The Deepest Knowing
Climbing the willow
Sweeping branches shade my perch
Claiming my fitra

Wondering
Crimson leaves flutter
Blanketing an icy earth
Yet, the trees shiver

Stillness
Cobalt waves sparkle
Settle upon shifting shores
Seeps in…leaves no more

My Last Flight
Ruby throat ablaze
Wings beat, a warm heart pulses
Cat’s claw dispatches

Phoenix
Pussywillow shed
Pearly-gray fuzzballs flit, float
Implant, and flourish

Al-’Alim
A golden leaf drifts
Nestling among mossy mire
By His will alone

Forsythia
Riotous yellow
Assaults, surrenders to jade
Sober yet fecund

Until The Day
The Dipper twinkles
Intricate jewels of light drip
Into inky depths

***
If you are a Muslim woman or thinking about becoming a Muslim woman and seeking a safe, supportive space to grow into the best Muslima you can be, join Gratitude for Muslim Women: https://www.skool.com/gratitude-for-muslim-women-6830/about

“Spring is such a blessed time,” she thought, and headed for home. She smiled contentedly, anticipating what awaited her: her small mud brick house, her refuge from the elements; her pious husband, her comfort and confidant; her beloved son, her daily joy; and their three skittish goats, her source of milk and yes, meat.

“God provides abundantly,” she said.

The sky, unbroken, azure blue, spread before her, not a cloud to mar her view or obscure her path. The morning sun, still low in the sky, warmed her back.

“I see the spring flows adequately, today,” Ado’s astringent voice broke Sarah’s reverie.

Unable to shade her eyes, Sarah squinted, and made out Ado’s sturdy form, “Indeed, it does. Ma shaa Allah, God has willed it so.”

Ado’s brow furrowed, and she flippantly flicked her silk scarf behind her. “Fairy tales. The springs always flow at this time of year. The rainy season just recently passed. This is how it has been, and this is how it always will be.”

Sarah forced a smile, “If you say so.”

“I know so,” Ado puffed out her ample chest.

“How fares your garden,” Sarah asked, hoping to switch to a more pleasant topic.

“As always, the grape vines are producing promising new shoots. The corn is climbing upward, and the date palms’ panicles are bursting with yellow buds. And our river thoroughly waters it all. I never have to burden myself with pots and springs,” Ado swept her hands over her head.

“Ma shaa Allah,” Sarah said.

Ado’s eyes narrowed, “My husband predicts that we will enjoy the best crop ever. We will certainly trade this year. I had my eye on some silk damask, last trip to the market.”

Sarah’s simple cotton shift brushed against her legs. She pushed away the envy that bubbled up from her gut, before it made a permanent home in her heart.

“And we will have more than enough for this little one,” Ado patted her stomach, “our seventh, you know.”

“Ma shaa Allah,” Sarah said.

“I do hope for a girl, this time. Six boys are such a handful.”

“I can imagine,” Sarah said.

Ado’s eyebrows arched, her mouth twisted into a cruel smile, “I doubt you can. But at least you have the one,” she snickered. “And how does your garden fare?”

“In shaa Allah, if God wills, we will have enough to last us through the winter,” Sarah said.

“Honestly Sarah, that husband of yours is truly lazy. If he put half the effort my husband puts into the garden, you would have everything you want. Why do you put up with such a meager existence?”

“I am content with what I have,” Sarah grimaced as a twinge crept up her arm. “Now, if you will excuse me, my limbs cry for relief from this burden. I must hurry home.”

“You will see how your hardship increases, especially as you get more children,” Ado snorted as Sarah ambled past, “If you get more children.”

Sarah’s eyes flashed; her mouth agape. She turned towards Ado, drew herself up and fixed her gaze at her: “Perhaps my Lord will grant me something better, and He will destroy yours with a thunderbolt.”

Ado cackled, “Nonsense.”

Sarah squared her shoulders, “La hawla billah, there is no power except with God.” She pointed to the heavens, and hastily turned towards home. Distance was the best remedy for Ado’s haughtiness.

As she reached her garden, Sarah’s son rushed towards her.

“Mama, Mama, let me take that,” and she drew the pot into his waiting hands. “Baba has made our breakfast. Hurry. We’ve been waiting.”

“Ma shaa Allah,” Sarah exclaimed. “I am blessed, indeed.”

Sarah joined her family around their courtyard’s central hearth. She contentedly dipped her warm flatbread in oil and the pungent za’atar. Her son popped a dried date into his mouth, a small trickle of spittle slid down his chin.

“A beautiful day to work the grape arbor,” her husband said.

“Indeed, it is, ma shaa Allah,” Sarah replied. “And I will milk the goats for this evening’s meal.”

“And I…” her son gasped. “Baba, Mama, look,” he sputtered and pointed upwards.

The once placid sky had transformed into a torrent of wrathful clouds. An ominous wind swept past, and the three gathered what was left of the food and darted inside their home.

Sarah battened the single window against the mounting wind. She rushed to her husband’s side and pressed her body against the door, as he slammed down the bolt. Sarah beckoned her son towards her, when he shrieked, “The goats. If we don’t bring them in the house, they will be surely lost.”

“Allah will protect them,” his father soothed, but the boy sobbed into Sarah’s chest.

“La hawlah wa la quwata ila billah, there is no power or strength except with Allah,” Sarah clasped her arms around his trembling body. Soon, the boy quieted, strangely lulled by the rain’s incessant pattering on the roof.

The wind howled and the day darkened. Flashes of lightning illuminated the blackness with ghostly brilliance, followed swiftly by a deafening crash.

“The storm grows near,” Sarah’s husband said. He draped a protective arm around Sarah’s shoulders, gathering her into him like the finest of garments.

There they remained, seeking God’s refuge, making supplication that the damage He inflicts will be minimal and easily overcome. Eventually, the wind calmed, the rain eased, and a promising sunbeam danced through the pane.

The little family rose from their seats and cautiously opened the door. The goats placidly nibbled the sodden grass, and the date palms were awash in yellow buds. Lime green shoots twisted sturdily up the trellis, small knobs of unripe grapes already visible.

“Al hamdulellah!” the three exclaimed in unison. “Allahu akbar,” God is the greatest.”

