I was always struck and often astonished at Hayra’s gritty engagement with the difficult side of the spiritual path and the encounter with the scruffy and “un-elevated” within herself and all of us. She modeled a courage and trust-in-the-process that I admired and loved. She is sorely missed.
I think of Hayra very often even after many years since her passing. She was always smiling and had great optimism even dealing with health issues. I loved her enthusiasm and humor. For me, she may be gone from the body but surely not forgotten. I honor the great soul she is.
I am shocked to hear that Hayra has gone – I didn’t know.
She and I worked on a correspondence course together. It was a way of encouraging people in isolated areas to read the message volumes. We had a very simplistic approach bu we received some quite positive feedback! She had a great deal of enthusiasm….
I didn’t go into the Sufi Healing order website looking for a friend. I was just led by the hand of God, one might say. On the website, they were inviting people to share their life experiences. This was the year 2002. I hesitated; I was aware of the dangers of talking to people on the Internet. But this was a website I trusted. I didn’t know why I felt like contacting her. Maybe I was desperate to have a friend, desperate for someone who would understand me and what I was going through. I didn’t know whom I was writing to; I didn’t know what the consequences would be. With my heart beating, I hit the send button. Perhaps I won’t get a reply, I thought…
But a reply came the very next day. It was from Hayra. I felt that perhaps I am burdening her with my troubles. But she said that she wanted to listen to all I had to say. “If you don’t tell me, how would I know?” she asked. She’d write to me everyday. She said, “Dear, the only time I won’t reply is when I am on a retreat or when I am dead.” Even when she was moving into a new home, she wrote to me sitting amidst “chaos” as she described her surroundings.
She was writing from Oregon. She had a family: A husband and two boys. One of her sons was just being sent to Afghanistan as a soldier. The other one was sixteen, begging his mom to let him drive the car and she said that she wasn’t so sure about that. I found out that she was a teacher and that she loved Rumi’s poetry. She wrote to me, “Rumi says, ‘Moonlight can’t come in through the door, it comes in through the window’.” Hayra came as moonlight for me.
We talked about so many things. I wasn’t afraid to tell her anything. She would listen to me without judging me. She broke so many “concepts” in my mind that were holding me a prisoner at that time. I was in a difficult situation and I was struggling; she taught me that things would not change until I take a stand. When I said that I am afraid of opposition, she said, “Meherene, the door that you are knocking is already open!” I didn’t understand that at that time. I said that I wished for peace, for love. She said gently, “peace doesn’t come from wishing; to get peace you have to become peace; to get love you have to become love.”
I still look at Hayra’s past e-mails sometimes, when I am feeling very down. I read them and they lift me up instantly. When I first sent her my picture by regular mail, she said she felt like a kid at Christmas, opening a gift. She saw in me what I couldn’t see in myself – ‘a blossoming flower’ as she described me. Hayra suddenly stopped writing to me after sending me a brief mail that she was very ill and that she cannot write to me anymore, as she is not able to use her hand. I waited for her mail. Little did I know that she was in the hospital breathing her last; she had cancer. She had written to me until she couldn’t write anymore! A few days later, I received a brief mail from a dear Sufi friend who forwarded a mail from her family that Hayra had died peacefully, with Zikr on her lips.
She had come to me in time of my need, as a hen would come running to its chick, covering me with her heart and wings. She used to call me her “sacred trust.” I never got to meet her in person nor hear her voice either. I just have a picture of her, which I would like to share today on the anniversary of her passing. This is my friend Hayra. A loving friend was she…
I was always struck and often astonished at Hayra’s gritty engagement with the difficult side of the spiritual path and the encounter with the scruffy and “un-elevated” within herself and all of us. She modeled a courage and trust-in-the-process that I admired and loved. She is sorely missed.
I think of Hayra very often even after many years since her passing. She was always smiling and had great optimism even dealing with health issues. I loved her enthusiasm and humor. For me, she may be gone from the body but surely not forgotten. I honor the great soul she is.
Dear Hayra, was the way to my heart and Sufism.
For me she is as alive today as ever.
May her memory be blessed
I am shocked to hear that Hayra has gone – I didn’t know.
She and I worked on a correspondence course together. It was a way of encouraging people in isolated areas to read the message volumes. We had a very simplistic approach bu we received some quite positive feedback! She had a great deal of enthusiasm….
November 22nd, 2017
I didn’t know….
I didn’t go into the Sufi Healing order website looking for a friend. I was just led by the hand of God, one might say. On the website, they were inviting people to share their life experiences. This was the year 2002. I hesitated; I was aware of the dangers of talking to people on the Internet. But this was a website I trusted. I didn’t know why I felt like contacting her. Maybe I was desperate to have a friend, desperate for someone who would understand me and what I was going through. I didn’t know whom I was writing to; I didn’t know what the consequences would be. With my heart beating, I hit the send button. Perhaps I won’t get a reply, I thought…
But a reply came the very next day. It was from Hayra. I felt that perhaps I am burdening her with my troubles. But she said that she wanted to listen to all I had to say. “If you don’t tell me, how would I know?” she asked. She’d write to me everyday. She said, “Dear, the only time I won’t reply is when I am on a retreat or when I am dead.” Even when she was moving into a new home, she wrote to me sitting amidst “chaos” as she described her surroundings.
She was writing from Oregon. She had a family: A husband and two boys. One of her sons was just being sent to Afghanistan as a soldier. The other one was sixteen, begging his mom to let him drive the car and she said that she wasn’t so sure about that. I found out that she was a teacher and that she loved Rumi’s poetry. She wrote to me, “Rumi says, ‘Moonlight can’t come in through the door, it comes in through the window’.” Hayra came as moonlight for me.
We talked about so many things. I wasn’t afraid to tell her anything. She would listen to me without judging me. She broke so many “concepts” in my mind that were holding me a prisoner at that time. I was in a difficult situation and I was struggling; she taught me that things would not change until I take a stand. When I said that I am afraid of opposition, she said, “Meherene, the door that you are knocking is already open!” I didn’t understand that at that time. I said that I wished for peace, for love. She said gently, “peace doesn’t come from wishing; to get peace you have to become peace; to get love you have to become love.”
I still look at Hayra’s past e-mails sometimes, when I am feeling very down. I read them and they lift me up instantly. When I first sent her my picture by regular mail, she said she felt like a kid at Christmas, opening a gift. She saw in me what I couldn’t see in myself – ‘a blossoming flower’ as she described me. Hayra suddenly stopped writing to me after sending me a brief mail that she was very ill and that she cannot write to me anymore, as she is not able to use her hand. I waited for her mail. Little did I know that she was in the hospital breathing her last; she had cancer. She had written to me until she couldn’t write anymore! A few days later, I received a brief mail from a dear Sufi friend who forwarded a mail from her family that Hayra had died peacefully, with Zikr on her lips.
She had come to me in time of my need, as a hen would come running to its chick, covering me with her heart and wings. She used to call me her “sacred trust.” I never got to meet her in person nor hear her voice either. I just have a picture of her, which I would like to share today on the anniversary of her passing. This is my friend Hayra. A loving friend was she…
Qalbi Meherene Sami