- in the name of Allah -


echoes of days past chase back the skeletons and cobwebs, erasing nightmares while cruising down freeways just top less, contradictions pile on till the end of oblivion, suns shine from horizons without witnesses to witness them, breath held for the cold dampness creeping slowly in, minds thought firm seconds ago creak and crack from emptiness and lack of vision, memories soon to be lost give way to desert sands, oases to senses appealing but as deceptive as a crook's hand, desperate when its fence fled to better lands and left for him the better of two halves, so what does such a man have left to lose except his only chance, at vengeance or escape or remaking his broken plans, alas, trees signal water signal life so the wandering nomad, with the wind at his back to carry the words from lips a little farther passed, yells for whatever lay beyond the dunes, whether it be monies or honeys or life-extending runes, discarding the road behind as he wished to become reformed and refined, emotions fled from grasp as gold dust by vacuum of space given flight, my pull is weak and my mass too minimal, gravitation is for heavenly bodies, not for mortals dreaming of infinity and existence perpetual.

- in the name of Allah -

~
If only whores were Hurs, they'd be beautiful and pure, wishful thinking to brighten skies otherwise rainy and obscure. What man would love not the chance to hold in his glance, a scent to set passions ablaze, eternally free from frivolous sin or guilt, the perfect reward I might say for an end to life's maze? Why do I, one might ask, have my thoughts linger in such directions, when reality abounds and beckons, holding a person down with merciless reckon? It's been said this is our prison, our cage to wander till death answers the bell and our souls give in. How can one tied down, surrounded by incessant stress and frowns, not seek to find a cave in the clouds? Imagine being addressed by angels of incalculable wings, stretching from where one horizon ends to where another begins, all the while catching the gaze of the most beautiful women ever made. It hurts my brain to try to fathom, a time or place where such thoughts wouldn't by sin be unraveled, a perfectly delectable chocolaty cheesecake, without calories, fully edible with no possible regrets to its happening.

While I hate and fear the thought of falling down to Hell, of failing my self in front of my Lord when it matters most, I can say in earnest I'd love more to earn His pleasure and find Him as I expect to be, the perfect Host. I couldn't be less worthy, or more treacherous, than if a leper today claimed he saw Jesus at his deathbed, cured of all ailments, except what was wrong with his heart and his head. My soul betrays me more often than I care to remember, recollecting the times I'd wished to be free yet still breaths were held inside for me to breathe. Even with overt and sometimes honest intentions, wandering seems inevitable for nomads, and I can find in myself to this rule no exception.

And so, because of all of this, despite how straight the path is I wish to tread, despite overlooking the ditches, sometimes even falling head long off of (hopefully short) cliffs...that I dream the dream of kings, but without the taint of power or riches, just gifts gifted aplenty without recompense but simply endless. Rewards so enticing yet pure, incorruptible by lust, firmly entrenched by modesty and everlasting in bliss, all thoughts of imagination secure, lifted by a prayer I'd give to have for me my own Hur.
~

- in the name of Allah -


Alhamdulillah, I got the chance to talk to the friend referenced in my last post. We levelled things out, and eventually I could find nothing at fault in his observations. If I see a blue colored fish and I call it a different shade, am I wrong for calling it as I see it? I do not think that is the case, so what's done is done, and iA we both move forward with better understanding.

In other news, my dream machine PC is finally finis. The OS finally got activated, after some hassle with the product key (why a new, legit key would have issues is anyone's guess). It looks so awesome just sitting there, now I wonder what I'll use it for lol, games?!, but surely there's something out there, more productive, that could use all those gigs of RAM and giga's of CPU hertz. It's all good. I find lots of gratification in simply being a collector sometimes, even if that which is collected is not often used. Can it not exist or be held simply for the sake of what it is, without being tied to purpose? Just a reflection of my persona there.

I've been thinking of writing something entitled "This World and I":

a wisp on the wind; a leaf blowing away while the cold forces its way in,
carried aloft while flapping its wings; dreams, nearly lost, starved and paper thin;
paths they've tarried seem not like ones I can follow, ambitions they have seem
to me but foreign and hollow; loving the dollars and cents, grasping for power and
pence; my hold on this ground is tenuous at best, any moment its liable to give way
letting me be free of its gravity and at last finding of rest; I don't have the internal
flicker or frenzy, to prize myself for honor or respect to eyes not of mine directly;
my naysayers may say nay till they've reached their death beds, their words were
only ever echos from places unpaved, apparitions of coffins left unclosed; alas,
this understanding leaves me little company, outside of culture and a stranger to
society; I might reach here and there for someone to understand me, but too
often those attempts remain doors shut, holding par in the stead of tragedy; really
I find it to be about wavelength, never finding another one with the same strength,
hitting or missing, games of Russian roulette going on in the head; fortunately for me,
games they remain, never costing me an arm or leg, but simply a heart I can only
pay willingly; it is the price of admission after all, one can never be half-cocked or
stand half-tall; inevitably, my orbs turn to the future, a future I can't imagine,
studded with beauty and happiness at levels I can't quite fathom; a Hur, perhaps,
one I might toast with a wine hitherto unknown, delicious and peerless, beheld by
one with a glow, laced in silk, a sight befitting of thrones; such is the road painted by
my imagination, a thing this world could never offer without being strangled in
limitation; conformity is all they ask, a gift I can never give, enormous is its price,
when all I long for is without fetters to live.

