How Hafiz Found A Home With Me

The story of a song and soulful living

When the summer was just building its momentum and the leaves had begun to lose their spring babyish look, fanning out and looking brilliantly relaxed on a sunny day, I took a walk around the block, an ended up on the steps of a friend who lives nearby and is the proud owner of a wonderful dog who reminds of a dancing bear with a unicorn streak. That is not relevant to this story, but it is good to know, isn’t it? Just for its own sake, like some of the best things are!

On that early summer morning we sat on her steps side by side chatting, and Janell mentioned having had a sudden inspiration this past winter to give her neighbors who live across from her a Christmas card, even though she wasn’t planning on doing the holiday card thing that year, she had one on hand, and of all people, felt inspired to give it to an Iranian family. She learned in the course of that gift that the flag they have up in their yard represents Iran before the dictatorship and is intended to honor those who have lost their lives standing up for freedom.

Janell’s gesture of friendship met with a wonderful and generous reciprocity: The Iranian family welcomed her kindness and shared with her that they celebrate Nature Day on that very December day when my friend had dropped off the Christmas card. A few days later the woman from the Iranian family dropped off a casserole at my friend’s as a reciprocal gesture of kindness.

A little while after this, I was walking down the street by the Iranian family’s house - I’d never met them - and thinking and about the different linages that have informed who I am. As some of you know, I was born in a Sufi community and my father is Jewish. Like Einstein, who was asked and refused to be the first President of the surveillance state that starts with the letter “I,” I object to any form of fascism. See his 1948 letter in the New York Times.

I found myself being prayed as the the prayers flowed from my lips. I sang with all my being the words of peace in two languages, the languages themselves siblings just like the words themselves, and the people that speak them. A Jewish woman with whom I am quite friendly, along with her dog, Motek, happened along and paused exactly across the street. “I was wondering where that angelic singing was coming from,” she said with a smile. I explained to her the song, and about the Iranian family across from her, about how I am half Jewish and was born into Sufism. She grinned and said, “Shalom Alehim, this I know. What is the other one?” “It’s Salam Alekum,” I replied. It means the same thing, in Arabic.

In the middle of the summer I once, briefly, met the daughter of the Iranian family a short while after that and told her about the song and the Jewish woman who loved it, and we briefly chatted about building peace, one little jigsaw piece at a time.

Then one day late in the summer, the leaves heavy and almost ready to blaze in their multicolored hues of fall, I saw from my back porch, a u-haul truck in front of the Iranian family’s home. I walked over and I asked their young adult daughter if they were moving and she said yes. I expressed that I wish we’d gotten to know their family better and that we wished them every happiness in their move. I told her how their family had inspired the song because Janell, and how, as I’d been singing it one day in front of their home, it led to a bridge being built when Jewish woman I know was walking her dog directly across from their home paused because she heard me sing. I told the young woman, whose name I learned I was Zara - that although I was sorry we were only learning names now, I was grateful they inspired the song and wished them so much peace. I returned home and got the nudge to invite my son to go over and play their family the song as a blessing. He was game, so I pulled a sprig of mint and he got his ukulele and we headed over. The daughter went inside and returned with her mother. I began singing very very off key, but my son was patient with me as I found my voice and soon we were singing our prayer. The mom filmed it. And as I looked in their eyes it was so beautiful, so much soul, so much sacred and we just met! And then the mom said, "Wait here while I get something." She came back with a huge, gorgeous canvas. It was a painting her husband made that has gold paint swirling the Arabic scrip of a line from Hafiz. I was in awe. She giving me this amazing gift! WOW! I love Hafiz. I was just thinking of Hafiz the last few days quite frequently. I asked her to translate and the daughter said "Hafiz is speaking to his lover/beloved:

"I do not see only your features, but in your reflection I see the sun and moon."

I thanked her profusely and told her that every time I look at it I will pray for their family and for peace for our world. The mom had tears in her eyes. We shared a long hug. Later I left a bundle of fresh sage and a unicorn I painted on their windshield.

Hafiz is a word my heart knows well. I do not understand his poems with my mind. I say his name and I know Hafiz like a brother.

Hafiz, from my wall, shines with love.

I remember to be like the sun.

“Even
After
All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,

"You owe me."

Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky.”

―Hafiz

Here is prayer that wants to flow through me now:

Source, create me anew without trauma, yet harnessing all I carry in my DNA to be a vessel of love that bridges all divides through vibrational attunement, synchronicity and inner peace. I walk, dance, write, share, love, in peace.”

And here is the Hafiz I was given, which now occupies an honored place on my wall: