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It was a Friday...

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  • meriem_ao
    It is not a joy story, but it is not a sad one neither. It is a soul story. It was a Friday, August, 31 2001. Rue d Ulm in Paris, in a small hospital, near the
    Message 1 of 4 , Feb 22, 2006
      It is not a joy story, but it is not a sad one neither. It is a soul
      story.

      It was a Friday, August, 31 2001. Rue d'Ulm in Paris, in a small
      hospital, near the Panthéon (a mausoleum for the remains of great
      Frenchmen) and the Luxembourg Gardens. My mother had been in a coma
      the whole day. She was still fighting to stay alive, she had
      difficulty to breath. She had lost all her physical strength in that
      two year fight against cancer.

      I could not leave the room that day; something compelled me to stay
      with her. I remember whispering in her ear: "Mum, you can go, don't
      worry for us, just go peacefully". I knew she could hear me. And she
      could, indeed, for half an hour later she was gone.

      I will always remember that moment. I was near the bed holding her
      hand. Mounira was on the other side of the bed near the wall. She was
      reading out loud the 99 Names of God in Arabic… An Noor, Al Hadi…
      (The Light, The Guide…); creating a holy atmosphere. My mother
      suddenly opened her eyes; she looked at me for a fleeting moment. She
      was telling me that she was leaving. Her look was peaceful and at the
      same time questioning. I smiled at her; I knew God would take care of
      her. Her body jolts quite a few times as if the soul had trouble to
      get out and just when Mounira pronounced the last Name of God, her
      soul left the body. At this exact moment, my father entered the room
      in panic as if he knew what was happening.

      She was now above us probably looking at us. My father was trying to
      bring her to life; Mounira was crying silently; I don't know where my
      two brothers were. Her body seemed relieved; I could even see a
      slight smile on her face.

      God Hour had strike. It was a Friday, at 6.00 pm.

      She was buried a few days later in Bouzareah, near Algiers (Algeria)
      with her mother, as she wanted.

      In June of the following year, I went with my father to visit her
      grave. The cemetery is on the top of a hill. It is a simple and
      modest cemetery with very few spaces between the graves, and with a
      nice view on the horizon. It was a Friday, the day of prayer in
      Muslim countries and as we entered the cemetery we could hear from
      the mosque the muezzin singing a part of a surat (chapter of the
      Koran) that my mother really liked before she died. She used to read
      it with my father and she once asked him to stop for it was too much
      Light, more Light than she could handle. A little cat was near her
      grave looking at us.

      I am glad she was able to feel God's Light before she died and I am
      glad I had the privilege to be with her for that special moment.

      "Janna mrityu hasi kanna
      Eto shudhu abhinoy
      Atma chira abhoy ajoy
      Satya sathi sudhamoy."

      This is a song composed by Sri Chinmoy, here is the traduction:

      "Birth and death, smiles and tears
      Are a mere play.
      The soul is an eternally fearless and unconquerable
      Bliss-flooded companion."

      I am infinitely grateful to my mother for the love and affection she
      constantly gave us. She was quick to forgive and forget and was all
      cheerful sacrifice for her children. I am also grateful for the trust
      she had in me in any circumstances, she once told me: "a peace of
      gold even if cover with dirt remains a peace of gold."

      Gratefully,
      Meriem
    • vasanti_hd
      Meriem, thank you for sharing this very personal story with us. How beautiful to be able to experience the death of a loved one in such a spiritual context.
      Message 2 of 4 , Feb 23, 2006
        Meriem, thank you for sharing this very personal story with us. How
        beautiful to be able to experience the death of a loved one in such a
        spiritual context.

