- in the name of Allah -
One of the most basic essential truths to life I have found is that knowledge carries with it an intrinsic weight. Knowledge is not free. Every grain has the implicit, underlying attribute of how will it be used: to bring about change, to be remembered or forgotten, to be for self-interests or selflessness, all of these are the building blocks which shape how knowledge will affect any particular person. It has the power to bring about positive as well as negative changes, which is maybe the most curious thing I have learned of it. On second thought, this shouldn't be cause for curiosity for me but rather a show of "obviously, duh": a gun in the hands of a criminal does not have the same effect as a gun in the hands of a police officer. The same tool in two different situations serves two very different purposes/implications. But that we can compare knowledge to a gun in any analogy and have it be true, is a disturbing thought. "Knowledge is power", indeed.
Maybe my previous naivete was due to my presupposed inclination to believe that all knowledge was thought of as in itself a good thing, in all situations and circumstances. This formed the basis of many social interactions I had with people where I'd say a specific truth, regardless of the outcomes and without the wisdom to ensure that the truth in question had found a proper home (or wouldn't). It is also true that there's a ton of things human beings learn as they grow older. I've now officially (as of some months back) hit my third decade of existence, so I feel somewhat like an elder statesman in many ways. As the occasion of every cosmic truth I come across happens, it seems to me like it should have been common sense to know this already, to have expected or at least anticipated this realization from any extrapolation of my past experiences. I should have seen it coming (or so I'd like to think). But knowledge of the future is a thing completely unknown to me, even as I try to understand directional flows and ebbs of my own self and all creation.
So where does this truth sit with me? How will I use it, will it find a proper home, within my soul, or will it precipitate my doom in various, partially unforeseeable, ways? Given some of the tumult I felt in the past few weeks, I might consider the latter. Part of the root of the pain I think is that, when it all boils down to the very last drop, there is only Allah I can discuss this issue with. There's no way for me to know, truly, how any human being would respond to truths like this, whether it might create difficulties and trials for them just as it has for me, maybe in worse or better ways I cannot be sure. I had bottled up my inability to accept some basic facets of existence, opposed in my core their very nature, and all I have to show for this struggle is the inevitable truth that, regardless how I may want otherwise, my own life continues and my soul persists on this plane. That continued existence is not even remotely an accomplishment, if at least we consider (and have always thought) that the taking of one's own life is never a real possibility, then maybe it is merely a non-negative. So, dragging onward through the muck of this self-created sandpit, there is Allah, again, with whom I can speak of this. Admittedly, I am unsure as to what to say. Aside from seeking forgiveness for sins, which is a generally always-fitting state of being, most of my questions seem to want to tap into a divine wisdom I may not have the capacity of grasping. Ironic isn't it? That the lens which seeks to see has not the eyes for its true objective. Still, I will continue to seek it, to try to know that which I do not, and perhaps somewhere down the line, Allah-willing, I can come to *know* the answers to all of these questions.
12.30.2015
12.24.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Before my most recent preponderances, maybe a few weeks back, I had fairly important realization occur, something I had not truly accepted or understood until that point. Having grown up in America, raised mostly in its schools (few years out of middle school at a private school), picked up on many of its subtle customs and nuances, I had for a long time not truly considered myself part of the country I was born in. Neither did I ever identify myself with my parents' birthplace, so it was a predicament unique to the children of immigrants who are born in foreign lands. Who was I, on that basic level of identity? What place did I call home?
The answer itself was obvious, America, but I did not realize it until recently. Ironically, as anti-Muslim tensions are growing, in the past month or two, I had a couple moments in my daily routine where strangers (presumably not Muslim) did some small courtesy I totally did not expect. It was then that I felt, even being a different color of skin, even knowing the colonial history of America and its progenitors in Britain and Europe, America deserved to be a place I call home. Thankfully, I do not attribute this to patriotism, an -ism I consider suspect like most other -ism's, rooted in people's fallacies and mental dependency. No, this sense of belonging to my place of birth I could alhamdulillah attribute to the simple facts of the geography of who I am, what language I speak, what root ideals matter to me. America is a place where freedom is precious and equality is sought no matter the situation. Whether that freedom may at times be curtailed, or whether that equality finds its way to every court of law, is a separate issue. But in the core of this place, I too am an americano, a Muslim American who has, who has always had, a place to which I can belong. Granted, I'd rather not belong to any part of this world/dunya at all if I can help it, but as must I continue my existence, so too this truth is evident.
As a sort of side-note, bigotry and hatred and malevolence are the enemies of all reasonable-minded people across humanity. It is not Islam people should fear, but rather prejudices and ignorance and foolishness they should truly detest. Many people these days are flowing right along with the paranoia and panic, but there's also I think just as many if not more who haven't given in to it. Even in the midst of downpours, one can find the most refreshing of rain.
Before my most recent preponderances, maybe a few weeks back, I had fairly important realization occur, something I had not truly accepted or understood until that point. Having grown up in America, raised mostly in its schools (few years out of middle school at a private school), picked up on many of its subtle customs and nuances, I had for a long time not truly considered myself part of the country I was born in. Neither did I ever identify myself with my parents' birthplace, so it was a predicament unique to the children of immigrants who are born in foreign lands. Who was I, on that basic level of identity? What place did I call home?
The answer itself was obvious, America, but I did not realize it until recently. Ironically, as anti-Muslim tensions are growing, in the past month or two, I had a couple moments in my daily routine where strangers (presumably not Muslim) did some small courtesy I totally did not expect. It was then that I felt, even being a different color of skin, even knowing the colonial history of America and its progenitors in Britain and Europe, America deserved to be a place I call home. Thankfully, I do not attribute this to patriotism, an -ism I consider suspect like most other -ism's, rooted in people's fallacies and mental dependency. No, this sense of belonging to my place of birth I could alhamdulillah attribute to the simple facts of the geography of who I am, what language I speak, what root ideals matter to me. America is a place where freedom is precious and equality is sought no matter the situation. Whether that freedom may at times be curtailed, or whether that equality finds its way to every court of law, is a separate issue. But in the core of this place, I too am an americano, a Muslim American who has, who has always had, a place to which I can belong. Granted, I'd rather not belong to any part of this world/dunya at all if I can help it, but as must I continue my existence, so too this truth is evident.
As a sort of side-note, bigotry and hatred and malevolence are the enemies of all reasonable-minded people across humanity. It is not Islam people should fear, but rather prejudices and ignorance and foolishness they should truly detest. Many people these days are flowing right along with the paranoia and panic, but there's also I think just as many if not more who haven't given in to it. Even in the midst of downpours, one can find the most refreshing of rain.
12.19.2015
- in the name of Allah -
What does one do when the heart goes absent? For as long as I can remember, the ability to feel and convey that emotion to others has been intrinsic to my being. In the past few months, it seems like I've lost it altogether.
On the one hand, I see some of the dots that connect the fabric of life, how one type of person influences another, how relationships develop and sustain or degrade, how goals and ambitions can give rise to both arrogance and prosperity. I've noticed the tendency of humans to corrupt and be themselves corrupted quite easily, often by the simplest of whims without the slightest of realization. The Quran speaks truthfully when this life is described as a test. Alas for me that I had no choice when applying for this particular exam. Not only does this fact always grate on my soul, but it is that the very nature of the questions themselves in just about every circumstance are stacked and weighted against the test-taker I find abominable. The irony is overwhelmingly palpable and choking that Islam as such a beautiful religion considers so highly of justice, yet this physical existence so rarely presents it in due proportion. This dichotomy of what is versus what should be has been the bane of my adult life, and probably my youth too had I known of it then. I suppose most Muslims can reconcile the fact that there is so little justice here with the reality of a day of Reckoning, where everything is to be repaid its due. That makes sense. However I cannot escape the sentiment many human beings have in our short lifespans that 'justice delayed is justice denied'. I cannot help but think that in the equation of our lives, human beings are the biggest losers. Caught in the ever-pervasive war between good and evil, humanity seems only to be the pawns on a chessboard in a game only we seem to be ignorant of. Every action we make carries with it consequences of good or ill, most of which escape our notice because our foresight rarely exceeds the scope of our eyes. Yet here we are, humanity as a whole, thrust into a devil's playground (literally, since the moment of our creation), given in a physical sense the barest of means, commanded and expected to survive the taint while at the same time not giving in to the ever-present notions of escape or defeatism or hedonism or narcissism or most any other -ism one could conceive. Our nature so often works against us, yet there is mentioned our 'fitrah' or innate sense of goodness that is supposed to help be a guide for every individual.
