I have walked around with the idea of setting up a female mosque. A Mosque that could vent the things that have been left unspoken by the regular male-ruled ones. A mosque that would treat every visitor equal, a mosque that would speak about the essence of Islam, which is compassion. A mosque that would be a lamp in the muslim world. It's a dream of course. The reality is none of this. Around the world Islam has reached it's historic low point. What the world sees of Islam - even during this sacred month of Ramadan - is a religion of brutes and hate-imams. But. There is an Arabian proverb. If the camel once gets his nose in the tent, his body will soon follow. The camel's nose is a metaphor for a situation where doing some small, seemingly innocuous act will open the door for larger actions. My camel's nose is that this will be my first Friday sermon. I am a woman and many of my ancestors have been imams and Islamic scholars, and I know pretty much about Islam. Many times I find myself knowing more then high-classified imams. So why not me, why not a woman? My first sermon will not be mine though, but from a very special guest from Saudi Arabia. He is a friend of mine and he is a writer and prolific poet. One of the very few left in Arabia. Many times he goes out into the desert like the prophets and poets did before him. He goes by the name Moses of Arabia, little is known of him, but every now and then he has surprised me with 'el achbaru sahra' , the news of the desert.
The desert is actually pretty beautiful. Sometimes I like to play Moses, and trek out to the desert with nothing in hand. Just me and the rolling dunes. I am reminded of how insignificant my problems when I'm dwarfed by the surrounded shifting mountains, I feel small, well, smaller than usual. My worries are lighter when I'm there, when the wind isn't blowing my direction, I throw them and they sail away.
There's a song by Bob Dylan that talks of how a hard rain is gonna fall, like something is going to happen. In that song he speaks of dead oceans, and sad forests. Well, the saddest forest I've ever come across is the petrified forest. It's near the outskirts of the city, it's the remains of once was there, fossilized wood, one can only imagine what was once lush and green is now dry and dead.
But it is beautiful, the desert, it's desolate. It's huge, it's unbounded in its horizon, only limited by how far your eyes can see. You feel as if you defied time itself, everything seems frozen and there you are by your lonesome in the middle of towering golden waves. It's pretty out there.
Moses of Arabia