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I went to Burning Man this year, and a friend asked me if Burning Man is like the Hajj. Burning Man is a silly, sexy, silky, artsy and intoxicated good time. I have never been to the Hajj, but I can safely say that the Hajj is none of those things. Of course, they probably do have a million things in common too. I have story to share that muddies this question even further.


One evening I pulled up a lawn chair to watch the sun go down over the desert at Burning Man. My new French campsite neighbor pulled up a chair next to me, and we quietly watched the sweet insanity of mankind pass us by in orange slow motion.


My eyes followed a man peddling his bike. The bike was pulling a cart with a large stuffed bear sitting in it. Nothing exciting. Then my eyes spotted a smaller cart with a small bear tied to the bigger cart. And another, and another. Soon there was a whole string of little carts with little bears in them, with the last bear barely hanging on. I don't know why that made us laugh so much.


"What do you make of all this, Mamamouchi?" I asked him after another prolonged silence. "I love it. I hate it" he said. "Some stuff is pure magic, and some stuff is very cool". He used the word "cool" with complete disdain and contempt as if it were household mildew. "Yeah, I'm done with cool" I was forced to agree. "But, let's go find some magic, and be back for dinner."


He followed me as we meandered over to a large fire pit near our camp. A young woman was posing in front of it, as her friend took pictures. There was something very deliberate and ceremonial about their actions. I thrust my water bottle towards her face and announced "Hello, my name is Jawad and I am with the Al-Jazeera network. Would you please tell our worldwide audience what is going on here." I pointed to the silly Al Jazeera t-shirt I was wearing. The Frenchman held out his arms as if to part an imaginary crowd and make room for an imaginary TV camera. I had just met him the day before. I found his smart-ass humor to be very Lahori, and we had become instant friends.


The young woman laughed shyly at my question and introduced herself. She seemed stumped by my question. "It's a cable news network in the Middle East," I clarified. "I know what Al Jazeera is, silly," she laughed some more, and after another pause she gently tapped the bottle with her fingertip as if to make sure that the imaginary sound system was on.


"Dear world, here is my story" she started, gently leaning into the "microphone".


"Last time I came here was four years ago. On the Sunday night, just like tonight, before the big fires went up, my partner asked me to marry him. I loved him deeply, but I did not say "yes". I had fears about him, and about commitment and compatibility. I feared my own inability to be a good mom and wife. They were just fears; that's all. We were young, but he was determined to settle down and start a family."


"Our relationship did not last very long after that. All this time, I have carried these fears and regrets and questions about my confidence. So here I am."


There was something sweetly honest and matter of fact about how she went on. She made no play for sympathy or attention.


"I found this wedding dress one day and it made me decide to come back. I have been wearing it around all day, and people have been asking me if they can write on it with their own thoughts about fears, regrets, relationships and whatever else. There are some beautiful words on it; both sad and hopeful. The day has come to take it off and throw it in the fire and be done. Thank you so much, you guys."


I don't know what she thanked us for. The dress landed in the corner of the fire pit in one graceful motion. A tiny wave of humility passed over us, and suddenly the Frenchman and I were not a pair of wise asses any more. I put my water bottle down, and picked up a burning 2-by-3 stick out of the fire. I used it to gently fold the dress and nudge it closer to the flames. The Frenchman followed my lead with his own burning stick. We looked like a pair of solemn priests at some pagan funeral.


The young woman briefly closed her eyes, perhaps to say a short silent prayer. The Frenchman said "Allaho Akbar" of all things. The words sounded strangely appropriate and sacred, instead of clever and hip. I thought of one beautiful woman myself, and wrote a few imaginary words of my own on the burning dress in cursive Urdu script.


The young woman gave a long soulful hug to her friend, and they took some more pictures. She thanked us again, and magically produced two elaborate hand made gifts from her tiny handbag. She claimed that she had made them just for us. My friend and I walked back to our lawn chairs, and sat there in silence clutching our new trophies. "Magic. Do they have that in Islam?" he asked after another long silence. "No, they don't" I lied with authority, like every man before me.

~ by Jawad Ali - Founder of MuslimWakeup.com