        Guru's song "Janma mrityu hasi kanna" is very powerful, like making a
        very powerful statement chasing bad spirits and feelings of sadness,
        dejection or despair away, with staccato-like footfalls in the
        beginning for the opposites of birth and death, smiles and tears,
        then becoming playful with "abhinoy", then kind of fearless marching
        for the unconquerable soul again, downwards (netherworlds?), only
        to go up and fly and dissolve in sweetest bliss in the end!

        http://admin.srichinmoysongs.com/s_/songs/03/ckgsong456505103/ckgsong456505103-s.gif

        Vasanti



        --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, meriem_ao
        <no_reply@...> wrote:
        >
        > It is not a joy story, but it is not a sad one neither. It is a
        soul
        > story.
        >
        > It was a Friday, August, 31 2001. Rue d'Ulm in Paris, in a small
        > hospital, near the Panthéon (a mausoleum for the remains of great
        > Frenchmen) and the Luxembourg Gardens. My mother had been in a coma
        > the whole day. She was still fighting to stay alive, she had
        > difficulty to breath. She had lost all her physical strength in
        that
        > two year fight against cancer.
        >
        > I could not leave the room that day; something compelled me to stay
        > with her. I remember whispering in her ear: "Mum, you can go, don't
        > worry for us, just go peacefully". I knew she could hear me. And
        she
        > could, indeed, for half an hour later she was gone.
        >
        > I will always remember that moment. I was near the bed holding her
        > hand. Mounira was on the other side of the bed near the wall. She
        was
        > reading out loud the 99 Names of God in Arabic… An Noor, Al Hadi…
        > (The Light, The Guide…); creating a holy atmosphere. My mother
        > suddenly opened her eyes; she looked at me for a fleeting moment.
        She
        > was telling me that she was leaving. Her look was peaceful and at
        the
        > same time questioning. I smiled at her; I knew God would take care
        of
        > her. Her body jolts quite a few times as if the soul had trouble to
        > get out and just when Mounira pronounced the last Name of God, her
        > soul left the body. At this exact moment, my father entered the
        room
        > in panic as if he knew what was happening.
        >
        > She was now above us probably looking at us. My father was trying
        to
        > bring her to life; Mounira was crying silently; I don't know where
        my
        > two brothers were. Her body seemed relieved; I could even see a
        > slight smile on her face.
        >
        > God Hour had strike. It was a Friday, at 6.00 pm.
        >
        > She was buried a few days later in Bouzareah, near Algiers
        (Algeria)
        > with her mother, as she wanted.
        >
        > In June of the following year, I went with my father to visit her
        > grave. The cemetery is on the top of a hill. It is a simple and
        > modest cemetery with very few spaces between the graves, and with a
        > nice view on the horizon. It was a Friday, the day of prayer in
        > Muslim countries and as we entered the cemetery we could hear from
        > the mosque the muezzin singing a part of a surat (chapter of the
        > Koran) that my mother really liked before she died. She used to
        read
        > it with my father and she once asked him to stop for it was too
        much
        > Light, more Light than she could handle. A little cat was near her
        > grave looking at us.
        >
        > I am glad she was able to feel God's Light before she died and I am
        > glad I had the privilege to be with her for that special moment.
        >
        > "Janna mrityu hasi kanna
        > Eto shudhu abhinoy
        > Atma chira abhoy ajoy
        > Satya sathi sudhamoy."
        >
        > This is a song composed by Sri Chinmoy, here is the traduction:
        >
        > "Birth and death, smiles and tears
        > Are a mere play.
        > The soul is an eternally fearless and unconquerable
        > Bliss-flooded companion."
        >
        > I am infinitely grateful to my mother for the love and affection
        she
        > constantly gave us. She was quick to forgive and forget and was all
        > cheerful sacrifice for her children. I am also grateful for the
        trust
        > she had in me in any circumstances, she once told me: "a peace of
        > gold even if cover with dirt remains a peace of gold."
        >
        > Gratefully,
        > Meriem
        >
      • shane_dublincentre
        I liked this story very much too. I think it takes a lot of courage to type in something like that and send it away off down the phone lines where anyone can
        Message 3 of 4 , Feb 27, 2006
          I liked this story very much too. I think it takes a lot of courage to
          type in something like that and send it away off down the phone lines
          where anyone can read it.

