The abundance of hardship

I am writing from the public library in downtown Charlottetown on a very cold but gloriously sunny day. It is always amazing to me how we get where we are (physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc)....I am on a tiny little island in the North Atlantic surrounded by snow and ice and feeling right at home. The reality of this is almost surreal!

Since I arrived on Prince Edward Island my computer has been very undependable, so I have decided that to keep it alive as long as I possibly can I am going to have to leave it at home during the day, using the computers at the library to do my social media work, job applications and writing until I save up enough to buy a new one. This means that I have to be strategic about what I do and when I do it. I found that initially this meant that I did not get much of my own creative writing done, but I am realizing that in the long-term it means that I just have to be better organized and more focused on getting my job applications and paid work done when I am in front of the computer so that I still have time left for my own creative writing and blogging.

This morning I woke before sunrise again. This is the sixth day of the Baha'i Fast, and, by some incredible blessing of the universe I am not only still healthy enough to Fast, I am actually feeling more joyful with each passing day. Hardship has a way of doing that somehow.

I was thinking as I walked downtown this morning to walk Chloe, the dog that I am currently taking care of, how many little blessings keep coming my way to keep me going. Last week it was the offer of this dog-walking job. This morning it was the request for me to babysit this weekend. And the response from one of the companies that I sent my resume to yesterday asking me to meet on Friday. And the response of another company to come by and speak with them next week even though they do not have any current openings. I am learning that even when meetings do not result in a job offer, the simple fact that I am meeting with people is an opportunity to learn, grow, and make new friends. Yesterday for example I attended an information session at a local hotel yesterday about doing an MBA at the university here. I have already done a Master's Degree in Island Studies, but with my interest in marketing and running my own business growing, I am kind of curious what it would be like to do an MBA. I am still not sure what I will not with this idea, but I am glad I went to the session. I not only met some great people, I also got to reflect on the idea of walking in a completely different direction for a while. It was refreshing!

Myself and three of the local youth in my community are in the process of organizing a screening of the documentary Education Under Fire. Education Under Fire is about the denial of access to higher education to Baha'i students and faculty in Iran. The situation there truly is very out of control, and thousands of young people are being deprived of their education and a future profession because of the descriminatory practices of the Iranian government. It is encouraging to see screening events sweeping across North American Campuses, and know that thousands of students will soon be standing alongside the young Baha'is of Iran, supporting them in their fight for access to education. As we were working on pulling the pieces together for our screening in Charlottetown last night, it was very inspiring to reflect on the fact that other groups are doing similar things all over the continent. To learn more about this exciting initiative and find out what action you can take in your community to speak out about access to education for Baha'i Iranian youth, visit the Education Under Fire website.

This afternoon I am taking part in a webinar on the new changes that are happening to Facebook at the end of the month, and how to use the new Facebook as a platform for marketing businesses. I am excited to be learning new skills that will help me to better serve my social media clients. This evening I will break the fast at the home of my dear friends Ann and Stephen. And tonight I will be attending the opening of a conference on the future of agriculture at the local farm centre.

Life is full and overflowing, friends. The universe, as a dear friend said to me in my kitchen back in California last summer, truly is abundant.

Just beneath the surface...

Resting place of the Greatest Holy Leaf. Photo courtesy of Pascale Battrick. May not be used without permission. 

"We ought to show something greater than forgiveness in meeting the cruelties...in our lives. To be hurt and forgive is saintly but far beyond this is the power to understand and not be hurt... It is not that we would make the 'best of things', but that...we may find in everything, even calamity, the gems of enduring wisdom. We ought to be incapable of impatience as one would be of revolt. This is not being so much long suffering as a quiet awareness of the forces that operate in the hours of darkness or years of waiting and inactivity. Always we ought to move with the larger rhythm, the wider sweep towards our ultimate goal, in the complete acquiescence, that perfect chord which underlies the spirit of the Faith itself." - The Greatest Holy Leaf (Daughter of Baha'u'llah)

About a year ago I was in Haifa, Israel, immersed in a nine day pilgrimage to the Baha’i World Centre (which you can read about here: Part I, and here: Part II). It was a life-changing pilgrimage, and I often close my eyes and imagine myself wandering through the spectacular gardens in Haifa or Bahji, enjoying the bright crimson roses and geraniums, and the cool shade beneath a canopy of twisted olive branches, or the sunlit silence within the Shrine of Baha’u’llah – the way light streamed in over everything, and the musky, sweet scent of roses. It being late spring here in California, the roses all over the city are in full bloom. I run three days a week, early in the morning before I start my work day, and am fortunate to live in a very lush, beautiful part of the city. Every home I run past has roses of every colour imaginable climbing walls, trellises and fences. One house in particular that I love to run past has a tall wall running all the way around the back garden. The wall has a thick carpet of peachy, cantaloupe coloured roses that literally cascade over its lip, blossoms tumbling over each other, down the rough red brick. I usually just run past this wall, making sure to inhale deeply, but the other day I could not resist stopping to stand on my toes, and, with my eyes shut, press my nose into a thick cluster of roses. The intensity of the sweetness took me right back to the spring of 2010 in Israel. So deep was I in my thoughts, that when I opened my eyes, and turned to go, I nearly knocked the owner of the house, who had just come home from a walk himself, and was watching me enjoy his flowers with great amusement, over.

