx, and how fat they are, and think how man, i don't want to be like that.

abdul is clearly muscular. a slim but bulky dude.

i want to get bigger, he says.

why? i ask.

respect, he says.

9:55 victor and i walk out of the cafe together. we chilll at the park across the street from the crib, sitting by the chess tables, usually where the crackheads and drunks and elders from the senior center congregate. we delve into homosapien and neanderthal man immediately. he says that there were actually several species of humans, not one. they coexisted, but couldn't co-mate, as they were different species. victor is deeply-read, not just well read. he tells me that it is possible to learn alone, that making mistakes is essential to learning and that a teacher is not neccessary to this process. his long black hair blows over his large beast (from the x-men) shoulders/build. 

i did it, he says. i spent a lot of time without friends, packing books and setting shop in various cafes and studying, practicing, and learning.

99 names: 11: al Bari: the Maker of Order

audzu billahe...

the Order. at 7am i bow down...arise later than i should. arise with clarity of what to do - bow down, and then asana...after these two practices, i am greatful, thankful, ready to carry forth Purpose. thiis is al Bari, the tuning in with al Bari, with the Maker of Order. 

the Make, the Maker, and the Order...this trinity is the shawl of space, time and movement. it is where worlds merge. 

the Make is the Creation - earth, planets, stars, solar systems, galaxies. then there is that which is at once behind it all and comprises it all, the Maker, ya ALLAH. the mathematics of this orbit, these constellations of beings in a synchopated symphony, is the Order. 

today, as i tip over age and what's next, and watch age on my parents heavy breaths, and the walls of this apartment i've returned to a sojourn, i am both thankful for home, and wondering what the purpose is of all of this, of doing anything i'm doing. left, back, and same, but everything different...odd, odd...yet this is the Order of the Maker

today i studied for a little, worked on getting right the paperwork for the exam i will inshALLAH take next week, and hung with my cuzin-firend d. d an i chopped it up on ayiti, miami creole, camping and survivial-fishing, the supreme math of this path of surrender (islam), and studied apart, in quiet. 

al Bari reminds me constantly in impermanence. anitchiya, as is said in the indian-buddist tradtion. the moment ends. the moment of this blog began - each thought becoming a past as soon as my fingers tapdance on this keyboard, the past a memory that is vivid for a moment, before it fleets, as i retreat for salat, to connect. 

the connection (the definition of salat), grounds me into remembrance, into recalling that this is indeed a great mystery and that the only constant is change, and in this movement, worship through surrender, anchors. 

i surrender to all and every, when i am walking in worship. but these breaks from family, this stagnancy in place, in seeing my family in the same situation economically, in my not coming up myself, in being single and unsure if family is in my script, makes me apprehensive...

the Maker of Order reminds me that there is an Order...to make note of this...to follow lie an equation...until the math ceases to exist...

medicine of growth: ball so hard...

V

if i don't do nothing i'm goin ball...

dribbled in the shadows of hells gate, in the b-ball slash handboard court. drank in sweat and triboro-con-ed-astoria, air. jump shot. blocked.  

played with the low-timers, the ones that stood in the crevices like me. hidden in the shadows. afraid to be seen. afraid to see what the audience would say about the failure.

faiil. try. if you fail, then go deeper. i struggle with parvottonasana. fold and then curve my back so my head could scrape the ground. took the easy route to ostentate expertise. when my head comes up, i know. i know that i went back to that place under the bridge. image. a photo. reinforced it. 

to ball means to play. to play means to flirtatiously take chances, get dirty, hurt, fall, get up, laugh at yourself, laugh at others, sweat...

sweat the technique the Essence has set forth. therre is methodology to the Way of the ball. the way is written in ancient dao texts that channel seasons, the space, the nothingness behind it. 

the technique of growth, of super-human, of going beyond this model of limited-ego-babylon-self, is to breathe deep, and witness, and do from here, and embrace each perceived problem with open arms, as opportunities to get Higher.

can You take me Higher?

getting High. floating from this recent financial mess, from making a mistake, from trying. the meditation is in the doing. in  Being an expression of the Values...what are your values? how are you living being them?

unconditional Love from a place of nothing and everything, from ancient endless no end in sight. from this is just a moment that will pass, as all moments have.  so play, so get deeper, go harder in the suppleness of the Lover. this is an opp, so give thanks for this challenge and take the blessings...

ball, go above the rim. keep jumping till kareem, magic, jordan, lebron. tilll above the rim: malcolm, che, gandhi, king, vandana shiva,  harriet tubman, nawal saadwi, rumi, the prophet muhammad...

balll...go hard..leap, note the technique...replicate...fine tune...do the math...

alhamdulillah...the math is to try, and see what happens. forget making a decision, even if this means money lost or not. do from a place of faith. cut the strings of attachments to jealousy, and the desire tocontrol what is clearly uncontainable. 