          It's also nice to hear a perspective from a student of Sri Chinmoy who
          comes from a Muslim background; there have been many posts on this
          group from students talking about having a Christian background and
          being a student of Sri Chinmoy at the same time. At the moment I have a
          job putting leaflets into letterboxes (for a pizza company) and I'm
          working with about 15 Malaysian students. I've officially decreed
          Malaysia to be the Second Best Country in the World after Ireland. Such
          pleasant people to talk to - no office gossiping, no sniping, no
          backstabbing, just sweet peaceful dispositions no matter what happens.
          It's almost like being in a Divine Enterprise.

          They're all practising Muslims, but its not like something they shout
          out to all and sundry - in this crazy city, they've somehow mastered
          the art of going away to pray without anyone noticing (much the same as
          my patented techniques for getting in a much needed minute's meditation
          in a crowd without drawing anyone's attention). They all assume I'm
          Catholic, and ask me loads of questions about Church teachings which I
          try to drag out from childhood memory. There's this real sense of
          openness, a sense that they're confident enough in their own path to
          ask and not be defensive. It's a far cry from the usual media portrayal
          of Islam.

          To be one-pointed in your own path, yet to be able to give and take
          inspiration from the world. To the mind, this is a paradox, but to the
          heart...

          Shane


          --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, vasanti_hd
          <no_reply@...> wrote:
          >
          > Meriem, thank you for sharing this very personal story with us. How
          > beautiful to be able to experience the death of a loved one in such a
          > spiritual context.
          >
          > Guru's song "Janma mrityu hasi kanna" is very powerful, like making a
          > very powerful statement chasing bad spirits and feelings of sadness,
          > dejection or despair away, with staccato-like footfalls in the
          > beginning for the opposites of birth and death, smiles and tears,
          > then becoming playful with "abhinoy", then kind of fearless marching
          > for the unconquerable soul again, downwards (netherworlds?), only
          > to go up and fly and dissolve in sweetest bliss in the end!
          >
          >
          http://admin.srichinmoysongs.com/s_/songs/03/ckgsong456505103/ckgsong456505103-s.gif
          >
          > Vasanti
          >
          >
          >
          > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, meriem_ao
          > <no_reply@> wrote:
          > >
          > > It is not a joy story, but it is not a sad one neither. It is a
          > soul
          > > story.
          > >
          > > It was a Friday, August, 31 2001. Rue d'Ulm in Paris, in a small
          > > hospital, near the Panth�on (a mausoleum for the remains of great
          > > Frenchmen) and the Luxembourg Gardens. My mother had been in a coma
          > > the whole day. She was still fighting to stay alive, she had
          > > difficulty to breath. She had lost all her physical strength in
          > that
          > > two year fight against cancer.
          > >
          > > I could not leave the room that day; something compelled me to stay
          > > with her. I remember whispering in her ear: "Mum, you can go, don't
          > > worry for us, just go peacefully". I knew she could hear me. And
          > she
          > > could, indeed, for half an hour later she was gone.
          > >
          > > I will always remember that moment. I was near the bed holding her
          > > hand. Mounira was on the other side of the bed near the wall. She
          > was
          > > reading out loud the 99 Names of God in Arabic� An Noor, Al Hadi�
          > > (The Light, The Guide�); creating a holy atmosphere. My mother
          > > suddenly opened her eyes; she looked at me for a fleeting moment.
          > She
          > > was telling me that she was leaving. Her look was peaceful and at
          > the
          > > same time questioning. I smiled at her; I knew God would take care
          > of
          > > her. Her body jolts quite a few times as if the soul had trouble to
          > > get out and just when Mounira pronounced the last Name of God, her
          > > soul left the body. At this exact moment, my father entered the
          > room
          > > in panic as if he knew what was happening.
          > >
          > > She was now above us probably looking at us. My father was trying
          > to
          > > bring her to life; Mounira was crying silently; I don't know where
          > my
          > > two brothers were. Her body seemed relieved; I could even see a
          > > slight smile on her face.
          > >
          > > God Hour had strike. It was a Friday, at 6.00 pm.
          > >
          > > She was buried a few days later in Bouzareah, near Algiers
          > (Algeria)
          > > with her mother, as she wanted.
          > >
          > > In June of the following year, I went with my father to visit her
          > > grave. The cemetery is on the top of a hill. It is a simple and
          > > modest cemetery with very few spaces between the graves, and with a
          > > nice view on the horizon. It was a Friday, the day of prayer in
          > > Muslim countries and as we entered the cemetery we could hear from
          > > the mosque the muezzin singing a part of a surat (chapter of the
          > > Koran) that my mother really liked before she died. She used to
          > read
          > > it with my father and she once asked him to stop for it was too
          > much
          > > Light, more Light than she could handle. A little cat was near her
          > > grave looking at us.
          > >
          > > I am glad she was able to feel God's Light before she died and I am
          > > glad I had the privilege to be with her for that special moment.
          > >
          > > "Janna mrityu hasi kanna
          > > Eto shudhu abhinoy
          > > Atma chira abhoy ajoy
          > > Satya sathi sudhamoy."
          > >
          > > This is a song composed by Sri Chinmoy, here is the traduction:
          > >
          > > "Birth and death, smiles and tears
          > > Are a mere play.
          > > The soul is an eternally fearless and unconquerable
          > > Bliss-flooded companion."
          > >
          > > I am infinitely grateful to my mother for the love and affection
          > she
          > > constantly gave us. She was quick to forgive and forget and was all
          > > cheerful sacrifice for her children. I am also grateful for the
          > trust
          > > she had in me in any circumstances, she once told me: "a peace of
          > > gold even if cover with dirt remains a peace of gold."
          > >
          > > Gratefully,
          > > Meriem
          > >
          >
        • meriem_ao
          Hi Shane, We often view death as something frightening and sad, and in some way it is. But there is always many ways of looking at things and I thought it was
          Message 4 of 4 , Mar 7, 2006
            Hi Shane,