It is interesting how small, seemingly unrelated things come together to illuminate each other in ways that, if each event, experience, person or object had remained in isolation, would have remained in shadow.

I take part in a few study circles with various groups of friends. One theme that has been coming up regularly is how every little thing we experience, do or say has both a physical reality and a spiritual reality. Sometimes we catch glimpses of that spiritual reality, but often our conscious experience is that of the physical reality. Nevertheless, the spiritual reality is always there, beneath the surface. While I was on pilgrimage last spring I made a number of “connections.” I say “connections” because they were not physical, although there were physical sensations associated with them. They were the spiritual kind of connection. The silent, mysterious, unexplainably powerful kind that are hard to put into physical words.  

One of the “connections” that I made last spring was with Bahiyyih Khanum, also known as the Greatest Holy Leaf. Bahiyyih Khanum was the daughter of Baha’u’llah, the Founder of the Baha’i faith. Bahiyyih Khanum was born around 1846, and died in 1932. At the age of six, her Father was arrested and imprisoned, and the family lost their home and all of their possessions. Bahiyyih Khanum spent the remainder of her days moving from one place of exile to the next with her family. A good portion of her adult life was spent in prison. Bahiyyih Khanum was an incredibly strong woman. At a time in history when few women held leadership roles in the Middle East, she led the international Baha’i community through sensitive and fragile periods of transition, giving unwavering support, unconditional love and gentle but firm advice to everyone who crossed her path. Bahiyyih Khanum never married, instead dedicating her life to service. She is buried on Mount Carmel, in Haifa, Israel. In order to reach her grave you have to enter through a small iron gate, and walk up a long, steep path of white pebbles, lined on either side with tall, deep green Cypress trees that sway in the breeze. A few marble stairs lead up to the circle around her grave, and surrounding the circle are a myriad varieties of flowers. I visited her grave many times while on pilgrimage. I am not sure what kept drawing me back, but it felt like I was visiting the grave of a close friend. I would sit and pray, or write in my journal, or just stand silently on the flank of the mountain in silence. For some reason I felt that on a spiritual level, her presence was like a deep well of cool water from which I could draw inner strength.

I was reading an article recently about the Greatest Holy Leaf in the magazine The American Baha’i. The article, written by Janet A. Khan, is about accompaniment, which is a skill that is highly valued in the Baha’i community. When I think of accompaniment, I think of something I read somewhere many years ago: the best leaders are those who know how to encourage others lead. I am not sure where that came from, but Bahhiyih Khanum in many ways embodies this model of leadership. Janet Khan highlights a number of qualities that Bahiyyih Khanum had that made her such an excellent leader. One was a posture of humility. Her great-nephew said that she possessed “an unaffected simplicity of manners; an extreme sociability which made her accessible to all,” and “a quiet and unassuming disposition that served to enhance a thousand fold the prestige of her exalted rank” (Shoghi Effendi, in Bahiyyih Khanum: The Greatest Holy Leaf). Janet Khan goes on to say that an American pilgrim, Marjorie Morton, who was fortunate to meet Bahiyyih Khanum, said of her that:

“Her strong will was never used to override and her decided opinions were never pressed upon another. Her ways were gentle…In her you met with no exactions, no biddance; she beckoned, smiling, and would have no one come heavy-footed or bent to her will. So quietly did she make her influence felt that you were scarcely conscious of its working” (The Baha’i World, Volume 5). 

Bahiyyih Khanum was forgetful of self, but very mindful of the needs of her community and Faith. She also had an incredible and unshakeable trust in God, which not only helped her to get through the endless challenges and hardships that she experienced during her lifetime, but to help others who were being tested as well. Janet Khan, in her article ‘Accompanying: An advance at the level of culture,’ explains that “her confidence in the power of divine assistance and in the knowledge that God’s will must ultimately prevail endowed her with true patience and the strength to endure.” She goes on to say that in one of her letters, Bahiyyih Khanum writes:

“It has been demonstrated time and time again that whatever comes to pass only enhances the glory of God’s Faith, and further proclaims His Word. This time it will be the same.  However savage this tempest of trials, however battered by surging waves the Ark of the Faith may be, still the Divine Mariner has taken into His own two powerful hands the helm of this Ark – and He, steady, calm and able, and endowed with all authority and might, is steering its course, and will bring it at last safe and secure to its glorious haven. Of this there can be no question.”

The last point that Janet Khan highlights in her article is the great delight that the Greatest Holy Leaf took in the progress and service of those around her. One way that she encouraged those around her at a time when she was not able to freely travel herself was by writing letters. In one of her letters, quoted by Janet Khan in her article in The American Baha’i Bahiyyih Khanum says:

“O you men who stand fast and firm, you women who are steadfast and firm in your faith! Whenever I visit the Holy Shrines, I think of you, and in all lowliness at His Threshold, I entreat the Almighty to send down upon you all His invisible confirmations, and to let His endless bounty enwrap each one of you…” (American Baha’i, January/Februrary 2011, p.39).

