- in the name of Allah -
Sometimes to my being I can find no rhyme or reason, no obvious explanation or even covert meaning, things fall into and out of focus - a slipstream of semi-consciousness without end or observability. What are my fears that are consuming me from within, that prevent my growth and leave me subject to wind and whim? My job is not yet found, my soul seems left to wander, hating a world so full of contradictions, beauty and ugliness, love and hate, barely peace but plentiful war, selflessness but overflowing selfishness, demands of others yet none else's rights fulfilled, where ends this madness that's so deeply instilled? I think this is why I was so reclusive in the past, why I'd use to rather spend weeks on end, seeking in my imagination, where so easily I could tell foe from friend. In the "real" world, people's fallacies become just that much stronger and well-founded, they tell themselves their lies so often they are as illusions but compounded. How can I exist in such a world? Lies are hateful, treachery despised, scratching and clawing for material gain seen as more harmful than good, where do their paths lead them? I must fall in line, or so I think, and become a cog in that chain, seeking my little slice of pie, ready on the dime to fall or feign for another's deign. I am my own clown, my own puppet, barely able to dance to my own tune, how then could it sound right for me to sing a thing so untrue? I swear, the incongruities between myself and life only seem to grow with each passing day, as bills and material concerns press their hold upon my fray. People taste wealth, then they go mad over keeping it and gaining more and more, is this the road for me I want in store? The only care I've ever cherished, the thing most ever lasting, is a path to Jannah, with everything else but a window shop in glancing. Do you know what's there? What lies in wait in those gardens?: Endless shade, endless pasture, limitless contentment, limitless rapture; who could ever choose against such a trade, only by giving up so little to their only Master? I think I seek that spiritual path, but this world demands me of its materialism, caught between in rift not quite at all forgiving. Imagine then that I'd love my wife, want to give her all of good and nice, but how would I such a path go on, were it not on paper dollars drawn? How many women in the world, need less fortune, need less fame, to seek a path to spirituality plain? My reservations are plenty, my ambitions few, I stumble along this winding road, unsure of what I truly need not do.