The Conference of the Birds is a twelfth century epic poem written by Sheikh Farid ud-Din Attar. The poem is an allegory about the soul’s quest for meaning, and I felt its eternal messages reflected in the magnificent conversations held with my sisters of the 99 Clay Vessels workshops.

Each of these resilient women has experienced trial by fire, a transformative process she has weathered with immense poise. My sisters are all Seekers, and they are all firm believers in God’s grace. They wear their scars with dignity and generously share the wisdom gleaned from their journeys with those of us not as far along our own path of metamorphosis. Their voices echo many other amazing women in my life; a glorious sisterhood that I am honored to be a part of.

As I beheld the image in my mind’s eye of my sisters as a group of conferring butterflies, and the multitude of metaphors contained within that imagery, this poem was born. It is a humble tribute to a sisterhood bound by shared faith; I pray I do justice to their words.

conference of the butterflies

i love sitting in sacred spaces

surrounded by my sisters

a congregated cacophony of color

alighting like so many butterflies

luminous and wise

the souls of my sisters

radiate boundless grace

light upon light

conversation ebbs and flows

a heaving, moon tugged tide

lives in concentric cycles

contractions

my sisters speak in poetry

words from the hallowed place where the heart lives

exhalations are ribbons of misty colors

cosmic swirls

breaths of the Divine

*

we share

the suffering and the struggling of our souls

the tears our hearts weep as they are wrung

we rejoice

at the agony that catalyzes expansion

beyond anything

anything

anything

we could fathom for ourselves

we marvel

at the utter majesty of the verse:

we plan, and He plans, and He is the best of planners

and we live this truth

we behold

with surrender and awe

we worship

from the depths of our souls

while acknowledging our inadequacy:

we cannot fully praise You, for You are as You have praised Yourself!

*

we speak of birth and death

and the wrenching, tearing, exquisite pain of rebirth

we speak of hands

the beauty of our hands

the hands of our mothers

the hands of our grandmothers

uplifted in prayer, lowered in blessing

the hands that catch babies as they arrive

into this beautiful, terrifying world

that wash and shroud the dead

usher our elders past the veil

to their next life

where we all

must go

we speak of death approaching

imminent, inescapable

losing infinite horizons

relishing smallness

relinquishing delusions of grandeur

confronting immortality

a paradox:

discarding artifacts amassed

while inventorying ephemeral actions

what have we sent on ahead?

*

we share stories

swap confidences

they break my heart

i am struggling, still, always

angry, still, always

define trauma, i say

those with broken bones

clean breaks

bandaged stitches

they are the lucky ones.

and those of us

with ridges on our brains

sutures on our hearts

scar tissue on our memories

where do WE stand

in the inventory of the injured?

there is silence

my sister counters with a query:

suffering, she asks

is it when we have violated something about ourselves?

is it something you accept?

where does your agency lie?

we ponder

we are unanimous in this agreement:

without suffering, there can be

no shedding of the chrysalis

no metamorphosis

no learning to set boundaries

with our beautiful anger

a blessing, then

*

we talk of guilt and of shame

guilt: i did a terrible thing

shame: i am the terrible thing

and the integral, vital, difference between the two

we honor our younger selves

show compassion

hold space

give grace

forgive

grieve

*

we speak of our children

shards of our souls and yet sovereign beings

how we batter heaven with our prayers

the utter anguish of becoming spectators to journeys

the urge to swoop, and gather, and nestle

instinctive, unconscious, innate

my wise sister reminds us that

our children must incarnate the words

la illaha il Allah[i]

and live fi sabil Allah[ii]

neither worshipping us, nor their shame

but worshiping Him alone

her calm certainty is a beacon

i resolve to let go

and live the words tawakkul Allal lah[iii]

for His is the kingdom and the power and the glory

now and forever, amen

*

we speak of justice we will never see

until we stand in the court of

The Accounter

The Equitable

The Witness

The Judge

we exalt each other

to absolve our souls of the visceral need for retribution

to extinguish the primordial nafs[iv]

and wing to freedom

we believe each other on

we remember

healing is not a linear process

growth is not on a continuum

rather, they defy laws of physics and matter

to operate in a realm of personal transcendence

where the Wayfarer and the Beloved

must commune to set their own Path

a pact made in another realm

which we forget, and must learn anew

in spaces of ecstasy and terror

till we make our way

home

*

i stand

on the shoulders of

warrior women

to glimpse the promised land

my sisters elevate me

we are a tangle, an acrobatic structure

hands and wings and balancing feet

we whisper to each other as we

push

brace

uplift

“go forward, my sister, fly upward, beyond”

as we strive, we rise

we approach the lote-tree

utmost boundary of the heavens themselves

what we know is confirmed:

boundaries are a mirage

we are enfolded within

- droplets merge in Ocean -

home

*

[i] there is no god but God

[ii] for the sake of God

[iii] trusting in God’s plan

[iv] “self” – psyche, ego; in its unrefined state, the part of our soul that has base desires, appetites