A versus B: The Grass is Always Green Up in Hurr, No Matter What Yours Might Look Like

Everything you see has its roots in the unseen world. The forms may change, yet the essence remains the same. Every wonderful sight will vanish; every sweet word will fade, But do not be disheartened, The source they come from is eternal, growing, Branching out, giving new life and new joy. Why do you weep? The source is within you And this whole world is springing up from it.
- Jelauddin Rumi

I am not a character from Sesame Street bouncing around blindly spouting off hallmark card-worthy platitudes. I know very well that life is sometimes dirtier than some wax bouquet of flowers and more rotten than some touched up, clichéd hopelessly surreal and overly photographed bowl of cherries. I do, however, look at life critically and try to parse out the positives whenever possible. I'll admit that I might seem naive, but the truth is, I've seen enough suffering and been there enough times myself, to know that it's not a good place to live.

Recently, a friend of mine scoffed at my writing, insinuating that it is trite and overly optimistic. I can take the criticism. But for the record, I believe that my friend is the one who should adjust his view, if only for his own sake.

So yea, I tend to take the 'A' perspective, 'cause the grass on my side of the fence is the only green I'll ever get to see, regardless. I am certain that we profoundly impact ourselves and our environments simply by the choices we make in the way we choose to view our surroundings. If you need proof, take a look at the following microscopic photos of water that were showcased in the popular documentary, "What the Bleep Do We Know?!"

The first image is of a particle of water effected by the simple idea of love and gratitude.



In contrast, the following photo is what happens when water comes into contact with the feeling 'You make me sick. I will kill you.'



Pretty astonishing stuff to think that a mere thought can reverberate to cause a direct change in something completely outside of the mind. The crux of the film, and I guess my post as well, is this: If our thoughts as humans can do that to water, imagine what we do to ourselves, internally. Seriously, I'm not trying to plagiarize the documentary, especially since they use this idea to support atheism, but honestly, so much of our suffering simply belongs to us. And although I'm not perfectly positive all the time, I truly don't want to play like that.

I believe that love abides, and that our differences destroy us, so therefore we must find commonality. I despise meanness in all its forms, and I prefer to hope rather than to despair. And if we get less than 100 years to live, I'd like to wear those pink glasses, and live in a way that allows me to do so. So yea, I like movies like The Notebook and Serendipity, and I believe in fortuity, and I look for the silver lining. If I don't look for it, after all, there is no way I will ever see it. And usually I can find it, in people, and in places, and in myself.

And that's the way it is with faith. It is a choice. And I prefer faith over doubt and promise over probability any day. And if that means I have further to fall in the face of ugliness, so it shall be. Call me naive or idealistic, but in a world where mental health is studied by looking solely at infirmity, I prefer a positive psychology approach to life and living. And I look for these conditions, rather than the negatives, in the people who surround me: wisdom, knowledge, courage, humanity, justice, temperance and transcendence. I find combinations of these things in each of you all the time.

Because when we look for these things, we find them, Alhamdulillah. And when we remember to see this way, the world is a much truer place to be. So if you are looking for a person who will commiserate with you on life's misery, I'm not your girl. But if you are constantly amazed at the heartbreaking mixed bag that the Universe unfurls for us each day, even despite some of its drudgery, here I am. I am for you.

On Limonata: My Parents' Passive Ambivalence about My Journey to Islam

I think they don't want to believe it's true. I think they are waiting out this phase, or trying not to stir the proverbial pot of my muslimness by staying utterly and completely silent. They haven't asked me a single question. I told them months ago.

On the surface they 'support me' and are 'fine with it,' but I'm just waiting for the day it becomes real for them. I hope they don't do what my friend Rebecca did, which was lose her mind and say a bunch of really offensive things, only to disappear for a few months and not return my calls. I'm thinking they might freak out a bit, but I'm hoping they won't disappear, insha Allah. It wouldn't be like them.

When I say that they haven't asked a single question, that doesn't mean that they haven't said anything. Actually, my mother has said a few things, namely recapitulations of "It's just not what I imagined for you." My dad has mentioned "Origin of the Species" a few times under his breath. But they are accepting it in their own Midwestern way, I think. I'd love to say that my parents are so progressive that it's all roses and sunshine, and that they said 'ok' to my announcement without that palpable tightness of concern in their voices. But the truth is they are doing the best they can with what they have.