The fact that part of human nature is to be controlled or suppressed while at the same time another part is to be embraced and relished I find absolutely mind-boggling. When we take a piece of the human being's pie, do we get to choose whether to take only the slice on the left, or the slice on the right, or the part in the middle, or only the crust? No, not at all. Human beings are a resultant sum of their natures, nothing more, nothing less. Of myself, I cannot fathom taking only a part of me while not taking another. To respect a nature, it cannot be divided up into pieces like some cardboard, no matter how unseemly in the eyes of creation. Often I have tried to understand my Creator, but often my blindness overwhelms (there's that word again) me. I try to arrive at the most basic truth for all humanity, but at the end of every reduced metaphysical equation, the only side I can see is that humanity is enduring a trial that, for the most part, it will invariably lose. No matter when good wins or evil wins, human beings still persist in this life that tries its very hardest to see us destroyed. And the most insidious part of it is, this destruction doesn't always come in the most obvious form, like say death or loss of family/property/etc. No, the worst kind of destruction often happens in the most imperceptible of ways, such as might precipitate a moral decline while at the same time appearing healthy in every way. We can merrily walk in the footsteps of our own doom while realizing nothing of the true nature of our actions. In a state like this, human beings become lower than animals.
One might ask, 'is there hope?'. Yes, there is always hope so long as life remains. But it is not the issue of hope (or lack thereof) that eats away at me. It is the nature of the very container we're placed in, a container that continues to suffocate me while still I seek little substance from it. The tools for self-destruction every person has easy access to, while the path to salvation is maybe the most slipperiest and hardest thing to grasp I have ever perceived. Again, it all seems so perfectly woven as a plot against humanity, that not only do our own selves conspire against us, such as when fear or panic leading to previously un-thought results, but the whole of the world around us seems almost to conspire in the same way. The forces of entropy seem always so vast limitless, while the forces of order and sanity always the most scattered.
It is in a world like this that I cannot see for myself a place to truly belong. And so, for the ones who want to see me and talk to me and be close with me, I cannot reach back. Every illusion I might have had about this life is long since shattered, and I have not the gusto in my soul to even try painting another dream from those ashes.
What does one do when the heart goes absent? For as long as I can remember, the ability to feel and convey that emotion to others has been intrinsic to my being. In the past few months, it seems like I've lost it altogether.
On the one hand, I see some of the dots that connect the fabric of life, how one type of person influences another, how relationships develop and sustain or degrade, how goals and ambitions can give rise to both arrogance and prosperity. I've noticed the tendency of humans to corrupt and be themselves corrupted quite easily, often by the simplest of whims without the slightest of realization. The Quran speaks truthfully when this life is described as a test. Alas for me that I had no choice when applying for this particular exam. Not only does this fact always grate on my soul, but it is that the very nature of the questions themselves in just about every circumstance are stacked and weighted against the test-taker I find abominable. The irony is overwhelmingly palpable and choking that Islam as such a beautiful religion considers so highly of justice, yet this physical existence so rarely presents it in due proportion. This dichotomy of what is versus what should be has been the bane of my adult life, and probably my youth too had I known of it then. I suppose most Muslims can reconcile the fact that there is so little justice here with the reality of a day of Reckoning, where everything is to be repaid its due. That makes sense. However I cannot escape the sentiment many human beings have in our short lifespans that 'justice delayed is justice denied'. I cannot help but think that in the equation of our lives, human beings are the biggest losers. Caught in the ever-pervasive war between good and evil, humanity seems only to be the pawns on a chessboard in a game only we seem to be ignorant of. Every action we make carries with it consequences of good or ill, most of which escape our notice because our foresight rarely exceeds the scope of our eyes. Yet here we are, humanity as a whole, thrust into a devil's playground (literally, since the moment of our creation), given in a physical sense the barest of means, commanded and expected to survive the taint while at the same time not giving in to the ever-present notions of escape or defeatism or hedonism or narcissism or most any other -ism one could conceive. Our nature so often works against us, yet there is mentioned our 'fitrah' or innate sense of goodness that is supposed to help be a guide for every individual.
The fact that part of human nature is to be controlled or suppressed while at the same time another part is to be embraced and relished I find absolutely mind-boggling. When we take a piece of the human being's pie, do we get to choose whether to take only the slice on the left, or the slice on the right, or the part in the middle, or only the crust? No, not at all. Human beings are a resultant sum of their natures, nothing more, nothing less. Of myself, I cannot fathom taking only a part of me while not taking another. To respect a nature, it cannot be divided up into pieces like some cardboard, no matter how unseemly in the eyes of creation. Often I have tried to understand my Creator, but often my blindness overwhelms (there's that word again) me. I try to arrive at the most basic truth for all humanity, but at the end of every reduced metaphysical equation, the only side I can see is that humanity is enduring a trial that, for the most part, it will invariably lose. No matter when good wins or evil wins, human beings still persist in this life that tries its very hardest to see us destroyed. And the most insidious part of it is, this destruction doesn't always come in the most obvious form, like say death or loss of family/property/etc. No, the worst kind of destruction often happens in the most imperceptible of ways, such as might precipitate a moral decline while at the same time appearing healthy in every way. We can merrily walk in the footsteps of our own doom while realizing nothing of the true nature of our actions. In a state like this, human beings become lower than animals.
One might ask, 'is there hope?'. Yes, there is always hope so long as life remains. But it is not the issue of hope (or lack thereof) that eats away at me. It is the nature of the very container we're placed in, a container that continues to suffocate me while still I seek little substance from it. The tools for self-destruction every person has easy access to, while the path to salvation is maybe the most slipperiest and hardest thing to grasp I have ever perceived. Again, it all seems so perfectly woven as a plot against humanity, that not only do our own selves conspire against us, such as when fear or panic leading to previously un-thought results, but the whole of the world around us seems almost to conspire in the same way. The forces of entropy seem always so vast limitless, while the forces of order and sanity always the most scattered.
It is in a world like this that I cannot see for myself a place to truly belong. And so, for the ones who want to see me and talk to me and be close with me, I cannot reach back. Every illusion I might have had about this life is long since shattered, and I have not the gusto in my soul to even try painting another dream from those ashes.
11.10.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Ya Rabb, Oh Fashioner of the heavens, Oh Everlasting, Oh Originator of all:
Make her the yang to my yin, the sound to my silence, the joy to my solemnity. When the sky seems not as bright, make her the light whereby it shines to me again. As I pass through all my catharsis, as I stumble and trip and set right again, let her scent uplift my spirits. Though my misconceptions are many, my sins as subtle as crystal glass, forgive me through her, though a prayer's wing is yet all I have.
Ameen
Ya Rabb, Oh Fashioner of the heavens, Oh Everlasting, Oh Originator of all:
Make her the yang to my yin, the sound to my silence, the joy to my solemnity. When the sky seems not as bright, make her the light whereby it shines to me again. As I pass through all my catharsis, as I stumble and trip and set right again, let her scent uplift my spirits. Though my misconceptions are many, my sins as subtle as crystal glass, forgive me through her, though a prayer's wing is yet all I have.
Ameen
11.05.2015
- in the name of Allah -
finally free at last in this cage, without a place to walk on stage. so many actors, all looking to find their parts, only they themselves get played. so many apparent treasures lying in wait, theory being to grasp the day while its there to take, in its essence a sound plan but life carries too many a feint to follow the simple lure of an opened gate. where does it lead, what paths does it make evident, when complications abound and desire itself becomes a demon sentient? in my very soul the only will I can stand is my own, not to exclude my Rabb but rather to state that whatever I do is mine in whole, no parts stolen by lesser pieces intent on making their own madness reign over my sky, even though I'm the one whose name is on this body's leases. the wall must stand, the fort must hold, as long as breath remains, so goes the struggle of the sane.
finally free at last in this cage, without a place to walk on stage. so many actors, all looking to find their parts, only they themselves get played. so many apparent treasures lying in wait, theory being to grasp the day while its there to take, in its essence a sound plan but life carries too many a feint to follow the simple lure of an opened gate. where does it lead, what paths does it make evident, when complications abound and desire itself becomes a demon sentient? in my very soul the only will I can stand is my own, not to exclude my Rabb but rather to state that whatever I do is mine in whole, no parts stolen by lesser pieces intent on making their own madness reign over my sky, even though I'm the one whose name is on this body's leases. the wall must stand, the fort must hold, as long as breath remains, so goes the struggle of the sane.