Sarah filled her lungs with the fresh, crisp air and it coursed through her with a welcome vitality. Her husband wasted no time tending to the grape vines, and her son scampered with the goats. They gleefully ran with him, but suddenly stopped. Their ears pricked and they bleated plaintively.

“What do they hear,” the boy asked.

“Only the wind,” Sarah said, as a breeze fluttered past.

“No, there is a sound, like an animal bleating,” her husband placed his shears on their stone steps.

“Maybe an injured goat,” her son said. “We need to help it, if so.”

The three followed the sound, searching the ground and the occasional fence for a trapped creature. They paid little attention to where they were headed, only following the sound until it transformed into an incessant keening. A human sound that grieved their ears and quaked their souls.

“Ado,” Sarah pointed to the bowed figure in the ruins of a once grand garden. The storm wrestled the date palms to the earth, their tangled roots stretched towards the heavens. Mottled blossoms, fragmented trellises and ragged corn stalks clogged the once sparkling river. Ado’s family sat, blank-eyed, in the rubble of their home.

The wretched woman wailed ceaselessly. She rent her clothes, pulled at her hair, and crumpled her fine silk scarf in the mud.

“Alas,” she cried. “I wish I had never associated anyone with my Lord!”

******
Eid Mubarak! I hope you enjoy this simple story. And if you are a Muslim woman, or soon to be Muslim woman, join my group Gratitude for Muslim Women. Or be among the first to join my new program, The Path to Jannah which will be hosting my latest training, Navigating. More information to come!

Michael Jackson was a firm believer in the power of positive affirmation. As he noted: “You can’t do your best when you are doubting yourself. If you don’t believe in yourself, who will?” Positive affirmations, he maintained, would help erase doubt. You train your mind to believe them so you can manifest them in actuality: “I have learned that it is what you put in your mind mentally what you think and do, that makes your person. And you can put any mental object in this mind, and it will bring it to reality. So, this means we can program ourselves to be the people we want to be.”

Michael absorbed these lessons and implemented them in his daily life and mirrors were his favored locus of positivity. Mother Katherine mentioned that he would stick his affirmations on his bedroom mirror and Jermaine noted that he’d use a black felt marker to write “Thriller, 100 Million Sales, Sell Out Stadiums” across the top of the bathroom mirror.

Affirmations, though, occupied Michael’s mind every day.

Every time he dove into the pool:

“I’d stretch my arms out, as if I were sending my thoughts right up into space. I’d make my wish, then I’d dive into the water. I’d say to myself, “This is my dream. This is my wish”.

Every time he saw the sun set:

“Whenever I saw a sunset, I would quietly make my secret wish right before the sun tucked under the western horizon and disappeared. It would seem as if the sun had taken my wish with it. I’d make it right before the last spec of light vanished.”

Every time he looked in a mirror:

“I look in the mirror and I would say over and over to myself, I’d take a deep breath, put my feet together, raise myself erect, strong, like a hero warrior, and I’d say ‘biggest-selling album of all time’, ‘greatest-selling‘ over and over to my mind, and look in my eyes and I’d mean it. I’d say ‘biggest selling album of all times.’”

Long before positive thinking became fashionable, father Joe Jackson and mother Katherine Jackson instilled the power of positive thinking into their nine children. The denizens of that tiny house on 2300 Jackson Street refused to entertain any doubt. As big brother Jermaine said, their father imparted his mental toughness to them: “Think about it, say it, see yourself doing it, visualize it happening…and it would happen.” Their mother, equally adamant, but gentler, said: “plant the dream in (your) head and focus on it with all your heart.”

However, all the Jacksons were most likely influenced by 20th century versions of the 19th century New Thought Movement. Starting as a religious philosophy, New Thought eventually infiltrated many other areas such as philosophy, social science and business. Essentially, New Thought proponents argued we can release the mind’s untapped power to realize our dreams and reach our true potential as humans. In short, what we train our minds to think, manifests into reality. Michael, a voracious reader, could have been acquainted with New Thought thinkers like Neville Goddard and Napoleon Hill.

Writer, speaker and mystic, Neville Goddard, lectured throughout the Los Angeles area in the 1960s and 1970s. Goddard taught his followers that one should not let the physical world convince you that your desire is not realistic or possible. Among other ideas, he devised two “laws,” the Law of Attraction and the Law of Assumption. The first, argues that positive thoughts bring on positive experiences, and the second maintains that you can manifest what you want simply by feeling it. Michael’s steadfast belief that he would achieve nothing less than his dreams, follows the Law of Assumption. Like Goddard instructs, Michael persevered with his assumptions, repeating them over and over in different places and contexts. As he noted: “(a) wish is more than a wish, it’s a goal. It’s something your conscious and subconscious can help make a reality.”

Michael’s wishes and goals were more than just nebulous dreams. He fashioned them into realities. Mother Katherine noted that Michael set goals for himself and then he would “work and strategize toward actualizing his goal.” Michael appears to be influenced by writer and businessperson Napoleon Hill, one of the most successful twentieth century successors of the New Thought movement. Hill’s 1937 bestselling book Think and Grow Rich was published at the tail end of the Great Depression and tapped into a zeitgeist that promised more lucrative times ahead. The idea that the mind could transform one’s life, in the face of a crushing depression, resonated.

Tapping into the mind’s power, though, is just the first step. One must act. Organized planning and persistent action toward achieving that goal are two of Hill’s “13 Steps to Riches.” And Michael seemingly took these lessons to heart. On goal setting Michael said: “You could have all the talent in the world, but if you didn’t prepare and plan, it wouldn’t do you any good. …its true that you only get out of something what you put into it.” On persistence, Michael said: “I don’t give in until I get exactly what I want.”

Michael’s use of positive affirmations provided him with a road map toward success, but his work ethic was legendary. He said: “Work like there’s no tomorrow. Train. Strive. Really train and cultivate your talent to the highest degree.” He prided himself in being a perfectionist and taped an affirmation to that effect on his mirror. Famously, he redid the entire Thriller album after he heard the “final” version. Arguing that it failed to meet his vision, he had to fight the studio executives to redo the album to his satisfaction. As he noted: “I look at things and try to imagine what is possible and then, hope to surpass those boundaries.”