If it were true that they accepted my conversion unquestioningly directly off the bat, they wouldn't be Marcia and John, and they wouldn't have raised me in the same way, and therefore I may not have become Muslim in the first place. So in a circular sort of way, I should be thankful for their instinct to worry first and accept later. And besides, I haven't done the best job of explaining it yet (partly because I don't think they've been ready and partly because I haven't been able to find a graceful segue into discussion).

Right now, all they have to go on is their knowledge of the American political climate (harsh), their own secular paradigm (where cultural competency doesn't always lead to understanding) and a book I just gave them by Susan Haneef. Given that, I think they are doing pretty well. A few non-verbal things are changing which gives me hope:

My dad stocks fun non-alcoholic drinks for me in their fridge and my mom bought me a long skirt today at Marshall's. I'd say that's a solid beginning to what I hope will be a positive and continuous discussion and a learning experience for all, insha Allah.

A lot of people have it much worse when they make such a seemingly drastic life change, so for me, today, the presence of pomegranate soda and limonata in the fridge is a fresh flower on a clear day. We'll work on getting them to understand the other stuff bit by bit.

That said, it really annoys me when people I know get worried that my daughters will feel shamed in their own skin or when people get concerned because I no longer date [I mean, how will I ever find a husband???]. I'm still me. If I believed in women's rights and love before, why would those things suddenly change?

For the misconceptions that my family and friends may harbor I blame (in no particular order): the rigid hypocrisy of privileged white feminism, the people who own the news, Jack Straw, Betty Mahmoody, and Muslims (like me), who do a terrible job of addressing those misconceptions when they arise.

All in a Row, But Way Out of Line

Over the past month, I've started quite the garden. I'm growing tomatoes, hot peppers, sweet peas, string beans, lettuce, herbs and a nasturtium or two. Alissa reminds not forget the marigolds, but that's beside the point, I suppose. This post is less about what I'm growing literally, and more about what I choose not to grow, figuratively. And that has a great deal to do with those ladies looking over the garden wall, who seem to always stand together, clucking.

This garden grows in an 8 foot by 8 foot raised bed near the garage in my Lauderdale backyard. I started planting it because I needed a refuge, and it's always peaceful and refreshing to watch life grow. And since then, those square feet have, if anything, gotten a 'lack of negligence.' You can find me back there, quietly watching (watering/wondering).

I should be making some sort of witty analogy where I equate myself to Contrary Mary, since that's where I'm trying to go, but I'm having a little trouble making the connection, given that it's Friday, and I've been her all week (or since grade 3). Originally the nursery rhyme was said to be an allusion to one of the Queens (Mary, of course) who had a husband who cheated on her constantly and a rumored inability to produce viable offspring (for more on the historical roots go: wiki). But I'd like to put my own spin on said rhyme.

Let's say I'm Mary. It's certainly true that I've been known to be contrary, willful, rebellious and sometimes unruly. And I think we choose to grow gardens to divert us from other things. Namely, silver bells, cockle shells, or in my case, those beauties who have always had too much time on their hands, and too few ideas (as opposed to a surplus of people) to talk about.

It's much like deliberately planting seeds versus germinating weeds. Self actuality is what I hope to cultivate, whereas that uncomfortable energy caused by insipid voices, inadvertently roots weeds and fertilizes them. If we let the poison in, cause yields effect.

Those pretty maids...are the reason why (as I learned my lesson from Hayley Stubbs et al. at that fateful sleepover party in third grade where everyone ended up crying) I don't usually hang out in huge groups of chicks (see: above illustration). I never aspire to be on the receiving end of sideways glances; but I guess the de facto position one takes when one decides to turn away from that row, is that of the object. It is too often that as a woman, if you aren't doing the talking, you are the one being talked about. And I guess one moral I'd like to put forth is simply that if our own story is not compelling, that should not compel us to retell (or speculate upon) the stories of others. Our own boredom or unhappiness is not close to reason enough to pull others down too. It's the whole trite "you shouldn't blow out someone else's candle to make your own burn brighter" thing. Co-misery loves company.

So it was in high school, and so it continues to be today.

All nursery rhymes have a lesson. Mine, I think, has something to do with wanting to just be allowed to figure stuff out on my own without a whole lot of drama, controversy or background noise. We all gotta tend our own, and not spray our hoses in others' so much of the time. When the whispering stops when one walks into a room, she knows it's time to mulch. And this, I think, is a lesson for most women (and some men).