10.26.2015
- in the name of Allah -
If all that glitters is not gold, then I see life itself a bronze-plated dream, hiding its own truth from the universe for eons untold. There are few patterns like mine, running out of sync with societal wheels and chimes, so many spokes but never quite the right road or right clime. Always I wonder if there is a way to explain, a way to make understand, everyone I've ever known, that to me this life is not the place for who I am: I want no lies, no half-truths, no deceptions, no desire-laced temptations, no delusions, no pretensions, no malice, no regrets, no envy, no ego lording over my own sanity, no inevitable regressions.
In truth, all I seek is the very essence of that which glitters and is truly golden, not this pale shadow of ambition pretending as purpose all-knowing. There is no true home here, no desired occupation, no open governmental seat, no legislative board without a penchant for power's intoxication. People crave their immediacies, the evident, their life's necessities, eventually losing sight of what makes living more than just a series of repetitious tendencies.
I suppose this leaves me in it all the dreamer, waiting to find his awaking moment, when shrouds cast off and the mirage disappears, making the truth at last crystal clearer.
If all that glitters is not gold, then I see life itself a bronze-plated dream, hiding its own truth from the universe for eons untold. There are few patterns like mine, running out of sync with societal wheels and chimes, so many spokes but never quite the right road or right clime. Always I wonder if there is a way to explain, a way to make understand, everyone I've ever known, that to me this life is not the place for who I am: I want no lies, no half-truths, no deceptions, no desire-laced temptations, no delusions, no pretensions, no malice, no regrets, no envy, no ego lording over my own sanity, no inevitable regressions.
In truth, all I seek is the very essence of that which glitters and is truly golden, not this pale shadow of ambition pretending as purpose all-knowing. There is no true home here, no desired occupation, no open governmental seat, no legislative board without a penchant for power's intoxication. People crave their immediacies, the evident, their life's necessities, eventually losing sight of what makes living more than just a series of repetitious tendencies.
I suppose this leaves me in it all the dreamer, waiting to find his awaking moment, when shrouds cast off and the mirage disappears, making the truth at last crystal clearer.
10.11.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Looking out the window at the brightness of the sunlight shining whitely, inviting me to run with the day wherever it goes, leaving all yesterday's problems safely tucked away be-nighted. such an obvious beckon, perhaps my inner source at last changes colors to chase lighter hues, it's not as if nightowls ever let the day get away while able to pay their due. there's no road I'm aware of that lets people travel, that hasn't wrapped up poets in their wake, while keeping their essence to the world still unraveled. fortunately for me, any person can traverse such a path without knowing what it is in front of him he has, the result of choices being made one after the other, a series of batteries being continually drained, so all the effort I now have, is from the very last thing I did.
not a few weeks since passed, I came to learn she'd become an optometrist at long last. it was at that moment it struck me, that of the person I knew there was left no tangible trace, no evidence but memory to keep one rooted in place. part of me was slightly saddened, but even more than that most of me was gladdened, that she with whom I'd struggled so deeply had found a way out of the fog of ineventual misery. I can say in earnest, that as of now her ghost I can lay peacefully in rest, as it reached in fruition, the road I'd let her take at my own behest. this moment has no tears, just a little joy, to see her success, and my own past from my self deployed.
be at peace oh restless ones, oh glee-less memories, take your cue from future's fruits, and not from yesterday's what-if's or could-be's.
Looking out the window at the brightness of the sunlight shining whitely, inviting me to run with the day wherever it goes, leaving all yesterday's problems safely tucked away be-nighted. such an obvious beckon, perhaps my inner source at last changes colors to chase lighter hues, it's not as if nightowls ever let the day get away while able to pay their due. there's no road I'm aware of that lets people travel, that hasn't wrapped up poets in their wake, while keeping their essence to the world still unraveled. fortunately for me, any person can traverse such a path without knowing what it is in front of him he has, the result of choices being made one after the other, a series of batteries being continually drained, so all the effort I now have, is from the very last thing I did.
not a few weeks since passed, I came to learn she'd become an optometrist at long last. it was at that moment it struck me, that of the person I knew there was left no tangible trace, no evidence but memory to keep one rooted in place. part of me was slightly saddened, but even more than that most of me was gladdened, that she with whom I'd struggled so deeply had found a way out of the fog of ineventual misery. I can say in earnest, that as of now her ghost I can lay peacefully in rest, as it reached in fruition, the road I'd let her take at my own behest. this moment has no tears, just a little joy, to see her success, and my own past from my self deployed.
be at peace oh restless ones, oh glee-less memories, take your cue from future's fruits, and not from yesterday's what-if's or could-be's.
10.01.2015
- in the name of Allah -
It is always curious, the case of (no, not Benjamin Button) one who finds himself on the outside, looking in. Throughout my existence, no matter where I went or who I met, I always seemed to make my own amorphous bubble of sociality. I didn't belong necessarily to any particular clique, neither yuppies or nerds or castoffs or druggies or etc. The reasoning behind this fact I have always wondered at. As one might expect, with age and some experience many personal truths come to light.
People band together based on commonalities, things that bind one to another, whether interests or goals or delusions, the crux of it is uniform across the species. What binds me? Only one thing has ever caught my soul's attention that way and kept it: the ideal. How many such people existing in reality's vacuum are still able to hold such a perception? The inevitable refrain is that life lessons one learns harden them for what is to come, what 'has to be done'. This is no doubt true. But what else happens in the process? Do people realize how much of themselves is lost during this process? The next question, after ascertaining the previous, was the loss worth it? For me the clarity here is unavoidable. Life tries to cloud my sight with many things, earthly ambitions, human objectives and customs, but these things don't stick to me. Being like rubber (hey Luffy), stuff bounces off me (and sticks to you...lol) and just lands to those places/people where it finds a home.
The biggest conclusion I reached, the most desired result, would be that I am able to make other people understand this, what I have written, what it truly means. Of course this is the most difficult thing. Human beings have the best time understanding something the more similar it is to themselves and/or their expectations. When something falls outside those categories, typically a 'non-conformist' anomaly, they resort to conjecture and fabricate/assign motivations/raison d'etre to it. This makes sense. The brain is always seeking to put things in order, whether consciously or not, so the end result is whatever is perceived has to find a place somewhere, somehow. It isn't this inevitability I lament though. I couldn't fault people for being people, just like I couldn't fault a bug for being a bug or mosquito for being a mosquito. These aspects are simply intrinsic to such creatures' being, and as such are not meant to and carry no meaning to debate/be disapproved of.
If any or all of this sounds like fluff, then one would not be far off from truth. In the plane of philosophy, talk like this looks to the outside world as nothing more than ether floating on the surface of creation, beyond the necessities and easily-grasped notions that the world and life normally occupy. The question really becomes, can these two planes be reconciled? That is, can it be possible to see both at the same time, to not lose sight of either, but yet hold each in its place without loss of focus? It might be that is what I need most in this life, a person to bridge these aspects of myself with the part of reality that is so starkly different. Presuming, of course, that life itself was worth the trouble of being engaged/involved with, something I am not entirely uncertain of.
It is always curious, the case of (no, not Benjamin Button) one who finds himself on the outside, looking in. Throughout my existence, no matter where I went or who I met, I always seemed to make my own amorphous bubble of sociality. I didn't belong necessarily to any particular clique, neither yuppies or nerds or castoffs or druggies or etc. The reasoning behind this fact I have always wondered at. As one might expect, with age and some experience many personal truths come to light.