A combination of positive affirmation, goal setting, and action enabled Michael to achieve the pinnacle of success. Michael personifies my mantra as a business coach, positive affirmations are great, but they must be combined with action. Most, if not none of us will never become world-wide entertainers and superstars, but we can all strive to be the best versions of ourselves.

Be like Michael, in whatever you do.

PS. Moonwalk, Michael’s memoir is a surprisingly engaging read. He dictated the manuscript into a tape recorder for the ghost writer to transcribe into the final text. As a result, the book reads like Michael is talking to you directly. If you want to learn more about Michael, please click to purchase using my affiliate link.

And for those who are interested in Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich, please purchase using my affiliate link.

For these links, I get a small compensation at no cost to you.

Kamel Hamza speaking about his wife, UAE life coach, influencer and my friend Hala Kazim.

Instant attraction, when you meet someone for the first time and your heart smiles. A spark you find impossible to explain. And as you move through those heady, early days of a relationship you bond. Your commonalities outweigh the differences, you never tire of talking, and in the silent moments you feel comfortable, safe, respected, and accepted. You wish for them what you wish for yourself.

Romance, special friendships, mentorships or close familial relationships all can start with that mysterious, immediate spark. As it was for me:

1. The young man who invited my teenage self to hang out with his friends in the dorm initiating a deep and caring friendship that never died, even after more than 40 years of separation.
2. The married woman, six years my senior, who mentored me through the early years of my conversion to Islam and my eventual marriage.
3. The newly minted assistant professor who became my protector as I faced a barrage of harassment at my first academic job,
4. My father-in-law, who was my best friend and constant companion for 22 years until his passing.

Science provides a provisional answer for why such attractions happen: “love chemicals.” Dopamine rules over the first meeting, releasing an intense rush of pleasure and adrenaline frees the fluttering stomach butterflies from their cocoons. Once parted, serotonin bathes the memory with the person’s visage, and oxytocin draws the pair together again.

Romantic partners experience rises in testosterone and estrogen and vasopressin creates a long-term monogamous bond, creating ease, contentment, and the desire to protect one another. Sadly, when vasopressin decreases, the couple’s bond weakens, and the potential for attraction to others rise.

While such physiological explanations make sense in a romantic context, psychological studies can help us understand how instantaneous attraction kindles both romance and friendship. Specifically, they argue that the “familiarity principle” applies; we are attracted to those like us. A person who has similar hobbies, preferences, and viewpoints and who behaves in familiar ways maintains our sense of well-being and satisfaction with the other.

While the psychological explanations sound reasonable, they do not resonate with my experiences. In fact, the four people I mentioned are so unlike me: different races, upbringings, ages, and religious views. And while I cherished them all, my feelings transformed as the relationships shifted over time. So, I turned to other explanations, more fanciful than science, but just as true.

Magnetic, is how some describe instant attractions. The two are like opposite poles, drawn to each other with an irresistible force. They meet serendipitously and feel sudden surges of joy. They often text each other at the same time, attuned to each other’s thoughts and actions. They gaze into each other’s eyes and bask in each other’s energy of appreciation and acceptance.

Over time, the instant attraction can develop into a more substantial and enduring relationship, where your partner, romantic or platonic complements you, and brings harmony into your life. Soulmates. Here, your partner accepts you but pushes you to grow and transform. In fact, your soulmate appears in your life precisely at the time you need them most and they need you the most.

Imagine though, finding the mirror image of yourself, your “twin flame.” Such relationships are rare and elusive, and some believe that the two are single souls who somehow split apart. In that first meeting you harbor an uncanny sense that both of you have met before. The attraction is intense and conflict prone because the person provides a mirror image of yourself, revealing both your positive traits and your innermost flaws. Many times, the relationship’s emotional volatility causes it to end, but the love remains, as there is nothing in the world that they can ever do to make you love them less.

I have a totally different take on all these explanations, however. One that emerges from my study of hadith, or the Islamic literature focusing on the words and actions of the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him. One day, he related a story to his companion Abu Hurairah (on him peace), about a time before time, a hadith qudsi that contains knowledge only known to Allah (subhana wa ta’ala) and transmitted to His Prophet.

At some point after Allah created Adam (on him peace), He wiped his back and all of Adam’s offspring tumbled out. Allah positioned a light between each person’s eyes, and Prophet Dawud (on him peace) drew Adam’s attention. Amazed, Adam asked Allah to take forty years of his life and gift them to Dawud. (Jami Al-Tirmidhi, vol. 5, Book 44, 3076)

There I stood, as were we all, surrounded by people’s points of light. My companions, family, friends, and helpmates gathered around me.

And when we meet again in our earthly lives, our spirits rejoice, perhaps remembering that moment of our first meeting, our gift of life, and our commonality as children of Adam. Our lights merge and connect, for as long as we need them. Love before time and love after time.

Love, eternal.

********

If you are a Muslim woman, or so to be Muslim woman, join my group Gratitude for Muslim Women. And be the first to join my new program, The Path to Jannah.

Gina Petonito

“Can’t I just let the cancer take its course?” I pleaded. “It is OK. I’ve lived a long life. My son is almost through with college. I have time to prepare.”

My oncologist peered at me: “It’s too early to talk about end-of-life care.”

My husband pressed. “If there is a cure, you must seek it.”

“Why?”

And he patiently recited the hadith from Abu Dawood: “The Messenger of Allah (salallahu alayhi wa salaam) said: ‘Allah has sent down the disease and the cure and has made for every disease the cure. So, treat sickness, but do not use anything haram.’”

No use arguing with such a clear directive. I left the doctor’s office tearful and dejected. I feared cancer my whole life, and in many nights’ last thirds I implored Allah to spare me this dreaded disease. One that runs through my family. I knew, all too well, what I faced.

I had no other choice but to go forward. Such was my qadr, one that I had to bear with patience. I took solace in the Qur’an, especially the ayat, “For indeed, with every hardship will be ease, Indeed, with hardship comes ease,” (94: 5–6). I longed for my ease and steeled myself against the treatments to come.