I have been thinking a lot lately about how struggle and loss challenge me to grow in new ways, and how often I draw on the spiritual realm for strength and inspiration. This past week, as I was sorting through some papers, I came across hand written letters from two women with whom I shared very deep spiritual connections. One of them, Alana Birchim, was one of my best friends in college. Like Ruhiyyih Khanum, she was always encouraging those around her, and bringing joy into everyone’s lives. She was a free spirit, always going the extra distance to live life to the fullest. She rode her bike to a local farm to get fresh milk that she would use to make butter and cheese; bought freshly ground flour that she would use to bake her own bread and make her own tortillas, and she was always turning up at my door urging me to come dancing with her, or inviting me out to explore the wilderness near our homes, to make art or to come garden with her. What differentiated her from other people was her infectious joy. Rarely did I see her without a smile on her face. Alana did not speak about the spiritual “connection” often, but she sent me a number of letters before she lost her battle to cancer when we were 23, in which she talks about the spiritual a lot. Even from her hospital bed, she was, bringing joy to those around her. She says: “it is traditional white walls, cold floor hospital that has become my home…that’s ok. That’s why I’m here to liven it up a little and help others see it’s not so hard. I am living on the edge. The edge of what? The edge of truth, perhaps. Everything in life passes on. Keep your spirits high. I am praying a lot myself. Prayers keep me warm and light and send so much positive energy and love and healing.” In another letter she says: “It’s a funny thing the way life works, and how it takes critical, challenging situations like the one at hand to help so many people open up, learn or realize, come closer…GROW! I am taking and making huge bounds towards enlightenment in every realm I’ve known to exist (and many I did not know existed before)! I am broken and re-broken a million times, in a million ways, over and over. Yet I rebuild and reconstruct myself each and every time and I am stronger yet with every repair.”

The other letters I came across were from Ruth Hampson. I wrote a long blog entry about her when she passed away this past year, which you can read here. Her letters, filled with stories, always return to a few central themes. Reliance on God is one. She says: “Never forget that the source of all courage is promoting His Word,” and in another, “don’t worry. It is a waste of energy. God is in charge, and everything will work out as it should.”  In a third letter, she says:

“I have to tell you that only after I relinquished to God my will and agreed to live with His Will instead of my own did things start to happen. After that I became not nearly as tense and determined, but became filled with assurance that the right thing would happen, and now I believe things are working out the right way. God surely knows our innermost thoughts and will help us if we allow it.”

And in response to a letter that I wrote to her many years ago, as a young girl, about leaving my home in Cyprus to live in North America, she wrote back:

“I think that loving God includes a continually deepening appreciation – a conscious love – for all created things, including all human beings! Love is not dependent upon other people or places. It is love for the Creator of all that is beautiful and good, and the inevitable aftermath of such emotion is astonishment and appreciation for the Power of God that allows us, even forces us, to love other people independently and without need. The more we feel that, the less we fear, until, finally, there is nothing left to fear. The people you love will never leave you. The Island of Cyprus is lovely and very precious, and it is simply the reflection of the real Cyprus which exists in the spiritual world. Nothing can harm you when you truly love God and His creation, and you come to know that the things you love will never be taken away from you. The stronger is our love for God, the more dearly do we hold His creation, and we know that He, the All-Powerful, will protect it.” 

Today a friend of mine shared a poem with me, that resonated deeply. It is about loss. She lost her mother not too long ago, and it has been both painful and transformative for her to press onwards as a woman in her early thirties who thought her mother would be around for many years to come. She had, and still has a deep spiritual connection with her mother that gives her strength. I will share the poem with you here:

Motherless

I am fooling myself when

I say my mother exists now

only in the photograph

on my bulletin board,

or in the outline of my hands,

or in the armful of memories

I still hold tight.

She lives on

beneath everything I do.

Her presence

influenced who I was,

and her absence

influences who I am.

Our lives are shaped

as much by those who leave us

as they are by those who stay.

(Author unknown)

I feel as though the “connection” with those who we cannot see is very close. As close as my own breath. Whether it is Ruhiyyih Khanum’s strength, or Alana’s joy and commitment to others, or Ruth’s absolute confidence in submitting to the Will that is larger than her individual will, or Laragh drawing on the strength and grace and courage that her mother gave her and continues to share with her, there are things happening on another level that I can sense, even though I cannot see, or even describe them in physical terms. These “connections” are mysterious to me because they do not distinguish between this world and the next. I can draw on relationships with those who are no longer living in this physical reality in the same way that I regularly draw on my spiritual “connection” with a dear friend in Spain who is very much alive, but who I have not physically spoken to in years.

What experience have you had with drawing on that invisible strength that seems to lie open to us whenever we need it, just beneath the surface?