            We often view death as something frightening and sad, and in some way
            it is. But there is always many ways of looking at things and I
            thought it was worth sharing that experience for everybody has to
            face death at some time in their life. And it remains for me a very
            special and powerful experience; I don't have the words to name it
            exactly. In the following year, I always tried not to indulge in self-
            pity, when sadness would come I would chase it by telling myself that
            it would be selfish to be sad for my mother was certainly happier
            now, freed from bondage.

            As Jogyata mentioned facing death brings you back to the essential,
            and the following year I was really dissatisfied with my life. I had
            the feeling that I was going backward, not making any spiritual
            progress. I quitted my job and I moved to a new city in a hope of a
            new life. I found more than I had ever expected by becoming Sri
            Chinmoy's disciple.

            Now what difference does it makes to come from a Muslim background
            compare to a Christian one?

            A spontaneous answer would be none, we all struggle with the same
            things no matter where we come from. We all have learned what is good
            and what is bad in different ways and we all have to go beyond that
            to see the Truth. So it does not depend on if we are Jewish or
            Christian or even atheist but how many things we have to unlearn to
            be more open to the Truth.

            I am, however, maybe not a good representative of Muslims (if a good
            representative exists). My parents were believers but they did not
            practice their five daily prayers. My whole family was not
            very `religious', except for my grand-parents in my mother side, who
            were practising daily and went in pilgrimage to the Mecca I think
            twice in their life. I still have a photo of them all in white when
            they came back.

            My father was the one who did my religious education, the one who
            introduced me to Sufism. He is very good at teaching. I learned some
            surats (chapter of the Koran) with him –Arabic is quite an
            interesting language (not that I know very much about it, I hardly
            speak it) every word comes from a root (I think there is about 200
            roots if my memory is good) which is usually 3 consonants and has a
            special function represented by specific vowels and consonants, I
            don't know if what I am saying is clear but the Arabic grammar is
            quite simple –so we were going back to the origin of the word
            exploring the different interpretations. My father was (and still is)
            a great admirer of Ibn Arabi.