And it was as horrible as I imagined: three surgeries, thirteen weeks of aggressive chemotherapy, radiation every day for six weeks, and two weeks of treating radiation burns. Nearly the entirety of 2022.

I knew that Allah would not burden me with more than I could bear, so I turned to Him for solace. Hisnul Muslim was my constant companion. I recited the morning adhkar before each operation, doctor’s visit, and infusion. Dhikr was my refuge, ticking off Allah’s name on my fingers as I waited for my radiation session to end. I pleaded with the surgical team to make sure I said my shahada before I went under anesthesia. I even recited it for them in Arabic, so they would recognize it.

As the year wore on, I turned to gratitude. I had a simple gratitude practice with an online sister’s group where we post one item a day. However, I craved more, so I committed to creating a gratitude practice focused upon one the Beautiful Names of Allah for 99 days.

Each day’s practice started with a quote on gratitude from the Qur’an or Hadith. As I searched through the Qur’an for a suitable passage, I noticed a pattern: Allah’s (SWT) repeated statement that most people are ungrateful (2:243; 7:17; 10:60; 12:38; 14:7; 40:61; 100:6). My first assumption was: “surely these ayat don’t apply to me.” After all, I am creating and posting a gratitude practice. I quickly rethought my position, though. Why would Allah mention that most people are ungrateful so many times? He is closer to us than our jugular vein; He knows what is best for us, even if we know not. So, there must be a reason for this repetition.

I contemplated: In what ways could I be ungrateful? A reread of the verses provided the answer, Allah is limitless in His bounty unto all of us (2:243; 10:60; 40:61).

Limitless bounty…

Can any mortal mind imagine the scope of such blessings? We know our very existence on this earth is due to Allah, but our senses, bodies, and perceptions are by nature limited, restricted, finite. Is it not possible that Allah bestows unbounded blessings that we never perceive? As the ayah in surah al-Isra notes: “And of knowledge, you have been given only a little” (17:85).

Think about it. Your minor mistakes may hold blessings. Consider the last time you made a wrong turn. Irritated you drive down the street, stressed and anxious. When all the while, Allah may have prevented you from experiencing some problem on your normal route.

Offer thanks for your mistakes and seek the lessons and rewards they provide.

What Allah withholds may teem with blessings. Wealth, fame, beauty bring with them benefits, but there are continual drawbacks: “friends” who sell your secrets for a price; constant discussions about your mistakes or poor choices; tabloids that turn your sorrows into entertainment. Imagine never knowing who loves you for you, and who loves you for what you can give them?

Be grateful for your status in life and have surety that Allah (SWT) has positioned you exactly where you should be.

And finally, Allah’s tests and trials are immeasurably rewarding. Sins are expiated, one’s position in Paradise is elevated for those who patiently endure life’s difficulties. As our Prophet (salallahu alayhi wa salaam) said: “Amazing are the affairs of the believers, because everything that happens to him happens for his good. If some good happens and he’s happy, he thanks Allah, and so that’s good for him. And if some bad happens, then he is patient, and Allah rewards him for that patience.” [Al-Bukhari and Muslim]

Say al hamdulellah when you are afflicted with trial. Al hamdulellah, my health trials led me to this broader understanding of gratitude. Al hamdulellah, Allah granted me this life.

So, the next time you practice gratitude, thank Allah for everything He has done for you, seen and unseen, known and unknown. Thank Him for His limitless bounties.

Gina Petonito is a retired academic turned creative writer and writing mentor. She is currently hosting a community Gratitude for Muslim Women. Click here to join.

I was a 45-year-old geriatric patient. Geriatric primipara, to be precise. Carrying my first fetus while elderly.

High risk. Dangerous. Elevated risk of death of mother and baby. Not equipped to take on as a patient. Make an appointment with a “specialist.”

Oh, and, by the way, did you actually plan this?

No, I said sweetly. I am expecting because of the power of du’a.

I was an ancient bride at 28, but several years younger than 35, the supposed optimum fertility cut-off age. As the years passed, no baby came, and I assumed that none ever would. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that concerned. An academic, I taught 100s of students each year and inevitably grew close to a select few who I nurtured and mentored. I thought they were enough, and I accepted Allah’s decree. But tucked away in the corner of my mind was a desire to have my own child, a thought quickly dismissed. After all, I had all I needed.

The Islamic community of which I was a part thought otherwise. Not a month went by that someone would ask what I considered an intensely private question. I vividly recall browsing apples at the supermarket when a lady I knew in passing approached me to query: “have you had your husband checked? He could be the problem you know.”

Others were more indirect, holding me in their du’a while kindly informing me: “children complete your life.”

One such du’a I remember vividly. My recently married young neighbor had her first child. Of course, I visited with gifts and good wishes, and she mentioned that she made du’a for me, while in labor. I was deeply touched. Our Prophet (peace be upon him) says that the laboring women’s du’a is always accepted. But eight years childless, I assumed my reward would be granted in Jannah.

The 2000 Hajj season corresponded with our Spring Breaks, so my husband and I arranged to make our obligatory pilgrimage to Islam’s holiest of places: Mecca, the site of the Hajj proper and Medina, the city that housed our Prophet’s grave. Hajj, as I expected was a bustle of activity, and I never really savored the holy sites’ beauty, history, and deeper meanings. I yearned to return. And, al-hamdulellah, Winter Break was the perfect time for us to make Umrah in Ramadan.

Our local hosts directed us to a special place in the expansive Masjid al-Haram where the local Meccan women pray. Quiet and secluded, but with a clear view of the Ka’aba, I was home and at peace.

We prayed four of the five prayers in congregation, leaving to eat our dinner after Maghrib and taking our rest after Salat ul-Fajr. I captured treasured memories in my journal and created scribblings of the various sites. I had yet to buy my first flip phone.

Eventually my actions piqued the local women’s curiosity, and they peppered me with the inevitable questions:

Are you a Muslim: Obviously

Are you married: Yes

How many years: 16

How many children do you have: none

They thrust their hands upwards in supplication. Du’a. For me. Right in the center of Islam’s holiest site.

I still believed my rewards for those du’a would come in the afterlife. After all, I was 44, an age where pregnancy was impossible. Eggs dying, biological clocks ticking, and all.