People band together based on commonalities, things that bind one to another, whether interests or goals or delusions, the crux of it is uniform across the species. What binds me? Only one thing has ever caught my soul's attention that way and kept it: the ideal. How many such people existing in reality's vacuum are still able to hold such a perception? The inevitable refrain is that life lessons one learns harden them for what is to come, what 'has to be done'. This is no doubt true. But what else happens in the process? Do people realize how much of themselves is lost during this process? The next question, after ascertaining the previous, was the loss worth it? For me the clarity here is unavoidable. Life tries to cloud my sight with many things, earthly ambitions, human objectives and customs, but these things don't stick to me. Being like rubber (hey Luffy), stuff bounces off me (and sticks to you...lol) and just lands to those places/people where it finds a home.
The biggest conclusion I reached, the most desired result, would be that I am able to make other people understand this, what I have written, what it truly means. Of course this is the most difficult thing. Human beings have the best time understanding something the more similar it is to themselves and/or their expectations. When something falls outside those categories, typically a 'non-conformist' anomaly, they resort to conjecture and fabricate/assign motivations/raison d'etre to it. This makes sense. The brain is always seeking to put things in order, whether consciously or not, so the end result is whatever is perceived has to find a place somewhere, somehow. It isn't this inevitability I lament though. I couldn't fault people for being people, just like I couldn't fault a bug for being a bug or mosquito for being a mosquito. These aspects are simply intrinsic to such creatures' being, and as such are not meant to and carry no meaning to debate/be disapproved of.
If any or all of this sounds like fluff, then one would not be far off from truth. In the plane of philosophy, talk like this looks to the outside world as nothing more than ether floating on the surface of creation, beyond the necessities and easily-grasped notions that the world and life normally occupy. The question really becomes, can these two planes be reconciled? That is, can it be possible to see both at the same time, to not lose sight of either, but yet hold each in its place without loss of focus? It might be that is what I need most in this life, a person to bridge these aspects of myself with the part of reality that is so starkly different. Presuming, of course, that life itself was worth the trouble of being engaged/involved with, something I am not entirely uncertain of.
9.25.2015
- in the name of Allah -
~
what story can I tell,
what truth can I reflect,
with but a hardened heart of stone,
that I cannot risk to melt?
all around, all about, in every breath,
waiting inside of every sound,
with each a pound of salt, or seed of doubt
that what awaits is laced not by regret.
to be human means to be in pain,
in endless cycles of agony and bliss,
falling off each other, like spokes on a wheel,
of a bike lead off its cliff.
tendrils of yesterday sought me again today,
old familiars, that wanted in my present to stay.
but in my hotel of sanity, only bed for one exists,
a bed I made, to sleep in it I in perpetuity persist.
people give me no solace, not even an inkling of release,
their shades all colored by travails, and my cash register
being one that simply cannot give a single peace.
every soul in whom I see, every pair of eyes that peek in mine,
only delve further questions, from a well of tears long since dried.
their comforts and commiseries are alien to my comprehension,
their perspectives the same as unintelligible signing,
shown behind frosted glass as ships in space at warp-speed flying,
while I stand frozen still, the world abuzz passing me by.
~
~
what story can I tell,
what truth can I reflect,
with but a hardened heart of stone,
that I cannot risk to melt?
all around, all about, in every breath,
waiting inside of every sound,
with each a pound of salt, or seed of doubt
that what awaits is laced not by regret.
to be human means to be in pain,
in endless cycles of agony and bliss,
falling off each other, like spokes on a wheel,
of a bike lead off its cliff.
tendrils of yesterday sought me again today,
old familiars, that wanted in my present to stay.
but in my hotel of sanity, only bed for one exists,
a bed I made, to sleep in it I in perpetuity persist.
people give me no solace, not even an inkling of release,
their shades all colored by travails, and my cash register
being one that simply cannot give a single peace.
every soul in whom I see, every pair of eyes that peek in mine,
only delve further questions, from a well of tears long since dried.
their comforts and commiseries are alien to my comprehension,
their perspectives the same as unintelligible signing,
shown behind frosted glass as ships in space at warp-speed flying,
while I stand frozen still, the world abuzz passing me by.
~
9.15.2015
- in the name of Allah -
There are moments in life where something so contrary to expectation happens that the end result shatters the visage of self that was previously understood. After much retrospect, I can confirm this was the case with me. For many years, I could not and would not create any concrete goals, desires, ambitions. Part of the reason for this I used to think was due to my philosophically-leaning nature, that deepening one's ties to society and this world was never something appealing. This is true, but only in part. The other half to the coin was that, in my present state, I exist as only remnants of who I used to be. There are various, potentially innumerable shards of my past self scattered throughout my history.
The brightness that I used to know, the certain brand of unfailing idealism I once held, are pieces to a puzzle of myself that is no longer mine. However, as of late I have been slowly trying to recover those pieces, to find of myself what I'd lost, as in many respects, that person was a far better fit in this world than me presently. It is true that the past remains done with, over, immutable, and that people should (generally) look forward. But to me, I feel I have to understand my cataclysm, to see the origin point of whence that universe began to decay, and see how it all unfolded from a 3rd-person point of view, as dispassionately and analytically as possible. To be sure, not all of that person is recoverable, much of that (perceived) idiocy I have no wish to re-inculcate within my being. But, there were certain aspects to living and happiness that self had access to, that may prove useful for me to re-engage going forward. Part of this includes a relationship with the divine, that I had allowed to dissipate into mere necessities for the better part of a decade. There is more to life than simply ritual, there is more meaning in prayer to be had than the rote asking of a thing. There is a deeper zest for truth and consolation within that confine that was once embraced. Whereas these days I have felt that truth offers only pain and bitter pills to swallow, back then I could see life from a broader perspective, one that did not shun all its connections to people and the outside. I need some aspect of that again, to reconstitute myself into something worth becoming, part of the acceptance I have recently gained that change must always be allowed to happen. Some principles, yes, will not alter by the grace of Allah. But, viewing myself, I cannot limit myself to a static prism always showing light from the outside universe in only one iteration. Maybe the next phase, part of something I once had, is to be a multi-faceted mirror, reflecting light from many different angles, to offer both myself and those I know different angles.
A friend of mine once asked another friend of mine some years back, what is my true motivation, what drives me? He could not understand my action because he did not recognize any aims there. Once I lived to find the wholeness of the heart, something I later found but could not hold on to it. After this, no reasoning was sufficient for me, no motivation strong enough to carry out from within the layers of ennui. Some few efforts were made since then to peer outside the looking glass, but they were ineffectual. Where is my present, what forms the essence of my current evolution? The answer there is much harder to define precisely. I exist because I must, not whether I choose it. I have found that the idealisms I once sought in this world cannot be had here, so for the most part I have ceased bothering with its specifics. Some people can see underneath the fabric of this reality and swallow its meaning without consequence, going about their routine and their lives as if it means nothing different. It is not so for me. There isn't anything here truly for me to have, nothing here truly in the most earnest sense worth having. This physical plane is bound by various laws and a certain chaotic disposition that leaves even the most reasonable desire utterly unpredictable as to whether it could find fulfillment. People will struggle, I will struggle as I too am a person. Until life ends it must continue, with some small hope that I can from within each day find something better and brighter.
There are moments in life where something so contrary to expectation happens that the end result shatters the visage of self that was previously understood. After much retrospect, I can confirm this was the case with me. For many years, I could not and would not create any concrete goals, desires, ambitions. Part of the reason for this I used to think was due to my philosophically-leaning nature, that deepening one's ties to society and this world was never something appealing. This is true, but only in part. The other half to the coin was that, in my present state, I exist as only remnants of who I used to be. There are various, potentially innumerable shards of my past self scattered throughout my history.
The brightness that I used to know, the certain brand of unfailing idealism I once held, are pieces to a puzzle of myself that is no longer mine. However, as of late I have been slowly trying to recover those pieces, to find of myself what I'd lost, as in many respects, that person was a far better fit in this world than me presently. It is true that the past remains done with, over, immutable, and that people should (generally) look forward. But to me, I feel I have to understand my cataclysm, to see the origin point of whence that universe began to decay, and see how it all unfolded from a 3rd-person point of view, as dispassionately and analytically as possible. To be sure, not all of that person is recoverable, much of that (perceived) idiocy I have no wish to re-inculcate within my being. But, there were certain aspects to living and happiness that self had access to, that may prove useful for me to re-engage going forward. Part of this includes a relationship with the divine, that I had allowed to dissipate into mere necessities for the better part of a decade. There is more to life than simply ritual, there is more meaning in prayer to be had than the rote asking of a thing. There is a deeper zest for truth and consolation within that confine that was once embraced. Whereas these days I have felt that truth offers only pain and bitter pills to swallow, back then I could see life from a broader perspective, one that did not shun all its connections to people and the outside. I need some aspect of that again, to reconstitute myself into something worth becoming, part of the acceptance I have recently gained that change must always be allowed to happen. Some principles, yes, will not alter by the grace of Allah. But, viewing myself, I cannot limit myself to a static prism always showing light from the outside universe in only one iteration. Maybe the next phase, part of something I once had, is to be a multi-faceted mirror, reflecting light from many different angles, to offer both myself and those I know different angles.