- in the name of Allah -

Alhamdulillah, a new year has begun. As one might expect, as time passes, change becomes inevitable so it is usually better to embrace it and ready for it, than to spend a lifetime fighting it. Of course, keeping those changes for the better is always recommended.

Something that happened recently has been causing me some consternation, so I figure once I allow form to those thoughts, a solution might arise.

While having a deep conversation with a good friend of mine, he used puzzling terminology to describe some of my past behaviors. For reference, there have been times where we got into heated discussions about various topics, whether philosophical or practical, and I became so emotional that I would cease speaking of it. However, the weight of the topic would be so great, that I would resort to writing out my thoughts, as I am doing here, in order to properly convey my point/message. He could never understand why I was unable to simply give voice to those thoughts directly, why I could not just come out and say them to him. My answer was that I found the situation too infuriating/frustrating to speak coherently enough in such a state. I felt communication like that would be futile on my part.

His reply to that was that he thought my behavior resembled that of a woman, as no male person he knew had ever behaved in such a way.To truly grasp his sentiment, one would have to know that the friend in question was a relative isolationist, a self-professed "Vulcan" who had suppressed his emotions pretty much altogether from around high school onward (he is of a similar age, currently mid-late 20's). While offended by the unintended insult, I found it amusing that someone who inherently had such small emotional/empathetic capacity, would feel compelled to describe someone else that way. If I have a doctorate in physics, can I presume to tell someone who has a doctorate in medicine that his diagnosis of a patient is abnormal? Where does the "right" to speak on/from a completely different subject/background come from? Could a "Vulcan" have similar emotional capacities as a "Betazoid"? If not, and that would be logical to assume, then how in the hell can this "Vulcan" feel his notion of the "Betazoid"'s actions is even remotely plausible? I hope the frustration can be sensed through my words here, right in between the lines.

It should be noted that I know people, especially these days, love to speak on topics about which they know nothing or have little understanding/empathy for. However, one should feel safe in assuming that such ignorance from very close friends is something to be free of. Too much to expect? Probably; it is not something I am sure can solved quite so easily. At times these difficulties in bridging the gulf between my friend and I seem to bring into question the friendship itself. How important are commonalities in human relationships? Are they overstated or understated?

- in the name of Allah -

Been a short while since my last posting, seems like forever as usual. As one my expect, I approach crossroads almost daily, sometimes making deals (a la Supernatural) and sometimes failing. I can't help but rhyme even when its sense is waning...ahhh, all of this is rhyming lol. t_t

The following is a something collected from about a month ago, and finished up just now. I need thoughts and prayers from everyone, please! May Allah reward all who do so with better, ameen.

(untitled)

These are the times, these are the ways, when vanities fall and get caught in the shade.

Aftermath after the fact, divisible indeed by 0 though it tramples on math,

Past the numbers and nature’s laws, I’m stuck in the teeth of a timeless tiger’s jaws.

Evident, inescapable, inevitable: “fate”, a spidery thread, woven in waves interminable,

An excuse, at times, for mistakes and inadequacies, misunderstandings and overstated fallacies.

Having its wings have broken and caved, which road follows the moth in order to be saved?

After all, there are so many candles, so many flames, burning brightly, promises of burial in suede,

Almost as if in its ending, life would carry more options & choices than its beginning.

Surprised I’m not, but cynics typically aren’t, still holding ideals while their antithesis remains apparent.

Please then consider, how the world is all a-twitter, a-bound and abased in spite all its glitter,

Futures of minerals and mammals on markets exchanged, taking guarantees from tomorrow for today,

One rich man’s life becomes worth a million of poor, after collateral damage the total is just a bit more.

…

I wish I could blame all of this infamy on my birth, but without all those choices I made, I’d remain just a drop of semen falling to earth. From dust I was made, and to dust my bones return, where my end is I can only hope, just wishing the path there wasn’t so damned absurd.

/end

- in the name of Allah -

Strange times, these, when the mind can see paths clear as day and every thing, every piece of the puzzle of life falls right into place. No, my dunya is not settled; no, my wife is not found; no, my career has not materialized; no, I have not discerned the next step for me to take. Yet, what is this clarity I can speak of, if none of these are not on that path?