The night better than a thousand months was upon us. Laylatul Qadr. The blessed night when the angels descend. The night where the heavens open to receive all our du’a. By tradition on the 27th of Ramadan.

My husband and I agreed to remain in supplication until sunrise and meet afterwards for our trek back to the hotel.

During these tranquil moments, I reflected upon my 44 years on earth, 16 as a Muslim, and childless. So, I raised my hands and turned my face towards the sky: Oh Allah, you have turned the page on this life’s season. Never will I offer my du’a in labor and enjoy motherhood’s great rewards. So, You, Al-Qawwi, The Strong, the one who has power over all things, grant me another way to gain those blessings.

And 8 months later, I gave birth to my one and only child. My beloved son.

About a decade later, I returned to my old college town and met up with my neighbor. Her daughter was a young adult, my son a schoolboy. And I asked if she remembered making du’a for me. Yes, she said. Jazakum Allahu Khair, I said, pointing to my son.

I may never be able to thank the Meccan women in this life, unless someone perchance remembers me and reads this essay. In Shaa Allah, I will offer my thanks in Paradise.

PS. An earlier version of this essay was a social media post in support of my friend and mentor Aliyah Umm Raiyaan’s book launch, The Power of Du’a. So many sisters, including Aliyah, were moved by my simple offering. So, I decided to transform it into this essay.

And if you are a Muslim woman, or so to be Muslim woman, join my group Gratitude for Muslim Women. And be the first to join my new program, The Path to Jannah.

PPS This essay is aimed at Muslim readers, but for my non-Muslim followers, here is a glossary: du’a supplication to God; Jannah, Paradise; Hajj the obligatory pilgrimage to Mecca, required of all who are able; al-hamdulellah, thanks to God; Umrah, a pilgrimage to Mecca outside the Hajj season; Maghrib, sunset; Salat ul-Fajr, the early morning prayer, offered before sunrise; Laylatul-Qadr, literally the Night of Power; Al-Qawwi, one of the 99 most beautiful names of God, the Strong One; Jazakum Allahu Khair, may God grant you every good thing, an amplified way of saying thank you; in shaa Allah, if God wills.

No one told me that the effects of chemotherapy were cumulative.

Your body doesn’t “get used to” the poisons they siphon into you. Oh, they euphemistically call them “medicines,” and their impossible-to-pronounce names, doxorubicin, cyclophosphamide, and paclitaxel, trick you into believing just that. But as you get sicker and sicker and sicker, you realize that the palliative steps you so eagerly embraced at the outset, no longer work. The steroids and anti-nausea substances they provide help to a point, but they are hardly enough. Eventually, you realize that your body is no longer yours, held captive by chemotherapy’s increasingly toxic impact. The spirit tires of its damaged domicile and breaks free; seeking refuge among nature and art. Mind happily follows spirit in its quest to dance with beauty.

YouTube was my refuge. As was always the case, I gravitated towards the informative, filling mind with journeys into history. I learned how a 17th century lady dressed, how the Scots waulked wool, and to grow my hair super long using a soapless Victorian hair care routine. Unfortunately, I had no hair with which to experiment.

Ultimately, mind and spirit tire of learning. They ached to revel in pure joy, even if only for a moment. And by happenstance I found a Jackson 5 medley with the incomparable Cher. Glitzy in her sequined jumpsuit and sparkling Afro wig, she matched Tito, Marlon, Jackie, Michael, and Jermaine’s choreography step for step. Her contralto blended seamlessly with Michael’s angelic soprano and co-lead Jermaine’s velvety tenor. I thirsted for more and pulled countless videos from a seemingly endless well of enchantment. They survived a real earthquake with Carol Burnett, clowned around with Flip Wilson, and guested on nearly every 1970s talk show.

Each of their musical offerings delighted me: their early “bubblegum soul” hits like the Grammy nominated “ABC,” to their wildly popular disco tunes like “Dancing Machine,” to their evocative ballads like “I’ll Be There.” Their musical range was incredibly broad, with covers ranging from the aspirational “Corner of the Sky,” to the sugary “Zippity Do Dah,” and to their soulful “Bridge Over Troubled Waters.” Each song, imbued with their signature harmonies provided me with tremendous solace. For a few marvelous minutes each day, I stepped away from cancer’s scourge and blissfully reveled in pure, unadulterated, wholesome fun. What Jermaine called “feel good music” and what Marlon in a recent interview called “family music.”

While chemotherapy fought to quell the cancer cells’ rapid reproduction in my body, the Jackson 5 soothed my spirit. Music has that capability, as celebrated classical conductor Benjamin Zendor explained in his 2008 Ted talk. He demonstrated how classical music can powerfully transform the listener. It evokes satisfying emotional responses expressed by what he calls “shining eyes,” moist with tears or shimmering with joy. He said: “success is not about wealth and fame and power. It’s about how many shining eyes I have around me.”

Other types of music have power as well. The !Kung people, for example, surround an afflicted person with their community’s presence in song. Music becomes the balm that heals them from their illnesses. The music, literally, becomes spiritual medicine. Music’s curative powers was something Jermaine, himself, acknowledged when he and the brothers united for the 2012 Unity Tour after Michael’s death: the music was healing for all of them.

Such was the healing power of the Jackson 5 to me. Once the most pronounced of cancer treatments’ ravages dissipated, the music remained. My “Jackson party” was available whenever I wanted. No doctor’s visit, insurance card, or prescription needed.

Twenty years ago, Jackie tearfully told Barbara Walters that the Jackson 5 “worked so hard to make beautiful music in America and the world, and it seems like in our own country America where we live…” He broke down, and Jermaine lightly clasped his wrist, finishing his thought: “we are not accepted.”

Well, Jackie and Jermaine, this American not only accepts you and Marlon and Tito and sweet Michael, but I am forever grateful to you for bringing joy into one of the most joyless parts of my life and helping my spirit overcome the worst of cancer’s effects.

I love you all.

PS. In the process of doing the final edits on this piece in the lobby of the Hilton Downtown Nashville, I had the honor and pleasure of meeting Tito, Marlon and Jackie. Tito I just greeted in passing, but I spoke for about 20 minutes with Jackie and Marlon. The NICEST, most genuine people you can imagine. Be blessed, gentlemen. Thank you for everything.

