These were the women who entered my life. It was only fitting that they called themselves “Sisters of Light!” They had all been awareness-seekers for years and they welcomed me, a neophyte, with patient and open hearts—each and every one of them having an auspicious influence on the evolution of my awareness.
Still, my shift in consciousness began at a very elemental level. I was going through my very first reading of A New Earth, when I knew I had found the answer to my protracted unhappiness. I began practicing being fully in the present instead of in my head, which does take an awful lot of practice for someone like me. Because my relapses were frequent and disheartening, I had to learn to forgive myself while catching my old mind patterns as often as I could.
Like everyone else, I had heard such affirmations before: live in the moment, for that’s the only thing real; the past is gone, and nothing can be done about it; the future is but a figment of the imagination and may not be counted on; the only reality is the Now, even as it is but a succession of fleeting moments; and, finally, the present moment is life itself, everything else just illusion. But even as my reason understood the premise inherent in each of these statements, my behavior remained pretty much unchanged, marred by fear and doubt.
The Now was obstructed by a gushing torrent of thoughts in my head. I had to learn to acknowledge and recognize those voices that made up the so-called “monkey mind” and refuse to be consumed by the negative thinking associated with it. Such internal thought process, I became aware, was often not a civilized discourse, factually based, but rather a shouting invective made of narrow-minded past and future wiles, judgments, vilifications, umbrages, and the like.
The voices were always there and, when they were not, it was only because they had been overtaken by the vocal sounds on the radio, TV, internet, and other noisy technological stalkers of our time. The thoughts and emotions generated by such cacophony were sometimes joyful—like listening to music—but more often they were unhappy, dissatisfied, indignant, jealous, or angry.
The result was permanent stress, the most potent poison of modern life, a virus that had infested my own “operating” system since my early years. Is it any wonder that Westerners, who are the most materially endowed people in the history of humanity, are also the ones who suffer the most from mental and physical maladies not related to poverty?
I learned to tame the noise by introducing silence. I turned off radio, television, telephone, internet, even music, for predetermined periods of time throughout the day and attended to whatever I had to do in silence. The first few times, the intense feeling of it almost choked me; I could hardly stand it. I used to think I needed the sound of TV or radio in the background for company even if I didn’t pay attention to the programming. Slowly the loneliness I initially experienced made way to a peaceful solitude.
I then inserted short moments of complete stillness and focused breathing throughout my day. At home, waiting at a red light or stuck in traffic, I trained myself to be still while taking and slowly releasing three to four deep breaths. Doing this immediately put my mind at rest and in the present. Slowly but surely, I extended those short breaks as I began enjoying the calming effect of my conscious breathing, the tingling energy through my fingers and body, the sensation of bliss. Soon, I went on a disciplined regimen of meditation twice a day, upon waking and before sleeping, and during moments of abrupt stress.
The random negative thoughts in my head did not magically disappear; I still experienced their intrusion, but I learned to brush them aside, refocus on conscious breathing and return to my state of Being without thought. This daily exercise became easier with time and practice, and quickly resulted in a dramatic transformation in my mental state and overall well-being. My perennial anxiety and fear subsided and eventually disappeared.
My quieter mind, solidly grounded in the present moment, made it possible for my thinking—when it was called upon—to be more creative, and instilled my writing with greater motivation and inspiration, though I soon realized it still lagged in direction and belief. My intellectual vacillations had less to do with the overall purpose of my task—I saw my book as vital to understanding myself through an in-depth look at my past in order to unveil the roots of my confusion—than with the need of expert guidance. In mid-summer 2008, I had reached midpoint in my memoir and I was bewildered by the technical complexity of it.
It was then, after a weekly Qi-Kong group meditation hosted by Pio, at her home, that I met Barry, the man who was to help me regain confidence in my own ability to write creatively and teach me the techniques of effective writing, what he nonchalantly called the “plumbing and midwifery” of the craft. A self-described “word guy” who loves what he does with a passion, a writing teacher, a published fiction and poetry author, college professor, and art photographer of “metaphors,” he is one of those people who make apprentices immediately feel at ease.
As soon as I joined his writing center at the end of September, I knew he had been put in my path by a guiding hand. His warmth, engaging demeanor, and endearing smile helped me overcome my doubt and get on with my cherished project. Most critically, by reading aloud selections of my writing in his well-attended weekly workshops, he exposed the strengths and weaknesses of my narrative, providing me with a panel of critics, including him, who voiced their approval and/or suggestions without a hint of disparagement. My craft improved immeasurably.
All wasn’t bliss, unfortunately. The following six months, I, along with the rest of the world, entered an ever more precarious monetary condition that only kept getting worse as the global economy and stock markets began, and then persisted in, an unprecedented downslide.