I think I have approached some irrefutable truths in life, truths I had not known before, but are critical in order for me to continue my progression in life.

Firstly: sometimes the brightest lights can only be seen from the darkest of depths. We cannot appreciate what tawakkul means until we are (or see a point) far removed from it. What is "tawakkul"? It is the Arabic term for 'reliance unto God', in all affairs. It is a sacred trust, that the believing servant invokes with He Who created him. I have difficulty imagining that I have the ability to affect every single change or wish in life - rather, this is frankly impossible. I do not possess neither the power or faculty for that. If I cannot do everything for myself, shouldn't I have a source of reliance, wherewith to place all of my fears and insecurities and wonderings? I could not have it any other way, and I find it unimaginable that there exist people in life who live as though they rule the ground on which they walk. Surely, that very same earth beneath their feet might not crumble or quake or explode in volcanic fury, right? Guarantees they have against it I'm sure; delusional, to say the least. Once we internalize the whole of our weakness, is when we can begin to find strength in reliance.

Secondly: There is the rope of Allah, and then there is the chain of the shayateen (devils). A rope is generally made as a means of assistance, carrying things, and pulling them up. A chain is generally made as a means of restriction, punishment in limiting one's freedom and mobility. Interestingly, a rope can also choke whereas a chain can also give lift in times of need. The parallels are chilling once I thought about it. Either one has a rope connected to Allah, or one is bound by a chain to a shaytan. The key is not to confuse one with the other, and not fall into any extremes which might lead to being bound by that which was supposed to save. How can one know which is which? If it leads you back to God, it is the rope; if it leads you back to yourself, then it is the chain. By leading back to yourself, I mean essentially that it serves its purpose by being a means of fulfilling its own wishes, vanities, whims. Even more interestingly, chains can be very well adorned, such as with jewelry and the like, so they may appear attractive and worthy of the wearer. Alas, they would not be, just fool's gold and a desert's mirage. Either you are reminded of your own subservience to God, or you are reminded of your own ego, slave to either the Creator or your own nafs/id. Sometimes a chain is not evident until it is too late, and it has wrapped itself around its wielder tightly at the time of death. Thought to be a source of pride and dignity in the face of men, it would be just a cement block dragging one down to the deepest depths. Conversely, a rope can easily cause burns if it moves too fast, or become a noose should extremes be approached. Unlike chains, ropes are generally not fanciful, and are unadorned with anything pleasing at first glance. Still, its long-term utility is far more preferable than the inevitable imprisonment offered by the chain.

iA, my words haven't obfuscated the meaning and message I intended.

- in the name of Allah -


I have yet it seems to solve the mysteries of my being. Instead of going outward and seeking answers, I've lately just enforced a no-fly zone around my life, trying to keep all the dissonant forces out. Needless to say, this kind of embargo can't work and definitely can't last. Ironic as it seems, I yearn to be with and around people as I ever have, so this epoch does not appear to be as past ones, where isolation was sought for the sake of isolation.

How do people resolve their differences with life? How I wish to live and let live, is not something found often or ever in this life, and the few times I have tried assimilating, it has seemed almost a borg-like invasion of myself by every worldly impression trying to remove my identity and stamp its own in my place. I am definitely from this life, there are many I love and who ground me here, yet for all of that, I feel like I have never belonged in a time, a place, such as I do now. Before I might have said I felt I belonged to the most perfect of places, Jannah, but now I know with certainty that I'm far beneath such stature.

How much should people compromise with life, with their peers and bosses, to find that balance between self-expression and external structure? How many 'harsh realities' do we allow to substitute for our own ideals? How long do we hold on to these ideals, though like the rope mentioned in this blog's title, it might burn the hands of its holder?

One of my primary wishes out of life used to be finding a wife and being married. After a handful of failed attempts at this, and watching numerous other marriages either suffer or fall victim to gross inequity, I wonder just how far gone 'marriage' has become in society these days. Is it a toy, with which we play upon choosing, letting go when bored or found difficult? Of course, this is hateful to me. I still only wish to be married for me, not for any other reason. Alas, fathers of many a daughter see this singular desire as inadequate in securing their daughters' futures. The fact that such a logical, understandable objection on their part leads me further down into my foxhole of perceived rebellion and dissonance from the norm does not give cause for any celebration. I should be able to empathize with their position, to take the mantle of provider and guardian with gusto. Yet, I feel those positions of theirs are reinforcements of the very ideological constraints I hate and feel are uselessly imposed by weak, timid minds fearing the worst and unwilling to give time for hope to blossom. Should we have all the answers before we go for a test, or must those answers at times be found on the spot? Why do people insist on living in their own realities when it comes to their personal actions (and reactions), yet when spoken to plainly would champion causes of self-determination and manifest destiny?