“May Allah be with you, Michael, always.”

These are the final words Jermaine uttered, upon announcing his younger brother’s death, the incomparable Michael Jackson. The comment sparked speculation in the Muslim world that Michael became Muslim, but to me, it was Jermaine spontaneously expressing his fervent wish in the face of a personally devastating event.

Jermaine Jackson accepted Islam in 1989, but my research of his life during that time revealed little about his conversion or his practice. Rather they focused on his waning career as a solo artist and his movement into TV production with the Emmy Award nominated mini-series, “The Jacksons: An American Dream.” And then there were the ubiquitous “reports” and speculation about controversial goings-on of selected Jackson family members. Jermaine’s life choices attracted considerable attention, and his conversion faded in importance.

However, the spotlight shifted to his Islam for a brief period in the mid 2000s, when he joined the cast of Celebrity Big Brother, UK in 2007. The first to enter the house, Jermaine spent 26 days under the camera’s watchful eye with Bollywood actor Shilpa Shetty, reality star Jade Goody, model Danielle Lloyd, singer Jo O’Meara and singer Leo Sayer among others. Reserved but affable, Jermaine enjoyed positive relations with all his housemates, but he forged the closest bond with the elegant and poised Shilpa Shetty.

Racial tensions erupted almost immediately with Jade, Danielle, and Jo targeting Shilpa, making quips about her undercooked chicken and unsanitary hands. Eventually, Jade, encouraged by Danielle and Jo, escalated what should have been a minor skirmish over bouillon cubes into a major altercation. Jade let loose with several vicious racist epithets, forcing Shilpa into defensive mode. Eventually, Jermaine, clued into the conflict by another housemate, physically stepped between Shilpa and the other women and steered Shilpa towards the community bedroom to decompress. Unbeknown to the housemates, the row generated tens of thousands of complaints, and created a minor international incident between India and the UK. Celebrity Big Brother lost sponsors, and eventually Ofcom, the UK regulatory authority officially sanctioned the show. Jade and Shilpa publicly reconciled, but their apologies failed to quell the fallout.

The show’s controversy placed a spotlight on Jermaine, depicting him as a wise, calm, and natural peacemaker. His final words to Shilpa before leaving the house as first runner up, “kindness is strength,” became a wrist band for people to purchase. Series host, Davina McCall referred to the many words of wisdom he dropped during conversation as “Jermaine gems.” Housemates universally spoke highly of him.

After the show, Jermaine made the rounds on UK talk shows and I found it interesting that at least one interviewer had no idea he was Muslim, asking if he was “spiritual.” To my eye, Jermaine’s Islam was obvious. He draped his bed with his prayer rug and the circular gold medal he wore was most likely inscribed with Ayatul Kursi, the Qur’anic verse of the Throne. At least two brief moments saw him making dhikr, a meditative practice where one glorifies Allah with each tick of a prayer bead. He mentioned being so involved in his prayers that he had no idea his old friend Leo Sayer had raucously left the house. And one vignette pointedly mentioned that he was “in the bedroom, praying.” The housemates’ casual attitude towards these worshipful acts and his sprinkling of the phrases of in shaa Allah and ma shaa Allah in conversation indicated that these were regular occurrences. Jermaine, at least during this period, was a sincere, practicing Muslim.

My observations were further supported with his answers to interviewers’ questions upon leaving the house. One such exchange: “How much did you use your Islamic faith when you were in there just to get by?” Jermaine responded: “Every day, every moment, every second, just the prayers, just repeating Allah’s name with my prayer beads, and…just fasting and just keeping my composure, and staying calm and staying peaceful.”

The positive light Jermaine shed on Islam, apparently opened avenues for him to share more of his views. In October 2008 Jermaine gave a stirring keynote address at the UK’s Islam Channel’s Global Peace and Unity Event. The highlight of his speech centered around “respect,”

“We all have the right to be respected regardless of our age, religion or race and ….We should be a beacon of respect as our beloved Prophet (peace be upon him) was in his lifetime and continues to be for millions of people around the world today. Islam teaches us to be respectful and to be respected and to expect respect. It is our duty to take back the priceless gem that has been stolen from us and to bask in the radiance of respect.”

Jermaine was aware of the beneficial impact his example had on others, less than a decade after the tragic events of 9–11. When asked by an Al-Arabiyah reporter in 2010 about how he felt about US Muslims wanting to hide their religion during this period he said:

“I know that God is always one way, regardless of whether you are being accused of something, you never denounce who you are. I was very proud to say that I was …. busy during that time talking to young Muslims about continuing on with their prayers, and I spoke at the GPU (Global Peace and Unity Event) in the UK, …. and they saw me in the Big Brother House doing my prayers.”

Jermaine reprised his commitment towards young people in a circa 2013 interview with UK based Islam Channel’s program Saturday Night:

“I want to be used as much as possible in the right way, because if I can be a light or a positive thing for young people who don’t understand. I’m in a business that I grew up in that they do crazy things, but to show people that you can be in any industry and still put God first and be successful and still have people to love you.”

The originator of these words and ideas is the man with whom I hold in high regard. After all, I took the time to write these five essays. Yet, such interviews are difficult to find even today. The google algorithm favors the salacious and sensational, and there is plenty of Jackson family fodder for “reporters” to exploit. And for some reason, Jermaine is a favorite target. In 2023, I have read repurposed stories from as far back as the 1980s to satisfy a greedy readership. I have often asked why people malign him so, and came up with several theories, none of them adequate. So, I posed another question, one many Muslims ask themselves, what should we learn from the tests Allah poses?

In Islamic tradition, we know that Allah only tests those he loves. It is our duty to pass the test with patience and constancy, which we know we can because He never places a burden on us more than we can bear. And Jermaine’s test was fame, fortune, and the public scrutiny that comes with it.

So, as a mental exercise, I put myself in his shoes and imagined what it would be like to have your every move, every utterance, every mistake, every foible, every choice discussed, dissected, and disseminated to the entire world. To have former friends and partners betray your confidences to gain a few thousand dollars to give interviews or write articles or books. To have the New York Post, TMZ and Radaronline “reporters” follow your every step, record your every word, and then offer online “analysis” of their reportage. To have gossip peddlers delightedly convey your current life pain or conflict in their programs or columns. To have your sadnesses transform into others’ “entertainment.”