A friend of mine once asked another friend of mine some years back, what is my true motivation, what drives me? He could not understand my action because he did not recognize any aims there. Once I lived to find the wholeness of the heart, something I later found but could not hold on to it. After this, no reasoning was sufficient for me, no motivation strong enough to carry out from within the layers of ennui. Some few efforts were made since then to peer outside the looking glass, but they were ineffectual. Where is my present, what forms the essence of my current evolution? The answer there is much harder to define precisely. I exist because I must, not whether I choose it. I have found that the idealisms I once sought in this world cannot be had here, so for the most part I have ceased bothering with its specifics. Some people can see underneath the fabric of this reality and swallow its meaning without consequence, going about their routine and their lives as if it means nothing different. It is not so for me. There isn't anything here truly for me to have, nothing here truly in the most earnest sense worth having. This physical plane is bound by various laws and a certain chaotic disposition that leaves even the most reasonable desire utterly unpredictable as to whether it could find fulfillment. People will struggle, I will struggle as I too am a person. Until life ends it must continue, with some small hope that I can from within each day find something better and brighter.
8.22.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Melancholy Mine
some days, even when the skies are clear or barely clouded, my soul finds a moment to wander, to have from all possibilities finally itself unshrouded. this revelation, though without words and with minute hesitation, speaks as soundless rain for this time I have no umbrellation. ironically indeed, I myself am not in on its secret, why it finds wax in wanes, while shuttered remain all the doors and window frames. for a time beyond my counting, I have stopped seeking the purest of enjoyments, of pleasure as a purpose, to know past what eyes behold, to be able to find in people some meaning and solace. I cannot say I belong in those schools or universities, in those masajid or synagogues, in those town halls where all the working class crowd in thrall. society's lessons, those which I wanted no longer to learn, echo back to me, as part I am yet still physical-bound, so to breathe therefore must I try to earn. what a change of scenery, of place, to seek sustenance for seeking's sake; though nothing I've ever became, measured all in ether it was, ever came faster than a glacial's pace. and so this evolution too shall continue on its evolving, to find a moment's meteor, without the rain, a comet departing my old constellation.
Melancholy Mine
some days, even when the skies are clear or barely clouded, my soul finds a moment to wander, to have from all possibilities finally itself unshrouded. this revelation, though without words and with minute hesitation, speaks as soundless rain for this time I have no umbrellation. ironically indeed, I myself am not in on its secret, why it finds wax in wanes, while shuttered remain all the doors and window frames. for a time beyond my counting, I have stopped seeking the purest of enjoyments, of pleasure as a purpose, to know past what eyes behold, to be able to find in people some meaning and solace. I cannot say I belong in those schools or universities, in those masajid or synagogues, in those town halls where all the working class crowd in thrall. society's lessons, those which I wanted no longer to learn, echo back to me, as part I am yet still physical-bound, so to breathe therefore must I try to earn. what a change of scenery, of place, to seek sustenance for seeking's sake; though nothing I've ever became, measured all in ether it was, ever came faster than a glacial's pace. and so this evolution too shall continue on its evolving, to find a moment's meteor, without the rain, a comet departing my old constellation.
7.31.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Among the many things in life one accepts, there are always two sides to a coin. In my younger days, as I have written of them many times since, I made many duas (supplications) to Allah in regards to one I wanted to marry. Of everything I have ever asked, of everything I had ever wanted, nothing was as striking and deeply felt as those prayers were.
At first glance, from everything I have posted here and other places and written, it might seem that those duas were unanswered, that the heart as a vessel was emptied and nothing received in return. This is untrue, and I must clarify, inaccurate. Almost every single time I prayed for her back then, it was in conjunction with a prayer not just for 'us', but for her individually. That is, I would ask Allah that He guide her to that path which is best for her, both in dunya and akhirah, that she be lead on this path even if it was not with me. Maybe I had overlooked this aspect, maybe I had been convinced that earnest love was enough to alter the shape that destiny might make over a being's future. This was not the case, it was my error. Among all the things I do not understand, it is distinctly possible and plausible that Allah did indeed answer my duas, only not in the way I'd longed for. It may have been, and my state at the time attested to it, that we were not a good fit at the time for various reasons. To allow the one you love to walk away, knowing that she has a better immediate future elsewhere, and maybe a better eventual future as well, is just...painful.
As I've said before, it never hit me all at once. It hit me slowly, like shards of glass, slowly, slowly breaking until I could no longer feel or recognize the parts of me that had faded. More recently, I have been able to feel the pain again, to know that I exist, because I can feel that pain. But the point here is not to dwell on the pain or absence. It is to assert that Komal found exactly the road Allah intended for her, exactly the road for her that I'd prayed for, that as painful as losing one this way is, it did not happen simply randomly or because I did not care enough or anything like that. The meaning I attempt to draw, is that even if this road was not for my sake, even if it would not quell the tempest of my own soul, it nonetheless did/would have/will iA quell the tempest of hers.
Ya Rabb, make this sufficient for me, make her path bright and clear, and allow me the gift of knowing her again in the next life, ameen.
Among the many things in life one accepts, there are always two sides to a coin. In my younger days, as I have written of them many times since, I made many duas (supplications) to Allah in regards to one I wanted to marry. Of everything I have ever asked, of everything I had ever wanted, nothing was as striking and deeply felt as those prayers were.
At first glance, from everything I have posted here and other places and written, it might seem that those duas were unanswered, that the heart as a vessel was emptied and nothing received in return. This is untrue, and I must clarify, inaccurate. Almost every single time I prayed for her back then, it was in conjunction with a prayer not just for 'us', but for her individually. That is, I would ask Allah that He guide her to that path which is best for her, both in dunya and akhirah, that she be lead on this path even if it was not with me. Maybe I had overlooked this aspect, maybe I had been convinced that earnest love was enough to alter the shape that destiny might make over a being's future. This was not the case, it was my error. Among all the things I do not understand, it is distinctly possible and plausible that Allah did indeed answer my duas, only not in the way I'd longed for. It may have been, and my state at the time attested to it, that we were not a good fit at the time for various reasons. To allow the one you love to walk away, knowing that she has a better immediate future elsewhere, and maybe a better eventual future as well, is just...painful.
As I've said before, it never hit me all at once. It hit me slowly, like shards of glass, slowly, slowly breaking until I could no longer feel or recognize the parts of me that had faded. More recently, I have been able to feel the pain again, to know that I exist, because I can feel that pain. But the point here is not to dwell on the pain or absence. It is to assert that Komal found exactly the road Allah intended for her, exactly the road for her that I'd prayed for, that as painful as losing one this way is, it did not happen simply randomly or because I did not care enough or anything like that. The meaning I attempt to draw, is that even if this road was not for my sake, even if it would not quell the tempest of my own soul, it nonetheless did/would have/will iA quell the tempest of hers.
Ya Rabb, make this sufficient for me, make her path bright and clear, and allow me the gift of knowing her again in the next life, ameen.
7.19.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Of a recent realization that struck me while reading an article written by a highly intelligent and well-versed but extremely prejudiced writer, I found that having knowledge and even wisdom is not enough for a human being.
I used to think those two facets were the primary precursors to finding and remaining on the straight path, but as it turns out, I was mistaken. There is something far more important than either, that being *hidayah* or "divine guidance". We human beings can have all the knowledge we think we need, all the wisdom in every book we ever wrote, but all of that by itself will always be insufficient. Any point of view, whether for good or ill, whether well-intentioned or masking an ulterior motive, can be thoroughly rationalized so long as one has sufficient knowledge of language and history to do so.