At 6.37am

the sun rises. Tomorrow morning I will rise before it, in darkness. I will have my breakfast in half light. Sip my tea bundled up warm in the kitchen, drawing my body gently out of its cocoon of sleep. I will sit and pray, and read from the Baha'i writings as the fiery red ball of the sun rises up over the city. In the Koran, dawn is defined as the moment that a white thread can be distinguished from a black thread with the naked eye. I will feel the warmth of first-light against my closed eye-lids and cheeks. I will hear birdcall. I will write in my journal by those delicate first rays of sun. Maybe I will practice yoga as I did this morning. Later the rain will come. I will have many hours to work on my writing and listen to the showers drumming on our rooftop. I will not be planting sunflowers with pre-schoolers tomorrow. The earth will be too heavy with water for tiny hands to be digging in it. That will have to wait 'til next week. I will have a quiet first day of fasting, with plenty of time to reflect on the question burning in my heart right now: should I move back to PEI for a year this April?

I love the Baha'i nineteen day fast. It is a time of re-gathering for me before I burst into springtime and then beyond that into my season -- summer. The last six years in Canada I loved waking at dawn to watch the sun rise over the snowy landscape. It would rise from the horizon and get caught in the shattered lattice of bare branches that were dipped in ice, clattering against each other in the wind. There is something pure about the sunrise anywhere on the planet, but a sun rising over a white, snowy landscape is truly magnificent. Every tiny ice crystal reflects the light, and it is dazzling.

Here there is no snow. The branches are blossoming. Hummingbirds buzz outside our kitchen window, feeding on nectar from the flowering bush outside.

For me the fast is a time for spiritual rejuvenation. I find that I spend more time praying. More time writing. More time taking long walks and listening to the sounds of nature. More time nestled into the hammock of silence. It is not a sad time. Much of it is actually very joyful. But I find myself feeling deeply pensive and reflective, and often wanting more time alone. I am really looking forward to this fast because it gives me a set period of time in which to concentrate on the questions in my heart and the yearnings of my soul.

Tomorrow evening we have a devotional gathering here at our home right after sunset. The topic of the devotional tomorrow night will be sacrifice. Our devotional gatherings always have themes, but this theme was chosen by one of the other women in the group. She chose it because for her this time of fasting symbolizes sacrifice of physical comfort. It is true that during the fast I become extremely aware of how much of my day normally revolves around eating and drinking. Living in an affluent society as I do, I do not go more than an hour or two without eating or drinking something, and much of my social life revolves around eating or drinking with friends, so I find myself withdrawing from many social activities during the fast because I am not eating, and it is rather challenging to be surrounded by the aromas of delicious food when I am not eating.

But not eating or drinking between the hours of sunrise and sunset is also a blessing because I am reminded, every time I feel hunger pangs, of my spiritual reality, and of the great blessing that this time of the year is providing me: time to immerse my soul in spiritually uplifting activities. I also find that I suddenly have SO MUCH FREE TIME on my hands without all that meal and snack preparation time! And there can be no tea-making procrastination sagas, so I suddenly become far more productive, although I do have to get my most concentrated work done in the first half of the day because my mind tends to get rather fuzzy by late afternoon!

It is getting late, and time to give my body rest before it has to be up again to eat. I hope that all of you who are fasting have a beautiful fast this year. And for those of you who are not, perhaps you could join me in paying more attention to your spiritual self over the next 19 days. The Baha'i new year is on the spring equinox (March 21st), which is a time of opening up to the world. Using these next 19 days as time to reflect on how you want to grow this spring might help to bring more attention to the quality of the life you are living, and the spiritual energy that you are putting into that growth. Here are a couple of quotes about fasting from the Baha'i writings:

"All praise be unto God, Who hath...enjoined on them the Fast that those possessed of means may become apprised of the woes and sufferings of the destitute." -Baha'u'llah

"Cling firmly to obligatory prayer and fasting. Verily, the religion of God is like unto heaven; fasting is its sun, and obligatory prayer is its moon. In truth, they are the pillars of religion..." -Baha'u'llah

Trinidad & Tobago

"The more difficulties one sees in the world the more perfect one becomes. The more you plough and dig the ground the more fertile it becomes. The more you cut the branches of a tree the higher and stronger it grows. The more you put the gold in the fire the purer it becomes. The more often the captain of a ship is in the tempest and difficult sailing the greater his knowledge becomes." - 'Abdu'l-Bahá

Last night my time, just was I was getting ready for bed, an earthquake of magnitude 6.3 shook Christchurch, New Zealand so violently that buildings collapsed in on themselves, roads buckled and ripped apart, cars were flattened beneath rubble falling from buildings, water pipes burst, and sinkholes opened up all over the city. I have a very close friend who lives in Christchurch whose family home was damaged so severely in the country's last major earthquake, in September 2010, that the building had already been identified as one that needs to be torn down and rebuilt in the near-future, so the news that another earthquake had struck, and only three miles beneath the city, had me worried sick for Pascale and her family. 