To me, such a life would be the stuff of nightmares from which I could never awaken. Al hamdulellah, Allah has spared me such a test.

Yet, Jermaine walks through his life with strength, grace, and generosity. Never do you see him use his considerable connections to publicly disparage those who maligned him, a trait that earns my undying respect and admiration.

I noted in my essay, “I Am My Brother’s Keeper,” that Jermaine wrote poetry from an early age, eventually writing his own song lyrics. In Arabic culture, poets are held in the highest esteem and the Qur’an honors them with these verses:

“As for the poets, only those who are lost in error follow them. Are you not aware that they roam confusedly through all valleys, and that they say what they do not do? Excepted are those who believe, and do righteous deeds, and remember God often, and strive to be triumphant after they have been wronged.” (26: 224, 227.)

Jermaine, we haven’t heard much from you since 2019, but your confirmation of faith, your dhikr and salah and your patience with the ghibah, namimah, and buhtan aimed at you, push you towards the latter group, striving for triumph after being wronged. May you always be among this group and may Allah grant you success in this life and the next. Ameen.

As-salaamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuhu.

*******

If you are a Muslim woman, or so to be Muslim woman, join my group Gratitude for Muslim Women. And be the first to join my new program, The Path to Jannah.

Muhammad Abdul-Aziz Sharif, a noble name, one that Jermaine Jackson claims as his own: praiseworthy servant of the Exalted One, and honored leader. A name given to him upon converting to Islam in August of 1989.

I remember when news of his conversion swept through my small Islamic community in Syracuse, New York, where I was a grad student. A convert to Islam in 1984, I was so happy for him. We all were. There was no internet back then, so I knew little else about him or even the story of his conversion. Intent on my studies, I watched hardly any TV and even if I were to tune in, my miniscule portable black and white TV would have provided little news. The fact that Jermaine was a Muslim never left me, though. So, when I recently rediscovered the Jackson 5, I was naturally drawn to Jermaine. Muslims consider all who profess the faith as our brothers and sisters. I regard him similarly and the more I learned about Jermaine and his Islam, the more respect I gained for him.

So, let’s begin with his conversion story, the one he conveys in his 2011 memoir, and in a 2010 Al-Arabiyah interview. (There is a conversion story that circulates through the internet, but I have never been able to trace it directly to him). Jermaine and his five brothers and three sisters were raised Jehovah Witnesses. As the faith dictates, they did not celebrate holidays like Christmas or birthdays. Jermaine and his brother Tito would proselytize, knock on people’s doors to spread to word, as did Michael and La Toya (and maybe other siblings, but I know of these four). Jermaine dutifully acted in accordance with the religion, but he harbored doubts. As he told the Al-Arabiyah interviewer he always had questions, such as “how many are going to heaven and what do we have to do to get there.” When he asked for guidance, he never felt “complete from the answers.”

After his marriage to Hazel Gordy ended in 1988, Jermaine wrote that he craved solitude, to search for something missing. In 1989, Jermaine, on instinct, followed elder sister Rebbie on her concert tour through the Middle East. While in Bahrain, his friend Ali Qamber invited him to meet the family. Jermaine interacted with the Qamber children and they so impressed him with their manners, that every negative perception he had about Islam melted away. His mind traveled back to his family home and conjured a memory of his friend, the great Muhammad Ali giving da’wah to his mother, a staunch Jehovah’s Witness. This recollection stirred a place deep within that he was now ready to receive. As he told the Al-Arabiyah interviewer: “I felt so pure, so special. I’d grown up as a Jehovah Witness…but I never felt a connection until I embraced Islam.”

The Muslim holy places called to Jermaine, and he and Ali Qamber spontaneously journeyed from Bahrain to Mecca, and they performed the Umrah, as the Hajj season had just recently passed. While in the Mesjid Al-Haram, the huge open-air home of the black draped Ka’aba, Jermaine resonated with the harmony and order of Islamic worship. Everyone united in ritual: He made seven counterclockwise circuits around the Ka’aba with dozens and dozens of pilgrims and stood shoulder to shoulder in neat rows with his new brothers to perform the five daily prayers. Of this experience he wrote: “As I prayed…I started to feel as if I was gliding not walking. From nowhere, I felt the rush of being onstage and hearing a crowd’s roar. I felt euphoric without anything tangible before me.”

Jermaine reveled in being part of the world-wide observation of the Ramadan fast. The emphasis on cleanliness and reverence for the Qur’an, Islam’s holy book also resonated: “Order, cleanliness, and respect. Just as I was raised.” Exhilarated, he returned home, determined to live his life in accordance with Allah’s will and “become a better human being.”

The latter phrase, Jermaine used consistently when interviewers asked about his Islam, and little else: Islam helps him become a better person. Oh, he was always excited to tell interviewers who asked that he was a Muslim, and he proudly shared his Muslim name, but I would frustratingly get little additional insight. Even though Barbara Walters once called him, the “most outspoken” of the Jackson brothers, due to the generosity with which he granted interviews, Jermaine is naturally quiet and reserved, and by his own reckoning, “shy.” Given that Jermaine’s life is subject to such intense media scrutiny, maybe he likes keeping that aspect for himself and for those close to him. I don’t blame him. As a convert myself, I do sometimes lose patience with people who press me for information about my conversion story. It is difficult to share something so personal with a veritable stranger.

Still, my predilection towards him drove me to learn more and surprisingly I found almost all I needed to know from his appearance on the 2007 Celebrity Big Brother UK. Here, Jermaine’s routine Islamic practices revealed him to be a serious, practicing Muslim. I will discuss his participation in house activities and subsequent interviews next, where Jermaine cracks opens the door of his practice and beliefs just a bit wider for all to see. And as I learned more about his faith, the more grateful I became for the blessings Allah grants me.

*****
My study of Jermaine was but one step towards me forming an entire group on Gratitude. If you are a Muslim woman, or so to be Muslim woman, join my group Gratitude for Muslim Women. And be the first to join my new program, The Path to Jannah.