By March 2009, the overall U.S. economy was in full-fledged recession, and stock indices had reached their lowest point since 1996, obliterating all gains of the previous thirteen years. Lax government regulation begun under Clinton after his repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act, cheap money, and a capitalist laissez-faire creed run amok, all contributed to the global financial crisis of 2008. But it was also the unbridled greed and nefarious dealings of a Wall Street generation high on its own narcissistic fumes that threw the world economies over the precipice. Like houses of cards stacked on top of each other, they stumbled and plummeted in a frightening debacle reminiscent of the Great Depression. Millions lost their jobs, homes, and businesses.
Savings that I once felt would last me at least another couple of years evaporated, while premature and heavily penalized withdrawals from my retirement account—down over fifty percent—had been my only option since the beginning of the year. Even so, I stubbornly persisted in my mystifying denial. My only refuge was my spirituality and daily meditation.
That is not to say I did not experience lapses or suffered occasional meltdowns. On one such occasion, I was explaining the causes of the financial crisis to my daughter as I watched her prepare her lunch, when she asked me if that was the reason I had given up on returning to work on Wall Street.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty disgusted by the greed, sure. But, look, I don’t want to take a job to just make a living anymore,” I said. “I don’t even want a well-paid career that will leave me wanting again in a few years. Yes, I know, in these crazy times, it does sound extravagant, indulgent, whatever, but let me explain myself. All my life I’ve struggled to fulfill other people’s expectations of me, even believing they were my own. All my life I’ve taken on jobs for the sole purpose of making money and earning a living. Don’t get me wrong, I know I have to earn a living, but I want to do it with a career that fulfills me even if it makes me very little money. I can say this knowing full well that I have been blessed with a very lucrative career in the past, which now allows me to take my time and find out once and for all what it is I want to dedicate myself to, even at the cost of all my savings.”
I paused and, for a second, mulled over my declaration. Sophia looked at me in consternation, not expecting to hear a lecture.
“Ther
e, I said it… Money no longer equates with success in my eyes, let alone happiness. I’m aware that my ostensible idleness has been viewed with amazement by my friends and relatives, and you. Some even think it’s simply laziness, which it categorically is not. I know you believe me when I tell you that it’s been an ongoing puzzlement for me as well. Well, not anymore!” I chuckled and went on: “It’s ironic and pathetic at the same time, isn’t it? At fifty-something, I’m going through what you’re experiencing at twenty.” My voice faltered.
I looked at my daughter’s beautiful face. “When I was your age, I never had anyone to guide and support me in pursuit of my dreams. No one is to blame, it’s just the way it was; I always had to work for a living. I feel I earned that right for myself now. Do you understand?”
Sophia nodded in silence. She had stopped doing whatever she was doing and, leaning over the kitchen island, was listening to me vent my frustration.
“If I have one piece of advice for you,” I went on, “It’s this: as long as I’m able to support you, you should find out for yourself and explore your options, allow yourself to fail and learn, and follow your wildest dreams now while you’re still young and unattached. Only I must tell you, baby, that I may not be able to continue to provide you with the lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed to, and also forget about an expensive private college! We’re soon going to have to adjust to new realities.”
I paused to take a deep breath.
“But, Mom, it’s not about me,” Sophia finally interjected. “I’m actually ready to assume my responsibilities. But I know you, and you must be going through hell with the market crash and your unfinished book. It’s been almost two years since you began writing it. Not to mention that you don’t even know if it’ll be published. You’re not even looking for an agent. I thought you said once you could do that before you finish it.”
“You’re right, honey. But I need to complete it first for my own sake. It’s not about being published; for all I know it may never be. And though I have every intention for it to succeed, I have no undue expectations, and I will not feel crushed if it doesn’t. In any case, it’s almost done. You know I’ve been working on it diligently since last fall when I joined Barry’s workshop.”
I smiled and pointed to the food on the kitchen counter. “I’m not letting you fix your lunch, I’m sorry. I got carried away. Here, let me help you.”
“It’s alright, Mom. You don’t have to,” said Sophia and with that she walked toward me and gave me a big hug.
She had watched me struggle over the years and she understood how vulnerable I was but also how determined to find the light.
Even so, Sophia had every reason to worry; my situation was alarming and reminiscent of an earlier time in my life. On the other hand, these times were also radically different from an awareness perspective. I had been on a spiritual journey for less than a year, but I had already gained life-altering insight, infused with acceptance, detachment, and trust.
The previous week, on the last Monday of January, during our meeting, Donna expressed the sentiment that we should all confide and support each other openly. Loretta, then, spoke of “shadows” in our lives, secret looming fears that prevent our growth, and added that money was one of the biggest of all shadows. Both encouraged us to talk about our personal situations and ask for support if needed. They suggested that we put our thoughts in writing and be prepared to share them with the group.
I knew how much that was true for me but had never faced up to it or even openly acknowledged it. Like a disease that spreads surreptitiously and infects every cell in the body until it’s too late, money had always been a shameful topic that had affected every aspect of my life to the point of breaking me. It was high time for me to come clean and shed light on that shadow.
