make me into a temple

oh Lord,
how distant is your presence
locked up behind some altar
I cannot enter,
so far away I am
from witnessing your mysteries.
What place can I call holy?

oh Lord,
I am cut away from your sacraments.
What thing can I touch
and call sacred?

oh Lord,
all I have is my body, mind, and soul
and the world in which
you have emplaced me.

oh Lord,
make me into a temple
because I am a temple,
and I was always a temple,
oriented to your holy house.

~psalm #2, Queer Psaltikon

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Reflections on the 2014 LGBTQI Muslim Retreat

As a queer Muslim, I have often felt like a living contradiction of identities. Crashing into my burgeoning acceptance of my queer self were friends who saw it as their religious duty to explain to me how diametrically opposed this identity was to my Muslim self. In many ways, the Islamic spaces which were indispensable places of belonging for me–either with friends or at the mosque itself–had essentially ceased to be healthy environments (if they really ever had been), even though people had once accepted me with open arms when I converted.

This lost sense of community faded away as I became sucked into internal arguments with myself and external arguments with others in an attempt to legitimize my sexual orientation in light of my faith. The few friends who stood with me were beacons of hope and helpful conversation partners along this journey to figure out what being Muslim and queer meant to me.

This figuring out of seemingly contradictory identities–read: “reconciling”–was the mindset with which I attended 2014’s LGBTQ Muslim Retreat. Organized by the Muslim Alliance for Sexual and Gender Diversity (MASGD), it ran from May 23-26 over Labor Day weekend.

On the first day of the Retreat, I worded my intention this way: that I was there to listen to people’s stories. It was about learning about how others reconcile their various sexual and gender identities with their faith. I looked forward to these conversations in a safe, accepting, and welcoming space.

But the Retreat ended up being so much more.

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Night’s Journey Rage

I. The Raging Storm

I sometimes lie awake at night
Feeling the anger bubble up inside me
Like a growing storm
Sucking the life out of me
Like the atmosphere absorbs moisture
So that water transforms into darkness.
I want to cry out a torrential downpour
On every single person who wronged me,
Every single person who preached to me,
Who sat down with me and explained
Everything that was wrong with me,
And everything that was misguided
About my thinking.

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I hear you (σ’ακούω)

It happens sometimes
when I am convinced
of such wondrous proposals
that the stars’ burden is the heavens.

Or when a wave of air
comes rushing into my lungs
reflection upon a step I take,
or remembrance of the sun
which I happily find casting shadows
over my path.

It is sudden,
like a burst of light.
When all around me is illuminated by the flash
as if I was blind before.

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For an Aunt with Alzheimer’s

What is left of us when the mind goes?
Thia’s last years were spent with alzheimer’s
Which makes me wonder,
what part of those years were hers?
She forgot who we were, one by one.
And then she forgot how to feed herself.
But there were times when
she would recognize one of us,
sometimes she would romanticize
her husband’s blue eyes and
sometimes she would recognize
her sister, my yiayia, and the Greek she spoke.
And there was no agreement between them
to decide when or why she would speak Greek to her
only that when it happened
it preserved something English no longer did. Continue reading

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Queer Muslims and Our Human Dignity: An Open Letter to My Siblings in Islam


As much as I feel a sense of responsibility to speak up as a queer Muslim, I am less clear about how to go about my choice of words. Especially because my primary intention in this post is to address my fellow Muslims who are speaking about homosexuality and other forms of queerness who, I believe, are representative of the on-going un-mosque-ing of queer Muslims and the perpetuation of stigma around queer identities in Muslim communities.

I want my words to not only be spoken but also to be heard and understood. I want a language that you, my reader and sibling in Islam, will immediately understand. Something that allows, in some miraculous and perhaps even spiritual way, another Muslim human to understand exactly what is in my heart and mind.

Queer Catholic poet, Pádraig Ó’Tuama expresses it perfectly when, in a chance encounter with a sister in faith who asks “I heard you are gay now. Are you still a Christian?” to which Pádraig thinks to himself: “oh how shall we tell this story?

The concerned whispers in the mosque about a convert who now says he’s gay. How his gayness is a deviance from what Allah intended for him. Voices like eating donkey flesh, praying that he will see the error of his ways and repent, make tawbah, that is, return to the straight path.

And here I am, angry at words I hear and others I do not. And my own whispering–no, loud angry voices–yelling in my heart, adding up like so many black specks of sin, harboring anger that keeps me from forgiving them. Maybe they, who used to call me brother, akhi, will repent and love me again?

How shall we tell this story indeed. Where to begin? Where to end? And what ought to be said in between?

Maybe I ought to start where it hurts the most.

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Orthodoxy, Queer Identity, and the Need for Meaning

A few years ago I took a course on early Christian theology where I read On the Incarnation by St. Athanasius of Alexandria. It was interesting: contemporary with the Council of Nicaea it can be read as a kind of Christian manifesto on the meaning and purpose of the god-man, Jesus Christ.

As a convert to Islam, the discussion was personally relevant. It is in section 54 of this very book that I meet, once again, the epigram: “for he became man [ἐνηνθρώπησεν] that we might become divine [θεοποιηθῶμεν].”

Needless to say, it was the reason for my departure from the Orthodox Church and all the rest of Christianity for that matter. It was also the reason for St. Athanasius routinely being banished from Christian Alexandria. This was thanks to Arius, also in Egypt and a contemporary, who simply could not accept the radical belief that Jesus was divine. Athanasius would then go out into the desert and hang out with the monks (hence his biography of the paradigmatic monk, St. Anthony the Great) who presumably were the anointed caretakers of true Christian doctrine.

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