That's some dangerous shit. It's like giving a child a lit firecracker and expecting he knows what will happen, having never handled one before. Of course he wouldn't, so he would suffer as a result. People are much like this child, we find a little bit of knowledge or subtle understanding, and suddenly we presume to become something formidable and experts in fields. Our vision is so short-sighted, so limited, we can scarcely see the effect/impact of something that goes beyond our own fingers or ears.
For that reason, maybe primarily so, that we have to seek Allah/God and try to rely on Him. I've not relied explicitly on Him in quite some time, after some prior disillusion in life I had, but there is a need to come back to it at some point. There would be no point to all the wisdom or knowledge I could have, if it was not complemented, placed in context with hidayah. At times I know I have been guilty of being able to rationalize why I keep myself so apart, of violating some commandment of His, and this is a slippery slope best left early as one can. I've often found myself choking on what I learn of reality, of the true depth of our imprisonment in this life. The only pills I know of are the bitter ones, the ones accompanied by grief or pain. In the midst of all this apparent despair, it becomes quite easy to forget whom I have to rely on, whom I've always had: my Rabb. I've longed to be independent of needing any one or any thing too much, for fear of being left hanging without a place to turn to. Alas, I can't be independent of Allah, I've always known I needed Him, though I haven't always *wanted* to need Him. It's simply been a necessity. Of course, there are times when the light can shine through all the proliferated darkness, and I can finally *want* to need Him again. Those moments are the most blessed ones, where clarity finally comes into focus and the meaning behind what 'is' lies in the palm of my hands. Alhamdulillah.
Of a recent realization that struck me while reading an article written by a highly intelligent and well-versed but extremely prejudiced writer, I found that having knowledge and even wisdom is not enough for a human being.
I used to think those two facets were the primary precursors to finding and remaining on the straight path, but as it turns out, I was mistaken. There is something far more important than either, that being *hidayah* or "divine guidance". We human beings can have all the knowledge we think we need, all the wisdom in every book we ever wrote, but all of that by itself will always be insufficient. Any point of view, whether for good or ill, whether well-intentioned or masking an ulterior motive, can be thoroughly rationalized so long as one has sufficient knowledge of language and history to do so.
That's some dangerous shit. It's like giving a child a lit firecracker and expecting he knows what will happen, having never handled one before. Of course he wouldn't, so he would suffer as a result. People are much like this child, we find a little bit of knowledge or subtle understanding, and suddenly we presume to become something formidable and experts in fields. Our vision is so short-sighted, so limited, we can scarcely see the effect/impact of something that goes beyond our own fingers or ears.
For that reason, maybe primarily so, that we have to seek Allah/God and try to rely on Him. I've not relied explicitly on Him in quite some time, after some prior disillusion in life I had, but there is a need to come back to it at some point. There would be no point to all the wisdom or knowledge I could have, if it was not complemented, placed in context with hidayah. At times I know I have been guilty of being able to rationalize why I keep myself so apart, of violating some commandment of His, and this is a slippery slope best left early as one can. I've often found myself choking on what I learn of reality, of the true depth of our imprisonment in this life. The only pills I know of are the bitter ones, the ones accompanied by grief or pain. In the midst of all this apparent despair, it becomes quite easy to forget whom I have to rely on, whom I've always had: my Rabb. I've longed to be independent of needing any one or any thing too much, for fear of being left hanging without a place to turn to. Alas, I can't be independent of Allah, I've always known I needed Him, though I haven't always *wanted* to need Him. It's simply been a necessity. Of course, there are times when the light can shine through all the proliferated darkness, and I can finally *want* to need Him again. Those moments are the most blessed ones, where clarity finally comes into focus and the meaning behind what 'is' lies in the palm of my hands. Alhamdulillah.
7.18.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Memory is often such a fickle thing. It doesn't always remain static, as a person evolves and changes and encompasses, so do memories tend to mean something different. Though not always.
Sometimes the only way to tell the size of a meteor is by looking at the depth of the crater that it left behind.
"isnt it crazy...that love is such a blessing, and we dont realize how great it is, until its taken away from us? i used to think that anyone could love, but that is not true. u cant force it, only Allah can put it there,and only Allah can take it away...but khair, its just one of the many trials in this dunya...
k"
Memory is often such a fickle thing. It doesn't always remain static, as a person evolves and changes and encompasses, so do memories tend to mean something different. Though not always.
Sometimes the only way to tell the size of a meteor is by looking at the depth of the crater that it left behind.
"isnt it crazy...that love is such a blessing, and we dont realize how great it is, until its taken away from us? i used to think that anyone could love, but that is not true. u cant force it, only Allah can put it there,and only Allah can take it away...but khair, its just one of the many trials in this dunya...
k"
6.03.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Oh pain, don't leave me ever, stay within my thoughts,
that I might taste forever, the price for her I should've fought.
Oh pain, let me hear your echoes, drowning out the sorrow,
when life traps me within its throes, blinding me from tomorrow.
Oh pain, speak to me your timeless whisper, making warm
what once could only wither, though long since passed my dawn.
Oh pain, be for me ever bitter sweet, turning into limes
all life's lemons and seeds, to make an -ade at last worthwhile.
~
how many doors in life must I let close, before I recall the one I left shuttered whole? how many days must I live within this rain, falling freely without a care to give me weight and so a place to call home? let me be foolish, let me walk down memory lane, to not care for crossing signs, and as I get hit, so I remember to look both ways.
Oh pain, don't leave me ever, stay within my thoughts,
that I might taste forever, the price for her I should've fought.
Oh pain, let me hear your echoes, drowning out the sorrow,
when life traps me within its throes, blinding me from tomorrow.
Oh pain, speak to me your timeless whisper, making warm
what once could only wither, though long since passed my dawn.
Oh pain, be for me ever bitter sweet, turning into limes
all life's lemons and seeds, to make an -ade at last worthwhile.
~
how many doors in life must I let close, before I recall the one I left shuttered whole? how many days must I live within this rain, falling freely without a care to give me weight and so a place to call home? let me be foolish, let me walk down memory lane, to not care for crossing signs, and as I get hit, so I remember to look both ways.
6.02.2015
- in the name of Allah -
As someone once recommended to me years ago, finally started watching 'LOST' yesterday. Three eps in and I can confirm what I was told, "you will not be disappointed". It's looking like an epic, always nice to come across those.
Makes me think I should've been smarter and listened to this person's other advice more often back then. If nothing else, for now, the pain is there to keep company, to remind me of what I lost (the irony builds, then climaxes, drums roll). Sometimes tears let out this pain welled up inside, other times the tears just mimic the rain after a stormy day (the kind of thunder this person would've liked).
Maybe fitting, to end on this note:
As someone once recommended to me years ago, finally started watching 'LOST' yesterday. Three eps in and I can confirm what I was told, "you will not be disappointed". It's looking like an epic, always nice to come across those.
Makes me think I should've been smarter and listened to this person's other advice more often back then. If nothing else, for now, the pain is there to keep company, to remind me of what I lost (the irony builds, then climaxes, drums roll). Sometimes tears let out this pain welled up inside, other times the tears just mimic the rain after a stormy day (the kind of thunder this person would've liked).
Maybe fitting, to end on this note:
5.19.2015
- in the name of Allah -
As I get older, certainties in life become fewer and fewer. Things I thought I knew, things I took for granted in adolescence, all of it's changed. People, friends, perspectives, outlooks on where I (want to) belong and where I can see myself fitting.
The short of it is, I don't think such a place exists, not while I'm in this mortal life. Life and I, we are such a dichotomous pair, contrasting, contradicting, counteracting poles on the same magnet of being. To live in it, one has to embrace its chaos, accept the inherent futility of choice that appears before each person, deciding on something based on a design long since programmed and hardwired into the human psyche. It's summed up by the partial phrase, "can't live with, can't live without". This is the paradox of humanity.
Where do I fit, where does my cog belong? I see the nature of the swan, hear the beauty of its song, but it's a fool's errand to stay and listen at all. I miss the innocence of my youth, God I was so naive, thinking I could simply waltz into a fairy tale without first paying the piper his due. If the only torch I carry is but a pile of once-flamed embers, I would be fine with that. I'd rather the light have burnt at least once, brightly and blinding, than never at all.