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

Absolutes, The Ultimate Deal Breaker and My Heavy Nauseating Dismay

"Adultery is the vice of equivocation. It is not marriage but a mockery of it, a merging that mixes love and dread together like jackstraws. There is no understanding of contentment in adultery.... You belong to each other in what together you’ve made of a third identity that almost immediately cancels your own. There is a law in art that proves it. Two colors are proven complimentary only when forming that most desolate of all colors—neutral gray." (Alexander Theroux, 1987)

Marriage. I can't pretend to know much about it. That's a road I've yet to wander. Today, though, I began to think about the state of it, and the reckless state of love, as well. I was finishing my work day in my office, talking to my new intern about his duties, when I got a call from a 515 number that I did not recognize. Fearful for my parents who were driving home to Iowa (home of the 515 area code), I picked up.

Casually on the other end of the line was Adam* (*names have been changed), my friend Krissy*'s new husband:

Adam: "Hi Kate! How's it going? This is Adam Strong, how are you?"

Me: "HI. Is Krissy okay? Is everything alright?" (I was worried. This call was unexpected. I hadn't talked to either of them since the wedding a little less than a year ago.)

Adam: "Yea, she's fine. I was just wondering how your weekend was."

Me: "Um, it was good. How was yours?"

Adam: "Did you and Krissy have a good time?"

Insert heavy, puzzled, dreadful silence here.

"I'll take the silence to mean you didn't see her this weekend. She said she was coming to visit you."

Long effing pause.

Me: "...I'm sorry. Oh God."

Adam: "It's ok. That's all I needed to know. Thanks. I have to go."

click.

I sat. My intern left. I sat some more. My brain trying to piece together the implications of the conversation that had transpired. Dread. Nauseating empathy. Sadness. Fear. Palpable disgust. My friend tangled me in a lie, and that is the best thing I can say about this situation. A marriage is probably ruined today, and two souls are left in tatters.

A vow is defined as "n. an earnest promise," "a declaration or assertion." To "vow," though, is also a verb, and must be acted thereupon. When we make an irrevocable promise, especially one of this magnitude, it is our obligation to consistently and deliberately relive our words through our actions (if only to remind ourselves of said vow), and anything less is unconscionable. Because when we vow to do something, whatever that thing may be, it means more than our intentions at the time. A vow is a verb that dictates, at the very least, consistency. In the realm of active verbs, intention means nothing. If we lose sight of our promises to one another, even for a moment, we open ourselves to the potential for all of the awful possibilities that could exist, and would exist, if we didn't keep on point. And even if it may not suit us at the time, it is important to remember that a vow is greater than an individual.

Let's not forget that nobody actually knows what happened between Krissy and Adam. There are always two sides to the proverbial a coin, and I've been told that each person deserves at least 70 excuses. So. Did she cheat? I don't know, and I don't plan to try and figure it out. And besides, that's not the point, anyway.

Now, if I had no other option but to choose between the two, I'd most certainly rather be abandoned than betrayed, and I'll be the first to condemn adultery. However, we are all human, and none of us are above the potential for small lapses in judgment or even devastating crimes against one another (I guess). But may we be protected from both, insha Allah.

The point I am trying to make here, is simply the necessity for deliberation and preparation, especially when entering into contractual vows.

When I was growing up, my father once replied to a question with a quote by Antoine de Ste. Exupery (the author of Le Petit Prince) that I haven't forgotten: "Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction". This is true, I think, because when we are looking at one another, we are essentially seeking ourselves; and in seeking ourselves we seek the fallible. And marriage, I gather, is not some whimsical party that just happens, it is a marathon of epic proportions, complete with dehydration and the inability to stop to go to the bathroom, metaphorically speaking. In marriage, we've got to be ready to get past the mess, whatever that may mean.

So in contemplating marriage we have to stop and think about what those vows actually entail. They include, but are not limited to, recognizing each others' faults and failures, making each others' families our family and realizing that even the most magical of love changes over time. Those vows mean that we have to stop being sixteen and look out for each other, often before we begin to consider ourselves. Those vows mean that we have to know exactly where we are going, agree to the terms and 'stay the course' (and yea, unfortunately, marriage sometimes looks more like Iraq than it resembles Paradise). To participate in the active 'verb' of love, it means that we no longer have the privilege of simply fending for ourselves, and that our internal compasses must point in the same direction. And when that fails, we have to reset towards due North (or North East, depending).