I never realized how accurate teen magazines were.

Back in the day, I was a casual reader of such light fare, with its glossy photos of smiling young heartthrobs and breathless discussions of favorite colors, shoe sizes, and the girls they like. I thought it was just hype, fodder to entice the teen girl to buy the next issue. My recent research into Jermaine, the teen heartthrob of the Jackson 5, however, disabused me of my cynicism. I found numerous nuggets of useful information, such as Jermaine’s poetry writing hobby. Several articles mentioned this passion, and like a true writer, he jotted ideas and rhymes into a note pad.

Jermaine’s devotion to writing continued as he matured from teen idol to adult solo artist. Soon after his 1975 split from the Jackson 5, for example, Jermaine mentioned to a Blues & Soul reporter how much he enjoyed writing “She’s The Ideal Girl” for the Motown produced film Mahogany. He looked forward to developing his abilities further: “the songs I wrote come out naturally and they’re usually based on personal experiences or situations I’ve seen or felt.” Yet, as I will show, Jermaine’s personal strikes universal chords. His lyrics connect with many of us.

Throughout the late 70s and 80s, Jermaine wrote and co-wrote numerous critically acclaimed songs such as You Like Me Don’t You from the 1980 Motown album Jermaine, which he showcased during the 1984 Jackson Victory Tour and I Wanna Be Closer, for the R&B standout group, Switch, on the eponymously named album he co-produced in 1978. Other admirable lyrics are I’m Just Too Shy from the 1981 Motown album, I Like Your Style, and the dance number Come to Me (One Way or the Other) from his 1984 Arista album Jermaine Jackson. Jermaine’s creativity extended beyond romantic tunes with his socially conscious There’s a Better Way from the 1982 Motown album Let Me Tickle Your Fancy.

However, there are no lyrics that impacted me more than those he co-wrote with Elliot Willensky, “I Am My Brother’s Keeper” from his 1981 album I Like Your Style. I teared up when I first read them but sobbed when I listened to his performance. The lyrics reveal Jermaine’s undying love for his brothers, even though they no longer performed together (“While I was out there on my own, I loved you constantly…”). Written in 1980, the lyrics specifically reference the 5 years of separation marked by the brothers’ move to Epic. (“It’s been five years or more since we sung our song…”).

As Jermaine notes in his memoir and later interviews on this song’s creation, the brothers frequented his dreams: they mount the stage, and he counts-in the song: “and a 1, 2, 3.” He never reaches four, awakens with a start, and realizes that only melancholy memories remain. Known for wearing his heart on his sleeve, Jermaine relates the emotional pain he experienced and the “tears he cried.” His memoir is more explicit: “The sense of detachment and loneliness was profound. I didn’t feel like I had lost my right arm; I felt like I had lost every limb. I had Hazel, of course, but the brotherhood was intrinsic to who I was and everything I knew. When it was ripped away, I felt something tear.” And the tremendous loss extended into the verses he co-wrote in a 1986 piece, “Lonely Won’t Leave Me Alone:” “Why do I seem to be caught up inside a dream; All my life, it’s always been my shadow and me.”

“I Am My Brother’s Keeper” recounts an intense, personal loss Jermaine faced, and these lyrics center upon his early inspiration: personal experience or situations he saw or felt. But, why would a song about an event I didn’t share so affect me? Moreover, why did the people I shared these lyrics with tear up right along with me? A second close read revealed the answer. None of us have walked in Jermaine’s shoes, but the story he relates is a shared one. Growing up and into our adult lives. Alone. No longer can we stay in the warm cocoon of our childhood homes, surrounded by our siblings and parents, those who truly know us. We must forge our own paths forward, and the road is replete with pain and loss.

This longing for home emerges as a theme in many musical genres. I have always interpreted the second movement of the Dvorak’s New World Symphony this way. The first allegro movement expresses excitement with the wide-open spaces of a new land, and the musical innovations of African American spirituals. I see this movement expressing the initial excitement of newness, akin to the feeling that one has when first stepping into the adult world. “Wonderful,” was Jermaine’s answer to Mike Douglas’ question about his married life, just weeks from his “wedding of the century” to Hazel Gordy, days after his nineteenth birthday.

Homesickness, though, creeps in the second largo movement, with its Bohemian folk music motifs, a nostalgic tribute to home. Dvorak did eventually return, but as Thomas Wolfe said so long ago: “you can’t go home again.” Roger and Hammerstein’s “Edelweiss” evokes such sentiment, for instance. Performed by Captain Von Trapp in the Sound of Music, the song signifies his farewell to his Austrian birthplace after the Anschluss, the Nazi invasion of his homeland. He must depart, but at least the small, white flower remains, his comforting link to the past (Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever). Similarly, the Iraqi national anthem, “Mawtini,” in Ilham al Madfai’s capable hands, expresses a yearning for a land to which he can never return. Like Captain Von Trapp, war has inextricably transformed his country into an unrecognizable place (“will I see you safely comforted and victoriously honored….my homeland, my homeland”).

So, Jermaine tells a well-worn tale of yearning, hope and ultimately resignation. Even if our family, like Jermaine’s, remains supportive, it is never the same. We, here in the West, are jolted into adulthood, experiencing an abrupt shift from our families of origin to our new marital or work lives. However, the shock is exacerbated if one tracks a path completely different from theirs. None of us had the choice thrust on our 20-year-old selves to stay with Motown under his father-in-law’s tutelage or move on to Epic with one’s father and brothers. But many of us have made life choices that our families disapproved of, or worse condemned. Jermaine notes in his memoir that his brothers refused to speak to him for months, and he endured bouts of anxiety and seemingly endless depression. Fortunately, he had his mother’s support and advice to “just give it time.”

In my case, my family refused to speak to me for five years after I converted from Catholicism to Islam, so long that I despaired of ever speaking to them again. When they finally invited me back into the fold, nothing was the same, as I imagine was the case with Jermaine. Which leads me to my final two articles about Jermaine, my connection to him as my Muslim brother. Here is the link to the first.

If there is one essay I would most like Jermaine to read, it is this one. If you know him, pass it on. Did he imagine that so many would see themselves in such a personal song? I would love to know.

Until next week!