After watching video clips of the cathedral's steeple collapsing, the entire downtown area in rubble, and seeing images of people emerging from beneath buildings covered in blood, I got on Facebook to see if Pascale had posted any updates on how they were doing. 

Pascale is an amazing woman. She is a personal trainer who works with her clients not only on their physical fitness, but on their spiritual fitness as well. She is empowering and tremendously inspiring. But to be honest I did not expect to find three video clips of her experience of the earthquake online already. Clicking on the first, I watched as Pascale narrated a video of the flooded street outside her house, explaining that the street had literally gotten soft like a sponge as a result of liquefaction. Her second clip, which started with an image of one wall of her house which had completely collapsed on top of her neighbour's car, was titled: We told her not to park her car there. This clip then moved inside Pascale's home. The walls all have huge cracks climbing them like lightening rods. The ceilings are all cracked, the doorways and arches are cracked, and then there was that pesky entire wall that had completely dropped away and collapsed outwards. Pascale and her family had to move down the street to stay with extended family as their house, which had been badly damaged, is now unsafe to inhabit. Her third video clip takes a walk outside to have a look at the creek that is usually a small stream alongside her house. In the clip it had become a large pond that was the colour of gunpowder. Pascale commented on how much more water there was in it, but then she exclaimed, in a bright and cheerful voice: "But the ducks made it! Way to go Trinidad and Tobago!" 

Now I don't know about anyone else, but when your entire city is literally collapsing around you, you have no power or running water, your only car with a full tank of gas is stranded in a parking garage that may or may not still be standing, and all of your work for the week has been canceled, it seems to me like the lives of two ducks would be the last thing on your mind. But there are many reasons why I love this woman, and her endless optimism would definitely be one of them. Hearing her joy at the fact that Trinidad and Tobago made it through the quake made me laugh out loud. And the fact that she has two resident ducks on her property who she had the brilliant idea to name Trinidad and Tobago had me well-amused as well.

Since then, Pascale has gone on to find a well that she can get water from with a bucket, has nominated herself as resident tea-maker for anyone and everyone in the house, and even sat down to enjoy a hot bowl of meat stew with gratitude, despite being a vegetarian. Yes, I would say Pascale is definitely an example of seeing the glass as half full. 

As I moved through my own day, I found myself stopping often and thinking about Pascale and her ability to keep her cool, stay calm and positive and encouraging of others in the face of a tremendous amount of stress. She is someone I have a lot to learn from. As she presses forward into the difficult days and weeks ahead, and tries, along with her fellow community-members, to rebuild her life and her home, I will be praying for her and her fellow New Zealanders. I will also be taking time every day to find my own Trinidad and Tobago. We can't all have ducks, but finding and celebrating the joy, beauty and hope that exist even in the most dire circumstances is definitely within all of our grasp.

Envisioning unity

"...political life everywhere has continued to deteriorate at an alarming rate...the very conception of statesmanship has been drained of meaning, policies have come to serve the economic interests of the few in the name of progress...hypocrisy has been allowed to undermine the operation of social and economic structures...in a world that rewards dishonesty, that encourages corruption, and that treats truth as a negotiable commodity." -Universal House of Justice, Letter to the Conference of the Continental Boards of Counsellors dated 28th December, 2010. 

We should manifest "complete freedom from prejudice in [our] dealings with peoples of a different race, class, creed, or colour." -Shoghi Effendi, quoted by the Universal House of Justice in its Letter to the Conference of the Continental Boards of Counsellors dated 28th December, 2010.

"The corrosion of [racial prejudice] has bitten into the fibre, and attacked the whole social structure of...society...Racial prejudice should be regarded as constituting the most vital and challenging issue confronting the...community at the present state of its evolution." Shoghi Effendi, quoted by the Universal House of Justice in its Letter to the Conference of the Continental Boards of Counsellors dated 28th December, 2010. 

"While it is true that, at the level of public discourse, great strides have been taken in refuting the falsehoods that give rise prejudice in whatever form, it still permeates the structures of society and is systematically impressed on the individual consciousness."  -Universal House of Justice, Letter to the Conference of the Continental Boards of Counsellors dated 28th December, 2010.

I have been reading a book about Haiti and the Dominican Republic over the last week, trying to better educate myself about a country that I will be spending two weeks in this spring. As many of you already know, the history of both of these countries is characterized by violence, prejudice, corruption, hatred, greed, abuse, and fear. I had a general idea about the history of Hispaniola, but not the finer details of the island's history and peoples.