That cold February night, after we had greeted each other and settled down in a circle with our cups of fragrant herb tea, Donna gave the signal to begin telling our stories. When it was my turn to speak, I pulled out my sheet of paper and read out loud:
“For as long as I can remember, money has been at the center of my existence, as it was the dominant concern for my mother, and the source of my deepest insecurity—even when I had plenty of it—until now! Sure, it’s a real practical problem, but it’s no longer the fountainhead of all my fears. My burgeoning spirituality is responsible for my newfound ability to tame that monster and see it for what it is: the single greatest manifestation of the ego.
Somehow I’ve come to see my current financial situation as a direct challenge to my spiritual evolution; a test if you will, making the past six months perhaps the most defining period of my life. This may seem radical from the outset, but it’s tantamount to losing all of one’s earthly possessions in a brushfire, or standing at the brink of death, and emerging anew, like the phoenix rising out of its ashes.
I feel nearly cleansed of my oversized ego and its blind identification with form. In other words, if I were to lose all that I ever worked for, no longer possessed any material wealth whatsoever, and yet felt fulfilled and serene then I would know with certainty that I had reached my ultimate aspiration: true Awareness, freedom from financial angst, and deliverance from the ego. Today, I stand at the threshold of that realization. I’ve given up the struggle against forces greater than myself and surrendered in full acceptance of what is.”
My voice grew faint as tears glistened in my eyes. Sitting on a pillow directly on the carpeted floor, surrounded by my sisters’ compassion, I felt submerged with love and gratitude.
My articulated recognition that cold moonless evening in Donna’s basement came to me like a revelation; I felt as if touched by grace, free at long last. Though I had written that statement a couple of days before, reading it publicly turned it into a solemn pledge that I knew made it the reality I would abide by for the rest of my life, my mantra.
Before long, my new and improved attitude was going to be tested in a serious way.
35
Awakening
One quiet evening, barely a few days after I had declared myself free from financial angst, my landlord called me to announce he was raising my rent because of an increase in condominium fees. I was already under pressure to pay my current rent, let alone afford an increase, and I expressed my concern to him. That didn’t sit well with him.
“I’m sorry, but we all face enormous difficulties right now and you agreed to an increase should the maintenance go up. So I’ll hold you responsible until the end of your lease in September,” he warned me.
“I understand, Frank, but the fact is that I’m broke, and I may not be able to afford staying until the end of my lease. I’m already relying on early withdrawals from my IRA.”
If I had hoped for sympathy, I was rudely awakened.
“Better you than I,” he burst out rudely. “I just had a baby, and my wife is not working for now. I’ll expect full rent starting next month.” He sounded irate but also alarmed.
I hurried to reassure him. “I know my responsibility, and I’ll do everything in my power to find a new tenant to take over my lease. I won’t leave you in the cold,” I promised. I hung up with him and breathed slowly.
“Who was that?” asked Sophia from behind me.
“Our landlord. He’s raising our rent,” I said evenly, turning to face her.
“Really? Can he do that? I can’t believe you’re so calm about it,” she said.
“Yes, he can. It was stipulated in the lease. He was furious, and nasty, too. But he was right and I understand his predicament,” I sighed.
“What are we gonna do?” she probed nervously. “Can we afford it?”
“To be honest with you, no. It’s already been a tall order. Now it’s getting impossible.” I paused and caressed her cheek. “But don’t you worry, honey. I’m sure, we’ll find a solution. Haven’t we always been just fine?” I reassured her.
She shook her head and returned to her room.
I walked to my bedroom, sat in si
lent darkness, and closed my eyes. Breathing deeply, I exhaled away all thoughts, envisioned myself bathed in warm, glowing energy, and swiftly entered the realm of stillness. Right now, I thought intently, I have a roof over my head and food in my fridge. My daughter and I are healthy and have loving friends and relatives. Soon, a wonderful opportunity will appear which will solve all our immediate problems. Thank you, Lord, for all our blessings. A smile appeared on my lips as I concluded my intention and let my body melt away while bathing in the light of my soul. After a few minutes, I pulled myself back and returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner, as if nothing had happened at all.
A couple of weeks later, my friend Annette called me.
“Wafa, what are you doing this summer?” she asked me.
“As a matter of fact, I really don’t know, Annette. I’ve got one priority, and that’s the fast completion of my book. After that, I have to look for a job, I suppose,” I said.
“Would you be interested in working with me in Sag Harbor this summer? I need someone to work at the store part-time. I’m renting a house, so you could also live with me. You’ll only pay a small rent, and you’ll be able to write on your days off,” she said.
I grinned widely. “Gosh, I’d love to, Annette, thank you,” I answered.
Her offer—a temporary job and a place to stay in one of the most charming villages on the East End of Long Island—was irresistible and the opportunity I had been waiting for without knowing what form it would take.
Annette was a longtime friend of my sister’s. They had met around 1990, when they both worked at Norma Kamali’s store on East 56th Street in New York City. They’d become fast friends, and their friendship had extended to their close families. We then lost touch in the late nineties and had not reconnected until the fall of 2008, over a decade later thanks to Facebook, when both Annette and I were divorced with children.
THE ROAD FROM MOROCCO Page 32