I think I understand the rationale, but I do not yet accept it. Reasons as to how and why I should will always be appreciated.


~~~

Clouds and their rain, tears streaming down my mind's face, epically entrained, imagined beyond time or space,
rules just golden lances, pretty but of emotion hapless,
burst these bubbles, slowly let drift,
foam of oceans, count the short shrift,
questions abound in every eddy, answers arrive as typhoons aplenty,
the best road at treacherous depth, wisdom's pearls long safely kept,
drown or wallow, risk in both of waters deep and shallow,
truths buried perhaps too far beneath, praying for a soul not far out of reach.

- in the name of Allah -

Been fighting over and over the same battles, so long that I thought I'd finally had them all handled, fooled I was, trodden and close to trampled, but look around - take a sample: all from the basic formulas that just keep on slipping through the cracks, in my fingers and hands, the gist of it all to make rights from wrongs and realities of dreams. How many times will I think I've figured me and this life all out, before come these thunderstorms to drown surety all away with doubt? Even as I fight time's passing in my own mind by thinking I have some left, the hourglass tips backward, broken, bereft, the grains being blown away by ideals unkept. I'm a fool, naive, thinking still to hold my own against society, against communal forces that shrink and shrivel persona until it bleeds the same colors and wears the same sleeves. Who am I, what is me, that dares make bold claims, thinking truth and what people need to hear are one and the same? How many fallacies will I have tripped over before I can finally see, discerning in this shrouded path my destiny?

My only company remains, prayers and pleas, eternally unchanged: to save others but also for myself to be saved, to gather hope in a jar and keep it from thieves and assassins afar, to hold tight and near my beloved and friends and parry for them all worse intent, that no matter how far I stray from the Straight Path my Rabb has both my hand and my back, carrying me when I can only falter and granting me roof when I've shunned all shelter, ameen...ameen...ameen.

- in the name of Allah -

Overcast skies, burdened with rain, not yet falling but imminent any day, cloudy but promising, wondering how long and which way. Some threads I've held on to since my beginning, slowly shrinking, disintegrating, the anti-matter of reality with its penetrating beams of 'be-like-me-or-perish' - a fallacy at best to be sure, but unquestionably for now a perilous cancer to me without cure. Glass houses, idealism at its finest, crashing and collapsing every so often, soon I'll be without any molten base material to make more and be left houseless and mentally dampened.

I dislike pessimists, yet falling into such traps is a perfect devil's hampering. Caught in my own webs of personal conceit, unable to find a mirror for the life of me, wondering if I'm now villain or hero or beast, where's the U-turn on this remote to rewind these crumbling scenes? I want to muster love but can find no object, having always searched for someone to carry and fill my other half since the time I started without regrets. Speaking of which, they're (those regrets) are piling up high now, asking their own questions, poking and prodding, chasing after my potential lost without will to protect or invest in.

I need prayers and a fresh rope, one not nearly burned out, but full of light and hope, not shrouding in darkness or becoming even remotely heartless, but vibrant and strong enough to lead me past these times into a death worthy of life and purpose.

- in the name of Allah -

As a sort of addendum to my last posting, my battle against the force of me that leans toward daylight and the force that leans toward nighttime continues (guess which I'm referring to, should be obvious I think). Having chosen night shifts as my main time of work is not really helping matters. I am truly in a state of flux and confusion.

Cracks, seams, sieves, slowly opening up things that bleed, arteries and veins, letting precious drops of life slowly leave. Where are my bandages whereby I may stop those silent thieves, disguised as advisers but apparent as deceivers and covert contrivers. My path is obvious but thorny, my vision shaken and my mind dulled and confused, the narcotic of allure continues its drip despite all my efforts to stem its melodic rhetoric. My guard lulled to sleep, my sense of day put to sloth, tiny little devils creep inside and leave easter eggs to find for me. People tell me I can control this, that I can choose when to rise or when to take rest, but what of the test when the body betrays the soul and goes off on its own? Likewise, when alert and awake, my soul does what it wills without contest, regarding not the duty to its flesh, fleeting ambitions of flames not worth even mention by name. My greatest enemy yet I fear is still me, illusions trapped in solidified crystal, deemed to be immaterially superior and still beneficial. If and when my illusions shatter, how would their matter be put back together finding form from whence they'd scattered? Without a shadow's doubt, all I will have, as I ever did, is my Rabb's grace holding my good in place, while slowly the worst and most evil is drained away. Here's to praying these fires are cathartic and blessings only felt painful but definitely helping and need-fulfilling. Ameen...