I'll take this moment and apologize to any and all of the ones I've somehow hurt over the years. Friends, some family too no doubt, people who I just didn't know how to reach, how to talk with. To this day, I'm still not sure what I could say to some of them. I'm sorry my good intents were ill-conceived, that I wasn't smarter and wiser back then, to stop me from ruining friendships with good folk. I can't go back and rebuild those bridges, time and space and circumstance has passed us all by for that. And to think, I used to believe I had no regrets. Alas, no, no I didn't, for those regrets(people) had long since left me and parted ways to their own destiny. I still care about all of them, all of those connections I've lost, their memory lingers with me forever. I suppose that will have to suffice, for now. Ya Rabb, forgive them and me, guide us on our way to you, and leave us not even should we leave ourselves, ameen.
As I get older, certainties in life become fewer and fewer. Things I thought I knew, things I took for granted in adolescence, all of it's changed. People, friends, perspectives, outlooks on where I (want to) belong and where I can see myself fitting.
The short of it is, I don't think such a place exists, not while I'm in this mortal life. Life and I, we are such a dichotomous pair, contrasting, contradicting, counteracting poles on the same magnet of being. To live in it, one has to embrace its chaos, accept the inherent futility of choice that appears before each person, deciding on something based on a design long since programmed and hardwired into the human psyche. It's summed up by the partial phrase, "can't live with, can't live without". This is the paradox of humanity.
Where do I fit, where does my cog belong? I see the nature of the swan, hear the beauty of its song, but it's a fool's errand to stay and listen at all. I miss the innocence of my youth, God I was so naive, thinking I could simply waltz into a fairy tale without first paying the piper his due. If the only torch I carry is but a pile of once-flamed embers, I would be fine with that. I'd rather the light have burnt at least once, brightly and blinding, than never at all.
I'll take this moment and apologize to any and all of the ones I've somehow hurt over the years. Friends, some family too no doubt, people who I just didn't know how to reach, how to talk with. To this day, I'm still not sure what I could say to some of them. I'm sorry my good intents were ill-conceived, that I wasn't smarter and wiser back then, to stop me from ruining friendships with good folk. I can't go back and rebuild those bridges, time and space and circumstance has passed us all by for that. And to think, I used to believe I had no regrets. Alas, no, no I didn't, for those regrets(people) had long since left me and parted ways to their own destiny. I still care about all of them, all of those connections I've lost, their memory lingers with me forever. I suppose that will have to suffice, for now. Ya Rabb, forgive them and me, guide us on our way to you, and leave us not even should we leave ourselves, ameen.
4.16.2015
- in the name of Allah -
I suppose all I am is a meager man of meager means who dreamt a dream too large for his britches so they split evenly at the seams, leaving him breathful when all he wanted was just one breathless scene of love requited and fulfilled before life robbed his soul and made his only effort vainly seem. every path every road every chance every mode every seed's possibility kept frozen in winter's endless glow, just all appear as fated tracks for men to walk so they earn their title at life's long awaited end. gazing beneath the surface seeing the methods to madness where trial and conflict are woven into reality's purpose, it's so hard to imagine how insidious the system really is when the depth of our trial is a pill I barely tasted yet it seems its eventuality is the only end to fathom for one fathomless. all around the only thing impressing my vision is this prison I'm kept locked in, life itself even though I built myself a tiny gilded cage within the manic storms of fate kicking people about when they haven't had enough of a beating to learn their place. I wish women didn't need money or wealth to be so well bought or dealt, needing castles with fanciful towers to flee to from their nightmare of monotony's march or husbands faced by prospects dour. I'll never quite grasp how people cannot see that the simplest path to happiness isn't found laced by worldly things that can be held in hand but by that which brightens the soul to find and in it one becomes whole, a mechanism to see beyond the shine and show of folly's gold, God I wish people were not fickle so. as it must be by definitions Webster's Oxford and others well-known, tragedies must exist and unfold to have their spectacle as sights for all watching to behold, a lesson in fables or fallacies one can never be certain till the end finally falls on this dreadful act's closing curtain.
I suppose all I am is a meager man of meager means who dreamt a dream too large for his britches so they split evenly at the seams, leaving him breathful when all he wanted was just one breathless scene of love requited and fulfilled before life robbed his soul and made his only effort vainly seem. every path every road every chance every mode every seed's possibility kept frozen in winter's endless glow, just all appear as fated tracks for men to walk so they earn their title at life's long awaited end. gazing beneath the surface seeing the methods to madness where trial and conflict are woven into reality's purpose, it's so hard to imagine how insidious the system really is when the depth of our trial is a pill I barely tasted yet it seems its eventuality is the only end to fathom for one fathomless. all around the only thing impressing my vision is this prison I'm kept locked in, life itself even though I built myself a tiny gilded cage within the manic storms of fate kicking people about when they haven't had enough of a beating to learn their place. I wish women didn't need money or wealth to be so well bought or dealt, needing castles with fanciful towers to flee to from their nightmare of monotony's march or husbands faced by prospects dour. I'll never quite grasp how people cannot see that the simplest path to happiness isn't found laced by worldly things that can be held in hand but by that which brightens the soul to find and in it one becomes whole, a mechanism to see beyond the shine and show of folly's gold, God I wish people were not fickle so. as it must be by definitions Webster's Oxford and others well-known, tragedies must exist and unfold to have their spectacle as sights for all watching to behold, a lesson in fables or fallacies one can never be certain till the end finally falls on this dreadful act's closing curtain.
2.23.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Among the things which life has slowly taught me over the years, I had a recent first: there was a small predicament, whose solution or possible reaction presented itself with two different scenarios to its conclusion. Ordinarily this should be nothing new, but when I explored each option, I found something I cannot recall discovering: there was a wisdom for both paths, a wisdom valid each in its own right. The first door presented said to accept what had happened (an event of very minor consequence) and simply leave it alone and move on; the gist being perhaps that some things are not 'meant' for one to be had and so should be left alone lest their fruitless pursuit brings one into needless difficulty or even misguidance. The second door said to challenge what had happened, to not simply leave alone the outcome but to give it another effort, with more resilience and patience than I had on the first few tries; the gist of this being that though we know not where the end of our efforts may lie, whether in wandering or finding, we should still pursue them, should challenge the apparent decree of fate and try again to overcome it, expending from ourselves whatever we can, excluding only that which would stray from guidance.
What a quandary is this? Even for an event so miniscule as what prompted it, I cannot help but draw the parallels with many events prior in my life, mostly being of times which I had let go of things because their memory or the endeavor itself proved too painful to bear. At a glance, one may call this cowardice, and I am not sure I could disprove the notion. Trying to see the truth as much as I can and often as sight allows, I discount no possibilities, especially those concerning what my whole truth may be, both past and present. There was a time I felt that nothing on this Earth, nothing in life could call me to melt from within my iceberg of inertia, but that was not entirely accurate: there was one thing (love) on this plane I might move for, one thing to stir me from my hibernation and give rise to my actualized truth. How much could I give from myself, how much could I sacrifice to pursue this, how could my approach change? Should I resolve to let the tides of fate and circumstance blow and drift where they will, or should I put forth some resistance against these tides, to flow even against the current should it leave me elsewhere stranded?
My gut, maybe my heart as well, seem to understand that the risk (of divesting from one's self) must be taken, again and again, even if loss carries my only tune to the winds, that efforts must be made, in no matter how small or menial a task, such that maybe the smallest of steps might lead, in some way, to change on the bigger and biggest of steps. There is no denying I may be wrong here, that the choice to leave it be and let it go may be the 'wiser' course of action, but I feel that is something I have done for far too long, leaving things as they are without giving again the challenge, without unearthing my own will that it might find its own way instead of the way of pain or isolation fate seems to offer. Maybe this is how human beings were "meant" to deal with fate? That is, to not simply accept it for it appeared to be but to challenge it, even on the most basic of levels, that we may possibly forge from it something worthwhile, on the rarest of occasions even a thing approaching the miraculous: to shift the sands of time and give lasting shape to our ideals, that even as our bodies will die, perchance we might take these ideals with us to our graves as symbols of our will and effort and stubborn refusal to 'let things be as they are'. It might be in this very notion where we, where I, can find my salvation.
