- in the name of Allah -

I haven't written so 'frequently' in a very long time, more than I can remember. Why am I back here again? Well, I don't really know. Fate has granted me yet another twist in what is already perhaps one of the strangest novels of truth ever pre-written.

It isn't as if I had concocted hope from a kettle of remote possibility, but it was merely the aroma of of 'maybe', the links of commonality that created more intrigue than need for caution. It was nice to have. Where is it now? I'm not sure, but I am not far from where I began. My gut experiences a twinge of sorrow, an upheaval of infinitesimal dismay that over time I've come to regard as reality's herald. For one such as me, a nomad trying to find his way in life, there are few roads made of concrete, most are paved with dreams. It is, perhaps simply, not my in destiny to follow each and every dream that graces my conscience, but that may be wherein the beauty lies: I can know of a thing, become familiar with its core, and ultimately find a medium of laissez faire where it is better to see than to touch.

I am not fated to have (for now) that which may reach my soul so easily, that which moves me as Allah's will moves mountains - as easily as dust blown by wind. Many fronts and angles and directions appear to me, each wanting its own private audience; on one hand is rebellious defiance, preaching its discourse of near anarchy from every constraining fiber of my being; on another hand is a temperate breeze, who nods in wisdom at the coming of such an event and knows that the only path to take is the one that goes forward with self-moderation; and there are other hands, some of Satan, some of angelic origin, that propel me this way or that. But like all nomads, I have only to keep with the wind as it sails, away from one typhoon into the arms of another.


- in the name of Allah -

my being, my trail

if I think therefore I am, then if I think often, do I become more than what I was before? if my mass remains unchanged, and the chemical reactions balanced, how does my neural net defy the laws of matter, and lead to growth when nothing else has lessened? in this galaxy of ours are planets diversified, each of different composition, each of different lives. how would a comet find a direction in which to lean? would it be simply an issue of gravitating to the largest sphere, or would it try to choose another path, with an end not so clear? would it follow the path of most comets, and find its fate in fiery sun? perhaps a road might open, using its momentum, to carry it past the paths dull and ineffective, a refreshing take on an age-old question. I wonder of the trail that comet might leave, if it would tell the tale of an icy haven found, or an oven's sickly warm reprieve..


- in the name of Allah -

Time is one of the most treasured resources we have. It flies by without being noticed, but never does it complain that we never held it in good company or overlooked it while we 'lived' life away in blissful merriment. It watches and marches forward in silence during the moments we think have achieved nirvana...but still we have the very same obstacles as yesterday, our own selves. While our attention is so diverted to our own egos, time does not gripe about how we have not given it its due, it does not whine or resist when we bend its use into something less than pure or less than noble. So why do we take so little care of it? Why is it like the blue background of the sky on a sunny day, when we forget to stop and notice how serene the moment is?

People are inherently tumultuous. Even if they believe they have found their logical or moral banner under which to champion their colors, chaos is but a step outside those precious boundaries. What of it? If we cannot find our own boundaries for ourselves, if we cannot bridge the seams between our hopes and our daily lives, then the framework of who we are is bound to collapse some day.

Insanity is probably more common than statistics let on, as the underside of society has a multitude of outlets designed simply so that people may forget their problems and continue to exist despite the fact their lives has lost any meaning. I doubt that a drunken stupor really holds much place for dreams, and without that expression, just how much can be felt or seen that isn't as we would have it be?


- in the name of Allah -

Are we always destined to make the same mistakes over and over? Is life truly the circular path that we end up back again where we thought we started it all in the first place? I know, rhetorical questions don't really have a place in this day and age. Answers are like gold; everyone's searching for it but it's one of the most precious things that most people don't have.

Despite people reaching out to me, I resist. I do not necessarily pull back but there exists a void whose blanket of obscurity I cannot penetrate. This void is mainly defined as the future. I know not what it holds for me, but I find myself ever-desirous, as usual. What becomes of a time one hopes for, but to the moment he thinks of it, it is a time that remains elusive, hiding behind a corner appearing a million miles away? Do we retain optimism in times of hardship, or do we react as clams and shell up when the tides come again to change our paths in the sand one more time? I don't know which path is wiser, whether to be protected and yet have missed out on a chance, or risk the sleeve and possibly end up with a naked soul. My need for deen persists through my evolution, continually invoking its purpose in tranquility. I seem unable, however, to use that need for deen to mold my actions and emotions. Chance leads the 'next thing on the list of whenever', my schedule these days.

/ / /

falling while wishing to fly, paradoxical whims buttressed in reality's lie, careful weaves of letters no longer enable but only fetter the wave building within a soul full to brim with the idiotic nuances of holding the philosopher's stone - but tied to the ground, bound to the fate of a mortal, oh-so-human drone. too many needles in the haystack, I've lost blood before, hesitant to lose more hemoglobin, if I don't get that rush I fear I may perish still to oxygen malnutrition. there's a reason why I might speed driving the highways of life's intermittent disguises of distraction and badly-written surmises: speeds 100+ remind me of flying, from the top down or down up, it doesn't matter as the wind has my back even if I hiccup and my momentum staggers. free, free like the wind that isn't bound to the ground, but open and ever-expanding to fill the space of wherever it can reach. but I am not made of gas, but solid, molecules firmly entrenched into a pattern I've come to despise, wanting, wishing, always in the back of my mind, a thought to fly and leave this petty world behind..


- in the name of Allah -

Wow, it's been a month since I last posted here. Good thing someone reminded me to, or else it might've stretched out to 2 months and I could have possibly forgotten everything..but alas, I have not forgotten, so here I am.

While it is true that I am human and as such possess most of the typically human desires and ambitions, it also remains true that I made an oath when I was younger, far more naive and innocent. I had seen others grow up and develop questionable nuances to their personality, accept notions that, barring acceptance by others, they would have never accepted. I knew I would never want to be one of them. To be a common man, a plebeian who walked the path of everyone and repeated everything they said, I couldn't be. Whether it be arrogance, or fitrah, or presumptuousness, or the like, I have always held myself above those ideas and their practice.

So it remains that I walk, or at least foreshadow, my road in the clouds and a steady current forward. I should hope (and pray) that the road I am on does lead me to flounder, because it's so easy to release one's self from the constraints of heaven and so easily put on the reins of hell.

Among other mysteries, I wonder why some females are more inclined to bitchiness than others. Rudimentary manners should be a pre-requisite test for all women (and men) who want to be married, or imagine themselves to be in a position of being. Oh well, I guess not all people were created equally (or at least, end up that way).