I still have a great deal I hope to learn about the island. While I am usually a very fast reader, I am only on page 150 of my book, and I still have 150 to go. I am finding that I have to put it down more regularly than I ordinarily would, because I am overwhelmed by the descriptions of the scale of human suffering that the people who inhabit this island have endured. Prejudice has been a constant part of my reality for most of my life, but I have never lived in a country where I was conscious of facial structures, hair colour and texture, and skin colour actually having been given names and corresponding social classes. According to Michele Wucker in Why the Cocks Fight: Dominicans, Haitians, and the Struggle for Hispaniola, the "sociologist Micheline Labelle has counted twenty-two main racial categories and ninety-eight subcategories used among Haiti's middle class in the 1970s." Some of the words used to describe these categories are "cafe au lait, bonbon siro (candy syrup), ti canel (little cinnamon), ravet blanch (white cockroach), soley levan (rising sun), banane mure (ripe-banana), brun pistache (peanut brown), and mulatre dix-huit carats (18 carat mulatto)" (p.34). That people can be divided up into separate groups based on such debasing names is truly disturbing to me. Hispaniola's history has been characterized by a steady effort to "whiten" the population by encouraging the immigration of light-skinned peoples, and abusing, degrading, and all-out massacre of those who happen to have been born with darker complexions. Ever since the arrival of the first colonizers from Spain and France, the island's Native peoples have been systematically and brutally all but eliminated, African slaves brought to the island to work in the island's plantations have been abused, tortured, and killed, and anyone attempting to improve conditions for ordinary citizens in either country has been overthrown, and expelled or killed.

The main crop grown on the island has traditionally been sugar cane, and generation after generation of Haitians and poor Dominicans sacrificed their lives and their freedom to line the pockets of exploitative plantation owners and government officials. Thousands of Haitians migrated across the border into the Dominican Republic to try to make a living in the sugar plantations only to find themselves working in extremely harsh conditions that often resulted in severe injuries, for extremely low pay. Since the United States has a quota for how much sugar it buys from the world market, and it consumes most of the island's sugar, it dictates the amount needed, and the price that will be paid for sugar from the Dominican Republic. This meant that sugar prices rose and fell according to local and international political upheaval, changes and shifts in national interests, and consumer demand. The result has been an economic activity that is extremely volatile. When demand is high, workers are brought or come by choice into the Dominican Republic to work on the plantations. When demand for sugar drops, excess immigrants are deported back to Haiti with little consideration for the impact on their family or community. In the past deportation was the most mild form of solving the "Haitian problem". Many plantation workers were simply killed. Those who remained on the plantations had no rights, and uprising and demonstrating on the plantations was repressed with the constant threat of violence and death. 

In addition to the instability in the sugar industry, the political climate in both Haiti and the Dominican Republic has been non-stop upheaval since the first settler set his foot on the island's shore. Many of the political leaders from both countries have led corrupt governments, draining the island's economic resources for personal benefit, and leaving the majority of the population to live in abject poverty.

Reading the story of the lower and working class Dominicans and Haitians -- of the experience of Haitians who had been living in the Dominican Republic for years and years without having any legal status; of their children who were born with no legal papers and therefore were considered people with no place; of Haitians being rounded up and killed when it was deemed that they were becoming a strain on the economic structure of the Dominican Republic; and on the other side, of the poverty and struggle to survive of so many Dominicans themselves; of the blame and the fear and the never-ending violence and desperation -- I find myself amazed that people have survived on the island at all. Is it possible to survive so much physical, verbal and emotional abuse, and still have the capacity to build a happy, successful country? I wonder. I also wonder how much of an impact the diversification of agricultural crops being grown today is having on the lives of islanders. How many lives are improved by the free-trade cocoa farming business, for example? Is this a model that is being replicated for coffee and other crops? Is there a movement to grow organic and free-trade sugar cane in a sustainable way on the island? Obviously, I have a lot more reading to do.

I also find myself reflecting on having been born white. My great-grandparents came to North America as poor immigrants also. Immigrants from Italy. But they did not remain poor. Would my ancestors have struggled more if they had been born with a different skin colour? 

I am finding that the process of learning about how much the people of Hispaniola have suffered is a hard one. The more I learn, the greater sense of responsibility I feel I have been given to stand up for justice. To work towards the elimination of all forms of prejudice. To root out my own prejudices, many of which I am not even conscious of, but which I am sure exist simply by virtue of having been raised surrounded by people who are very much like me. To educate myself and others.

The Universal House of Justice, the international administrative body of the global Baha'i community, sends letters out to the Baha'i community on a regular basis. These letters help to focus our service efforts in our respective communities so that they all work together to build a global community that is cohesive and characterized by unity of vision. The quotations at the beginning of this blog entry are from one such letter, which we received this past December. Reading about Haiti and the Dominican Republic, I find myself reflecting on the tumultuous history of this island within the context of the Baha'i vision for unity, justice and honesty. Much has changed over the past one hundred years on Hispaniola, but from what I read in the newspapers every day, a great deal of change still needs to occur if Hispaniola and her peoples are to manifest their true capacity in the world.

As I sit here thinking about everything I have read, and all the questions that I have yet to answer about the future for the people of Hispaniola, what comes to mind is a quote from Abdu'l-Baha, son of Baha'u'llah, the founder of the Baha'i faith. He said: "Just now the soil of the human heart seems like black earth, but in the innermost substance of this dark soil there are thousands of fragrant flowers latent. We must endeavour to cultivate and awaken these potentialities, discover the secret treasure in this very mine and depository of God, bring forth these resplendent powers long hidden in human hearts. Then will the glories of both worlds be blended and increased and the quintessence of human existence be made manifest." (from The Promulgation of Universal Peace, p. 294). 

