Every year, like lunar-calendar clockwork, Muslims fast. They fast to remember their origins, to return to the self, and to see and be with God in the most fulfilling way. It’s a reminder, taught at childhood, to strengthen the muscle of gratitude. To seek the edges of kindness and compassion for humanity — to think of the poor, and thank God that you have what they don’t. To remember how fickle luck can be, and what a privilege it is to navigate the world with access.
There is a magic to the month, a potency that makes the air feel rife with majesty. The month of Ramadan — even though it constantly changes on the calendar — crosses many spiritual hurdles. It feels like a spiritual cleanse, it feels honest. And yet, Ramadan requires me to face my body.