            For info on Ibn Arabi :
            http://www.poetseers.org/spiritual_and_devotional_poets/sufi/ibn_arabi

            The philosophy of Ibn Arabi was beyond my reach at that time but I
            enjoyed Rumi's poetry and tales from the Masnavi and other Sufi,
            Arabic, Berber and wherever tales. But also Dostoevsky, Mahfouz,
            Zweig, Zola and many others… Those are not spiritual books but a good
            introduction on human beings.

            I learned early that religion is God, and that it does not matter
            which way you take to approach the Truth. I also learned that the
            essence is more important than the form. By that I also mean that
            inner discipline is more important than outer discipline. Later on I
            discovered that outer discipline was nevertheless indispensable and a
            spiritual master of great help to approach the Truth. So the jump to
            Sri Chinmoy's path was not very large and relatively easy to do.

            Of course there are still many things I have to unlearn and I am very
            grateful to Sri Chinmoy for all the new dimensions he had opened in
            me.

            In oneness,
            Meriem



            --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, shane_dublincentre
            <no_reply@...> wrote:
            >
            > I liked this story very much too. I think it takes a lot of courage
            to
            > type in something like that and send it away off down the phone
            lines
            > where anyone can read it.
            >
            > It's also nice to hear a perspective from a student of Sri Chinmoy
            who
            > comes from a Muslim background; there have been many posts on this
            > group from students talking about having a Christian background and
            > being a student of Sri Chinmoy at the same time. At the moment I
            have a
            > job putting leaflets into letterboxes (for a pizza company) and I'm
            > working with about 15 Malaysian students. I've officially decreed
            > Malaysia to be the Second Best Country in the World after Ireland.
            Such
            > pleasant people to talk to - no office gossiping, no sniping, no
            > backstabbing, just sweet peaceful dispositions no matter what
            happens.
            > It's almost like being in a Divine Enterprise.
            >
            > They're all practising Muslims, but its not like something they
            shout
            > out to all and sundry - in this crazy city, they've somehow mastered
            > the art of going away to pray without anyone noticing (much the
            same as
            > my patented techniques for getting in a much needed minute's
            meditation
            > in a crowd without drawing anyone's attention). They all assume I'm
            > Catholic, and ask me loads of questions about Church teachings
            which I
            > try to drag out from childhood memory. There's this real sense of
            > openness, a sense that they're confident enough in their own path to
            > ask and not be defensive. It's a far cry from the usual media
            portrayal
            > of Islam.
            >
            > To be one-pointed in your own path, yet to be able to give and take
            > inspiration from the world. To the mind, this is a paradox, but to
            the
            > heart...
            >
            > Shane
            >
            >
            > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, vasanti_hd
            > <no_reply@> wrote:
            > >
            > > Meriem, thank you for sharing this very personal story with us.
            How
            > > beautiful to be able to experience the death of a loved one in
            such a
            > > spiritual context.
            > >
            > > Guru's song "Janma mrityu hasi kanna" is very powerful, like
            making a
            > > very powerful statement chasing bad spirits and feelings of
            sadness,
            > > dejection or despair away, with staccato-like footfalls in the
            > > beginning for the opposites of birth and death, smiles and tears,
            > > then becoming playful with "abhinoy", then kind of fearless
            marching
            > > for the unconquerable soul again, downwards (netherworlds?), only
            > > to go up and fly and dissolve in sweetest bliss in the end!
            > >
            > >
            >
            http://admin.srichinmoysongs.com/s_/songs/03/ckgsong456505103/ckgsong4
            56505103-s.gif
            > >
            > > Vasanti
            > >
            > >
            > >
            > > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, meriem_ao
            > > <no_reply@> wrote:
            > > >
            > > > It is not a joy story, but it is not a sad one neither. It is a