Reverb10, Day 29: 'Abdu'l-Bahá's North American boots

Prompt: Defining moment. Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year.

The author of this prompt is Kathryn Fitzmaurice:
The Year the Swallows Came Early
@KFitzmaurice

ABDU'L-BAHA IN LINCOLN PARK, CHICAGO, 1912 (COURTESY BAHA'I NATIONAL ARCHIVES, WILMETTE)

Most people I know visit Montreal for the famous Jazz festival that happens in the summer. Or to go shopping, and enjoy the good restaurants and cafes. My main reason for passing through the city was that I wanted to go visit the home of the Maxwell family – a well established family in the Montreal area who welcomed ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, the son of Baha’u’llah (the founder of the Baha'i faith), into their beautiful home when he visited Canada in the mid 1900s. The Baha’i community has maintained the property, recently restoring it completely and bringing all of the furniture back to the home that had been there when ‘Abdu’l-Bahá visited. Over time the home has become a place of pilgrimage. A spot where Baha’is can go to reflect, pray and connect with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Recently the site was named the first official Baha’i shrine in North America.

 

‘Abdu’l-Bahá spent nine months touring North America in 1912, at the age of sixty-eight. He traveled tirelessly all over the country, giving public speeches at universities, churches, synagogues, clubs and private homes. His speeches were about the message his Father had brought. They were about peace, unity, the elimination of all forms of prejudice, and spiritual life, among many other topics. You can read an account of his time in America in Amy Renshaw's book Voyage of Love: Abdu'l-Baha in North America. You can read a wonderful selection of his talks for free, here. A dear friend of mine, Brent Poirier, is another rich source of stories ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. He website, Storytelling in the Baha'i Faith, is a gem of a resource, if you would like to read more inspiring stories. The photograph of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá at the top of this blog entry is "borrowed" from his website.

I started getting to know ‘Abdu’l-Bahá as a child. The first prayer that I learned as a child was written by him. It goes: "O God, guide me, protect me, make of me a shining lamp and a brilliant star.  Thou art the Mighty and the Powerful." ~‘Abdu’l-Bahá

My experience of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá as a child and young adult was as a white-bearded elderly man wearing a simple robe and turban, the customary attire for men in much of the Middle East during his lifetime. I always had a photo of him in my bedroom growing up, and I envisioned him as a kind, loving, gentle, grandfather-like figure. I had heard many stories of how much ‘Abdu’l-Bahá loved children, so I always felt a closeness to him. 

Last year I took part in a Ruhi book 8 study course. The Ruhi Institute conducts educational programs for individuals from the age of 5 through adulthood. The materials were originally developed by the Baha'i community of Columbia to spiritually invigorate their community, and to help provide community members with training that would give them the practical skills to best serve the needs of their communities and the world around them. The Ruhi materials were so successful in generating community development that the materials spread, and today are being used all over the world. The Ruhi materials are constantly being updated, and as communities have more learning experiences with them, new materials are being developed. Ruhi book 8 is about the Covenant of Baha'u'llah, and much of it is about ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, because he is the Centre of the Covenant for Baha'is. The stories about ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and the extracts from his Tablets are deeply inspiring and moving, and by the end of the course of study I felt a much stronger and personal connection to him than I had felt before. 

I chose to go visit the shrine in Montreal on a chilly February night. Bundled up in as many layers as I could get away with and still be able to move, I took the metro across the lit up city, transferred to the bus, and then walked down the icy pavement along a long line of beautiful, graceful stone homes. My silver breath hanging in the air, the snow all around me, and the elegantly style in which the homes were built made me feel as if I had stepped through a gap in the time continuum. I half expected a horse-drawn carriage to clatter by along the street beside me. 

Eventually I came to a home whose windows glowed with a warm yellow light, and I turned up a short walkway and rang the bell. The door was answered by a young Persian man with a radiant smile. He welcomed me in and showed me into a small cloakroom where he said I could leave my belongings during my visit. Having set down all my belongings and removed my shoes, another man approached and offered to give me a tour of the home. I was lucky, he told me. I was the only visitor, and given what a chilly night is was they would not be surprised if I were the only visitor all night. I was taken into the living room where ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had given many talks while in the city. It was a large rectangular room with a fireplace at one end. My tour guide explained that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá used to sit next to the fireplace when he gave his talks, this being the source of the term “firesides” that the Baha’i community often uses when referring to gatherings of people for the purpose of discussing the Baha’i faith. 

I was also taken into the office of Mr.Maxwell. The office had the beautiful, heavy antique desk in it that Mr. Maxwell had done his writing and other work at, as well as a number of ornate pieces of furniture. I was told that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had met with Mr. Maxwell in this very room on numerous occasions during the time that he was staying at the Maxwell home, and I conjured up images of the two men sitting deep in discussion in this richly decorated room, with the city of Montreal busily going about its business outside, oblivious of the noble visitor that they had in their midst.