And in honor of keeping things real (or kosher or honest or halal), I think we'd all agree (whatever our orientation) that when the opportunity to do something absolutely wrong looks us in the eye, we've got to find a way lower our gaze.

Between One and Another: Conversion, Identity and All Those Questions

And in the Middle of it all, Celebrating 'Small Wins'

Kate,

It's so nice to hear from "family." I needed it today. There's a lot of service men giving me a whole lot of unenlightened mess. So if I may ask (and everybody does) what was it that led you to become a Muslim? I absolutely LOVE when people become Muslims and just really be themselves. It makes it seem so much more genuine to me. Obviously Islam helps us be the best version of ourselves but way too many people convert to Al Islam and become a totally different person. It's almost like they stop being themselves and play a character. The character they play is a super-Muslim but the real them is still the same jerk they were before converting. Then when they tire of playing that role they go right back to the person they were before Islam. Some people though, they stay themselves and just allow Islam to make them the best version of who they are and that s*** is beautiful. Just a glance at your (myspace) profile makes me think you're the latter.

(Islam has done nothing to correct my horrible spelling) (the spelling really was horrible. I edited for the sake of the English language)

My wife became Muslim about a year ago and she's just a more inspired version of the person I fell in love with. She chooses not to cover her head (which many Muslims act like is the 6th pillar of Islam or something) and kept her name (see, EVERYONE has their ideas and opinions about THESE topics, especially). I think it's really genuine.

I'll won't go on any further but I'm just curious what brought you to your decision.

Congratulations either way and maybe we cross paths at some point.

As Salaamu Alaikum sis.

The above is a note that I recently received re: "being a new Muslim" from one very rad revert. I'm posting it here because this is something I'm thinking about these days - what it means to no longer be as congruent as I once was.

It seems like everyone has expectations of the ways in which I will express my Muslim-ness. People are nervous about what that really means. Everyone has an opinion, that's for sure, and mostly I am grateful for input, especially when it comes from a place of love, care, knowledge and concern. But there's so much to learn and so much to work out (big and small), and in the end, I'm going to have to learn it for myself.

For example, people (including me) want to know whether I'm going to cover my feet, if/when hijab is going to happen (isA), and whether it's alright for me to eat chicken at restaurants. I get reminded to check wrappers for pork product, witness discussions about whether you have to deliberately do wudu in the shower, etc. etc. (all very helpful discussions, don't get me wrong, but I'm working on the basics these days). Everyone, even Muslim converts, have something to say (which is good, it means they really care), and I'm a bit overwhelmed.

Hold me.

Here's the thing though. Everyone makes this out to be a HUGE change, but it really isn't all that hard, and it shouldn't be. That's not the point, now is it?

It's only hard if one makes it hard.

And I've been letting it be hard lately, and letting the details get in the way of the end Goal. Aside from working on my pronunciation and waking up earlier to pray (and other details), I think pretty much everyone will tell you that I'm not much different than I was in December, and I'm not losing my identity, or trying to be a super-anything. I'm just working on being more deliberate now, and I think that makes me a better Kate (and yes, the name is staying. It means "pure," after all. And there's not a thing un-Islamic about that).

And instead of getting stuck on the minutiae and stressing out about the process, I'm choosing to (as Aliyah says) "celebrate small wins" and continue to stumble forward.

And after all, there are so many big wins to focus on, that it would be a shame to get stuck in the chaos of little things (I'll figure those things out, with time and patience, isA). Because - living Islamically, having a family that loves me, and friends who accept this new part of my life as something totally great - those things, by themselves, are all momentous wins.

And a small win, tomorrow, is my MPH commencement. Alhamdulillah.

A Rose by Any Other Name Would (Not) Smell As Sweet...

Guest authored by: Kate's friend Alissa. And by "Kate", I'm referring to the being who has been endeared to us all through her actions, words, and loveliness, and for whom the label of one name versus another would not change a thing...or would it? (duh duhhh DAHHHHH [suspenseful 'what is going to happen??!?!?!??! music])

Oh, and by "Alissa"...I just mean me.