            > > soul
            > > > story.
            > > >
            > > > It was a Friday, August, 31 2001. Rue d'Ulm in Paris, in a
            small
            > > > hospital, near the Panth�on (a mausoleum for the remains of
            great
            > > > Frenchmen) and the Luxembourg Gardens. My mother had been in a
            coma
            > > > the whole day. She was still fighting to stay alive, she had
            > > > difficulty to breath. She had lost all her physical strength in
            > > that
            > > > two year fight against cancer.
            > > >
            > > > I could not leave the room that day; something compelled me to
            stay
            > > > with her. I remember whispering in her ear: "Mum, you can go,
            don't
            > > > worry for us, just go peacefully". I knew she could hear me.
            And
            > > she
            > > > could, indeed, for half an hour later she was gone.
            > > >
            > > > I will always remember that moment. I was near the bed holding
            her
            > > > hand. Mounira was on the other side of the bed near the wall.
            She
            > > was
            > > > reading out loud the 99 Names of God in Arabic� An Noor, Al
            Hadi�
            > > > (The Light, The Guide�); creating a holy atmosphere. My
            mother
            > > > suddenly opened her eyes; she looked at me for a fleeting
            moment.
            > > She
            > > > was telling me that she was leaving. Her look was peaceful and
            at
            > > the
            > > > same time questioning. I smiled at her; I knew God would take
            care
            > > of
            > > > her. Her body jolts quite a few times as if the soul had
            trouble to
            > > > get out and just when Mounira pronounced the last Name of God,
            her
            > > > soul left the body. At this exact moment, my father entered the
            > > room
            > > > in panic as if he knew what was happening.
            > > >
            > > > She was now above us probably looking at us. My father was
            trying
            > > to
            > > > bring her to life; Mounira was crying silently; I don't know
            where
            > > my
            > > > two brothers were. Her body seemed relieved; I could even see a
            > > > slight smile on her face.
            > > >
            > > > God Hour had strike. It was a Friday, at 6.00 pm.
            > > >
            > > > She was buried a few days later in Bouzareah, near Algiers
            > > (Algeria)
            > > > with her mother, as she wanted.
            > > >
            > > > In June of the following year, I went with my father to visit
            her
            > > > grave. The cemetery is on the top of a hill. It is a simple and
            > > > modest cemetery with very few spaces between the graves, and
            with a
            > > > nice view on the horizon. It was a Friday, the day of prayer in
            > > > Muslim countries and as we entered the cemetery we could hear
            from
            > > > the mosque the muezzin singing a part of a surat (chapter of
            the
            > > > Koran) that my mother really liked before she died. She used to
            > > read
            > > > it with my father and she once asked him to stop for it was too
            > > much
            > > > Light, more Light than she could handle. A little cat was near
            her
            > > > grave looking at us.
            > > >
            > > > I am glad she was able to feel God's Light before she died and
            I am
            > > > glad I had the privilege to be with her for that special moment.
            > > >
            > > > "Janna mrityu hasi kanna
            > > > Eto shudhu abhinoy
            > > > Atma chira abhoy ajoy
            > > > Satya sathi sudhamoy."
            > > >
            > > > This is a song composed by Sri Chinmoy, here is the traduction:
            > > >
            > > > "Birth and death, smiles and tears
            > > > Are a mere play.
            > > > The soul is an eternally fearless and unconquerable
            > > > Bliss-flooded companion."
            > > >
            > > > I am infinitely grateful to my mother for the love and
            affection
            > > she
            > > > constantly gave us. She was quick to forgive and forget and was
            all
            > > > cheerful sacrifice for her children. I am also grateful for the
            > > trust
            > > > she had in me in any circumstances, she once told me: "a peace
            of
            > > > gold even if cover with dirt remains a peace of gold."
            > > >
            > > > Gratefully,
            > > > Meriem
            > > >
            > >
            >
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