Upstairs, I made a rather quick sweep of the rooms that had formerly been inhabited by members of the Maxwell family, before entering the room that drew me in like a magnet. I stood for a long time in the doorway of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá's room, taking in the placement of every piece of furniture: the old four-poster bed with the white embroidered bedspread over it; the dresser; the windows on the far side of the room that looked down the hill over the city of Montreal; and the chair that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had sat in next to the windows. I paused at the door because I wanted to take it in, but also because I felt the need to prepare myself to enter the space that he had inhabited. I had read stories of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, his kindness and generosity to all who crossed his path; his ability to sense what his companions were thinking without their uttering a single word; his absolute devotion and humility; his attitude of servitude and his love for all people, but entering a space that he had actually inhabited made all the stories come to life in a way that I had never before experienced. Although he was not in the room, I felt as though I was entering his presence, and it took a few minutes to ready my heart to enter this special place, and be wholly present.

I stood by the bed first, and imagined ‘Abdu’l-Bahá resting upon it, his white beard and hair flowing over the pillow. I walked around the perimeter of the room, stopping to take in each detail and commit it to memory. I found myself being drawn to his chair. I stood in front of it, then knelt, and was suddenly overcome with a rush of emotion. I felt deeply blessed to be in this room alone, and to have the chance to talk to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá like so many had done in person not so long ago, in this very place. I said many prayers, and in between the prayers I spoke with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. I thanked him. I asked questions, and for guidance on my journey. As I knelt in front of his chair, I felt as if he was sitting there right in front of me, and an overwhelming feeling of love poured over me. Love for this man who dedicated his entire life to serving others. I was there for a long time. Time seemed to disappear, and all that existed while I was between those walls was my heart, and the conversation that it was having with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. 

When I left two hours later it felt as though all my worries and concerns had been removed, and as though the space they had occupied had been filled up with a deep and tender love unlike any I had felt before. I felt as if I was carrying in my heart the most precious gift I had ever been given, and I held it tenderly in my chest as I walked back to the metro stop, awareness centred inward to the warm otherworldly silence of the blissful connection I had just experienced as the lights and voices, horns and vibrations of Montreal slid past me like a dream. 

The Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette stunning against a blue sky

About a week later I visited the Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette, Illinois. It is a spectacular architectural achievement, and I spent a few hours taking in the sheer beauty of the structure, and saying prayers. 

These pillars on the House of Worship have the symbols of the major world religions beautifully carved into them. Baha'i Houses of Worship have 9 sides, which represent the nine major religions of the world, all of which converge into a single point at the dome, to represent the unity of all the world's faiths. They are open to people of all faiths, for personal prayer and meditation.

The Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette at night

Below the actual Hose of Worship are many offices and the Baha'i archives. I had not planned on visiting the archives, but one of the very kind souls working in the House of Worship insisted, whisking me down a hall and introducing me to the archivist. There was a lot to see. Tablets and photographs and other personal items belonging to both Baha'u'llah and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. But the items that touched me on this occasion the most were ‘Abdu’l-Bahá's shoes. It might seem rather plain, when I was surrounded by so many rare historical objects. There were two pairs of shoes sitting in the glass case. One was a pair of cream-coloured Middle Eastern slippers. The other was a pair of big black boots. The boots may have been from the Middle East also, but they looked very western. They struck me because precisely because they were so ordinary. They were well worn and scuffed, not shiny and new. They looked like a sturdy pair of boots that someone living in North America at that time in history might have trudged through snowy streets in. Practical. Comfortable. Ordinary. Very ordinary. 

For some reason, all my experiences of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá -- the prayers, the tablets, the stories, the simple photographs, and my experience in Montreal--all seemed to connect to a very real person in the form of these boots. It impressed me that while ‘Abdu’l-Bahá wore his traditional clothing, he chose to wear western boots on his feet in North America. He seemed to be embodying the need to be adaptable and practical, and at the same time communicate a grounded sense of humility. Just as I had felt when sitting in front of the chair that he had regularly occupied in the room that he had stayed in, in Montreal, as I stood in the basement of the House of Worship in front of the glass case of personal objects, I felt as though he was standing right there in front of me in his American boots, smiling. I do not know why those boots made such an impression on me. But since that day last winter, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá has become a much more real presence in my life. I feel like he is someone I can take a walk under the changing Autumn trees with; or a friend that I can sit with in silence and just be. 

As I move through my days, he inspires me to serve, and accompanies me as I do. He reminds me how important it is to listen, to be loving, and to practice humility in my everyday interactions. He reminds me to persevere, and to look to the limitless strength of God instead of my own limited resources when I am attempting to accomplish something. He has taught me about being lighthearted. My favourite stories about him involve laughter, and the image in my mind of him laughing in joyful delight never fails to curl the edges of my lips into a smile. I do not know why those boots made such an impression on me. Perhaps ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was humorously teaching me the importance of walking a spiritual path wearing practical shoes. Boots, to be precise!