let go of complacency to the familiar, to what keeps us with the low-timers. you're a big-timer King/Queen. jump...i see You...

full moon: blue moon july 2015

once in a blue...two moons appear in the same solar month. blue moon...ella fitzgerald sings about it in a jazz club 1955 on lenox ave. i sat in the front row and slipped into 2015, ithaca. 

yoga studio. upstairs from the mate factor. drinking on the prespiration that drips from my frown, smile, Om, udjahee in the vinyasa my students and i flow through to commemorate the full moon. at  the end i share the moon ceremony friends and i do back in the old country kemet, nyc. 

khemet, nyc is the avenue of ancient philosophers wrangling star sightings and lunar eclipses over the pyramids in giza. 

khemet, nyc is between bk, q-boro, bx, les and harlem. its where men and women stand with their shoulders back and chests broad, their heads bowed in islamic humility. 

khemet is where we slip through the cross fire of police and politricians, fake-thugs, and self-destrutive gangstas, experts and media, to look at astrological signs noted by isis and isa, isaiah and muhammad mustafa sallallahoo wallaihe wasalam. names that move through tongues from seekers on the path to decode the maya.

the maya that i let go of this full moon is this fear of rejection. the idea of rejection has me wearing bright suede dc's with bengal jute, and make it fly. the soar of fly is cool, important, if your stylistics emanates from Source...but if it doesn't then, watchout. mines goes back and forth. 

pana nanan nab, na na na na...the music of Soul governs these threads, says Om from Om, regardless of dhaka mumbai tokyo addis abbaba khartoum or nyc, and for that matter 1598 or 2015. 

rejected by the mainstream, i adopted the costume that let me in the door of the party everyone was packed and smoking and drinking themselves into subconscious therapy talk on back in the day, and them-hate, and love you's and chest beating, and hair-dragging to bathroom sex. 

paid half my check to the pusherman behind the counter at the tavern for liver depleting potions like long islands and greyhounds to knock me into acceptance. 

that was then. then was between nyc-babylonotics and sumerian cuneiform. yogum lead me to Surrender, to this path of of the Great Surrender to the Source of Peace (Islam)...so all praise is due.

now, this full moon, i Am that i Am, unapologetically. 

can't allevate the disappointment of others when they find out i sip coffee, or bow down, or recite mantras, and sing blackmoon lyrics right after a bangla baul chant, or that my feet are sometimes size 8, sometimes 7.5, sometimes 8.5, that i am the sun of immigrants who love so deeply, they still make last supper meals for 144 with $12. 

i goto the salvo with 12 bucks and walk out with stitches from the mens and women's section that fit my me in a way that fashion industry new does not. used clothes shroud my lithe frame like a masai, like a baul if he were tossed into 1980's nyc with broke parents with values richer than the materia-aesthetica shah jahan detailed for the masoleum begum jahan and he lay side by side in.

i am the nephew of petty bourgeoise merchants selling incense and oils and knock-off perfumes and shoes in innercity america. i am witness to the sometimes financial success of my kin of the immigrant desi/muslim community and educational degree accompplishment. i am the son, brother of activsts, and believe in a less vulture-driven system.  

this is who i am. i am sometimes 5'7.65 inches, sometimes 5.8 depending on samasthiti.  i am challenged with narration of yoga sequences although the words come like ghee when i am in the flow. i don't feel like i'm good enough to teach. i forget methodology and inhales and exhales, going more through momentum and this is something i want to change. 

i am bangladesh, muslim and outcaste hindu, a vedantist, and follower of the teachings of the prophet muhammad. see my people with saddened eyes, think we are trying to hard not to be us by forgetting our outcaste roots. and i forget and sometimes, and instead i embrace dalit so much that i fit in all too well to outcaste america and this keeps me in contrast to class ladder hoppers in the desi community and in some ways. assimilated into consumer-cool. 

this full moon, i am clear that i struggle with commitment, and want more than anything, a woman who i can build family and community with. this  full moon i am 125 pounds and sometimes 135. 

this full moon i was a teacher a youth program coordinator, a video editor, a retail clerk, an education consultant, a can-collector, a man without a job, unemployed and surviving without government assistance. this full moon i recalled that i decided to pave my own path forward. 

this full moon, this is how i look without make up. this full moon, did i tell you i love you, that i really appreciate our convo. this full moon i recalled how i was jealous and how those moments passed, like all moments so i let go of those strings...love to see you shine in however that is, and give thanks to our brief encounter in this matrix...and prayers for your way in this manifestation of being...

thiss full moon i speak and walk from ALLAH whenever wherever however, so there is no dishonesty  when we engage, so i ask questtions and listen, really listen, to worship this divinity, and take every opp to do work, however challenging and dirty, so i could serve, be of service, grow...

this full moon...shhhh...quiet...real Quiet...this is who i am, letting go to get to who i AM.