Burning Bridges

I did manage to get out of the house to go and do an estimate this evening. But when I got there no one was home, so I dropped by my Father’s, given that he was nearby. He asked how I was and we got talking. I don’t know if he was expecting me to say that ‘I’m better now, thanks for asking’, but I’m not… I’m getting there.

My father is a Muslim, he believes in Allah. He’s worried that I’m putting my faith in a therapist, a fallible human being, and I think he would rather see me put my faith in God. ‘You’re thinking too much’ he said, ‘just say Bismillah’, meaning ‘in the name of Allah’. It’s a contraction of the Arabic phrase Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim meaning ‘In the name of Allah, most gracious, most compassionate". Muslims say this phrase when embarking on any significant endeavour and the English translation does it no justice. To return it back to its poetic origins, a fairer translation might be to say ‘With every breath that we breathe, may we be act on behalf of the Divine Presence, the Source of all that we receive’.

Faith, for me is a leap into the dark with the belief that God is there waiting to catch you. I don’t have that kind of faith. I don’t follow my father’s God. As much as my parents have done their best to bring me up as a Muslim, all I’ve gained from it is the ability to speak words in a foreign language without knowledge of their meaning. I am separated from them both by language and religion. What I gained from my parents in terms of moral guidance, I gained because of who they are and because they are good people. I think they’d have passed that on regardless of the religion they were born into.

There is an Indian Ocean between my experiences of depression and my parents’ understanding of it. In a way I have helped to create it by concealing my depression from them. I know I’m hungry for a world with more understanding… but I think I recognise that will take time; I don’t expect it of my parents. All I ask of them is kindness. Kind words and acts are great healers; I think we’ve all felt their power.

My father’s perspective is that I never had to be conscious of how to walk in order to walk, and in the same way I don’t need to be conscious of how I think and feel. He believes that by placing a spotlight on the processes that bring about thoughts and feelings I’m creating rather than curing the problem. I’m guessing that if he knew and understood the phrase ‘navel gazing’, it would have been levelled at me by now. Whether he realises it or not, he’s challenging my learning from therapy, and suggesting I substitute it with faith.

By contrast, I don’t see myself as able to walk effortlessly: I’ve suffered a crash and I’m learning to walk again… it takes effort. I haven’t faith in my therapist, it is not belief I have in her. I’ve worked with Judy before, she helped, I’m working with her again; chances are it will help again. I’ll keep writing… I hope he will read something of what I write; I hope that it will build understanding between us.

I love you dad. x