Anyway, where was I? (Constantly wondering this, these days) ...Ah yes! Talking about Kate. As you all know by now, apropos to Kate's previous blog entry, our darling has embarked on quite an interesting journey. Part of what some people are wondering about her first stops aboard the Muslim train, is whether or not she'll change her name (for those not familiar with why this would come up, google "Cat Stephens", or "Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee" ( except maybe use the boolean search aids and put the second suggestion all in quotes unless you want a hundred hits about pollination coming up before you finally find "Muhammad Ali/Cassius Clay"). On my gosh I am having a hard time staying on track, sorry!

Aaaaanyway, so in pondering the thought of Katherine Ashley Downing changing her name, I'd like to dedicate this, my inaugural (probably should just say "only" because you can already tell how it's going...) guest blog entry, to listing suggested alternatives for Kate's new name, in honor of her new commitment in life. And in honor, obviously, of our inability to take ourselves too seriously.

But first: two thoughts before I launch into my litany...1) as per the title I chose for this entry, Shakespeare had some thoughts on this very topic. His perspective was that a rose, and it's beauty, significance, and symbolism, were innate in its being, and owing nothing to it being called a rose. That the name was just a way to convey all of the things that would take sentences, paragraphs, or I guess, mimetic hand gestures, if that's your thing, to convey. And Shakespeare was a wordy guy, so he'd know. But the point being simply that a rose would still be everything that it is, chiefly a sweet smelling object, regardless of what one were to call it. That is one side of the argument. I'm not totally inclined to agree, because I think we become the embodiment of the names we are given, such that those who love us most connote all of those things about us with our names, and our names imply all of those things (i.e. it's why when you suggest a name for your friend's baby and a person of that same name made out with that friend's boyfriend in seventh grade, she goes "no WAY am I going to have a bratty, two-faced baby"). Etc. etc...it's quite a philosophical conversation, though, of nearly the same magnitude as that favorite about a tree falling in deserted woods, so I'll leave it to you to ponder.

And pre-list consideration #2 (representing the other half of the argument): I'm just going say: Prince, in the nineties. 'Nuff said. (Ok, for those whom it's not quite enough said, I'll just add "Artist formerly known as Prince", "TAFKAP", and lastly, that crazy symbol that looks androgynous and possibly like a good lower-back tattoo for a person not knowing better.) Di'int sell a lotta records, yo.



And without further ado, here's the list:

1. Kat Stephens (I just love this option. Only requires a last name change and very minor reworking of the first name. And she's jazzy, so ya know.)

2. Mowgli Baloo (I just love Jungle Book. Kate has informed me this isn't really Islamic)

3. Queen Noor (Already working really well for one person.)

4. Ten Downing (Alright, so technically that's a number, and it would be naming her after the British Prime Minster's residence, but it's catchy.)

5. Snuggles (I used to want to name a puppy that.)

6. Muhammad Yusuf Ali Islam (This is a hybrid. You do the math.)

7. Sunni Shia (...Kate's a uniter. Not a divider.)

8. Kate X (although she isn't a Faracon-style convert...)

9. Kareem Abdul Jabbar (dude gets serious air.)

10. Yasmeen Bleeth Downing (yasmeen is perfect, and well, similar traits.)

Ok that's enough. Ten is a good number for list-making. And again, a good first name for Kate (see item 4).

It's been a pleasure. With that, I'll sign off and hand this blog back to [to be determined] Downing.

I'll tell you LEYSH!

Most of you know that I converted to Islam by now. If you hadn't heard, SURPRISE! I've become Muslim. Consider this your formal notification. It's really funny though, everyone (Muslim, non-Muslim and potential Muslim alike) wants to know WHY (As if "why?" is actually really the relevant or salient question, especially for Muslims, to be asking...But I'll tell you my top reasons anyway). Since inquiring minds want to know...

1) I really like the scarves. They're pretty.
2) I'm hungry for halal.
3) I like cubes.
4) I've always wanted to go to Guantanamo.
6) I'm not actively opposed to polygamy (so I figured "why the heck not!").
7) Christians kept trying to convert me, while Muslims remained coy (I respect that).
8) I always wanted to be named Leila.
9) One word: dowry. (gotta pay off the student loans, after all)
10) ...I believe in Allah (swt), and that Muhammad (saws) was His Prophet.

Let's do a little "Where's Waldo..." Try to find the one important answer in the list. If you can find it, I'll give you a prize... :)

...ok so now I'm afraid that what I've written is offensive. I may take this down.