Among the things which life has slowly taught me over the years, I had a recent first: there was a small predicament, whose solution or possible reaction presented itself with two different scenarios to its conclusion. Ordinarily this should be nothing new, but when I explored each option, I found something I cannot recall discovering: there was a wisdom for both paths, a wisdom valid each in its own right. The first door presented said to accept what had happened (an event of very minor consequence) and simply leave it alone and move on; the gist being perhaps that some things are not 'meant' for one to be had and so should be left alone lest their fruitless pursuit brings one into needless difficulty or even misguidance. The second door said to challenge what had happened, to not simply leave alone the outcome but to give it another effort, with more resilience and patience than I had on the first few tries; the gist of this being that though we know not where the end of our efforts may lie, whether in wandering or finding, we should still pursue them, should challenge the apparent decree of fate and try again to overcome it, expending from ourselves whatever we can, excluding only that which would stray from guidance.
What a quandary is this? Even for an event so miniscule as what prompted it, I cannot help but draw the parallels with many events prior in my life, mostly being of times which I had let go of things because their memory or the endeavor itself proved too painful to bear. At a glance, one may call this cowardice, and I am not sure I could disprove the notion. Trying to see the truth as much as I can and often as sight allows, I discount no possibilities, especially those concerning what my whole truth may be, both past and present. There was a time I felt that nothing on this Earth, nothing in life could call me to melt from within my iceberg of inertia, but that was not entirely accurate: there was one thing (love) on this plane I might move for, one thing to stir me from my hibernation and give rise to my actualized truth. How much could I give from myself, how much could I sacrifice to pursue this, how could my approach change? Should I resolve to let the tides of fate and circumstance blow and drift where they will, or should I put forth some resistance against these tides, to flow even against the current should it leave me elsewhere stranded?
My gut, maybe my heart as well, seem to understand that the risk (of divesting from one's self) must be taken, again and again, even if loss carries my only tune to the winds, that efforts must be made, in no matter how small or menial a task, such that maybe the smallest of steps might lead, in some way, to change on the bigger and biggest of steps. There is no denying I may be wrong here, that the choice to leave it be and let it go may be the 'wiser' course of action, but I feel that is something I have done for far too long, leaving things as they are without giving again the challenge, without unearthing my own will that it might find its own way instead of the way of pain or isolation fate seems to offer. Maybe this is how human beings were "meant" to deal with fate? That is, to not simply accept it for it appeared to be but to challenge it, even on the most basic of levels, that we may possibly forge from it something worthwhile, on the rarest of occasions even a thing approaching the miraculous: to shift the sands of time and give lasting shape to our ideals, that even as our bodies will die, perchance we might take these ideals with us to our graves as symbols of our will and effort and stubborn refusal to 'let things be as they are'. It might be in this very notion where we, where I, can find my salvation.
2.14.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Of myself, a metaphor:
All of my efforts and aims and ambitions amount to only a speck of sand, but it is the backing and support and blessing of my Rabb that forms the desert itself. I wish not to become a dune, as I fear being swept away by the coming winds.
* * *
In contentment, alhamdulillah I lack for nothing: my family is alive and well, food is never scarce, water never far. I carry no debts, except that of being raised and supported by ones who loved me without condition, one I could never repay. I have warmth in winter's cold, coolness in summer's heat, clothes whenever I should need them, and an ear should I ever seek it. No person alive could ask for a life more stable than I have at present, innumerable blessings that, at times, shame my lack of ambition.
My heart longs for nothing in this physical world, it can attach itself to nothing material no matter how hard it tries. This is my state, a state I am reluctant to forgo in order to become, truly, a man of this earth: taking from it responsibility and desire. I love the ideal, the way things aught to be, matters pristine and untainted and original and pure. I long for a place when justice is as tangible as gold yet a thousand times more sought after. As such, what is there here, in this plane, for me? What does a shadow care for but to find its like within the shade? This life gives nothing but trial upon trial, test laden with test, difficulty that success often breeds into a storming ego seeking more of its own (vain) fulfillment.
How can one such as this find love here? Without love, is there or even should there be a reason to become one with this aimless river?
Of myself, a metaphor:
All of my efforts and aims and ambitions amount to only a speck of sand, but it is the backing and support and blessing of my Rabb that forms the desert itself. I wish not to become a dune, as I fear being swept away by the coming winds.
* * *
In contentment, alhamdulillah I lack for nothing: my family is alive and well, food is never scarce, water never far. I carry no debts, except that of being raised and supported by ones who loved me without condition, one I could never repay. I have warmth in winter's cold, coolness in summer's heat, clothes whenever I should need them, and an ear should I ever seek it. No person alive could ask for a life more stable than I have at present, innumerable blessings that, at times, shame my lack of ambition.
My heart longs for nothing in this physical world, it can attach itself to nothing material no matter how hard it tries. This is my state, a state I am reluctant to forgo in order to become, truly, a man of this earth: taking from it responsibility and desire. I love the ideal, the way things aught to be, matters pristine and untainted and original and pure. I long for a place when justice is as tangible as gold yet a thousand times more sought after. As such, what is there here, in this plane, for me? What does a shadow care for but to find its like within the shade? This life gives nothing but trial upon trial, test laden with test, difficulty that success often breeds into a storming ego seeking more of its own (vain) fulfillment.
How can one such as this find love here? Without love, is there or even should there be a reason to become one with this aimless river?
2.07.2015
- in the name of Allah -
..wa min'al Asmaa'i i'lal Ard...
(..and from the Skies [you] to the Earth [me]...)
7.2.15
..came either a blessing or a curse. long wondered I have, which of the two may be worse: to never have and thus never be hurt, or to possibility beholden but then be spurned? so many fickle tides need this way turn, a millennial chance for me it seems, to mine from your meteor priceless stone, melting ice from long-faded dreams, Midas' envy to make without sorrow for love a priceless home. I think such a gem I could never deserve, lived I even a thousand years, for what have I of worth in reserve? to match your boundless compassion, to be worthy of such great a truth, I could give everything I ever was, yet still not make up the difference due. so why then does the wolf howl at the moon?, yearning even for a glimmer's reflection in fate's nearby pool, that his cries might reach that pale and lonesome star, and make it not quite alone, even if was company from afar. of material things I have precious few, of material wants even less is true. all I've ever sought, was that one thing which could never be bought: to hold in the palm of my hands a heart, and place it alongside my own, beating in steady rhythm, never to be cleft apart. there it is, the sum of my essence, what drives me to what I seek: 'tis a lover's call at its trough and peak, to find in sine's wave simply cosine's all.
..wa min'al Asmaa'i i'lal Ard...
(..and from the Skies [you] to the Earth [me]...)
7.2.15
..came either a blessing or a curse. long wondered I have, which of the two may be worse: to never have and thus never be hurt, or to possibility beholden but then be spurned? so many fickle tides need this way turn, a millennial chance for me it seems, to mine from your meteor priceless stone, melting ice from long-faded dreams, Midas' envy to make without sorrow for love a priceless home. I think such a gem I could never deserve, lived I even a thousand years, for what have I of worth in reserve? to match your boundless compassion, to be worthy of such great a truth, I could give everything I ever was, yet still not make up the difference due. so why then does the wolf howl at the moon?, yearning even for a glimmer's reflection in fate's nearby pool, that his cries might reach that pale and lonesome star, and make it not quite alone, even if was company from afar. of material things I have precious few, of material wants even less is true. all I've ever sought, was that one thing which could never be bought: to hold in the palm of my hands a heart, and place it alongside my own, beating in steady rhythm, never to be cleft apart. there it is, the sum of my essence, what drives me to what I seek: 'tis a lover's call at its trough and peak, to find in sine's wave simply cosine's all.
1.30.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Long ago, almost a decade now, there was a part of myself I had cherished, an innocence and naivete (so I thought in past retrospectives) that linked me closer to my faith. It was a smiling, brighter part of me that somehow seemed to be able to be cheery even after some of the most difficult times I'd ever known. A part of me that could take its idealism and make it real, fashioning from simple actions and conversations a potential roadmap to its future.
I lost this part of me, or to be more precise, I had let go of it. I once thought that in this harsh reality, where power and wealth and influence seem to domineer over everything, I couldn't hold onto something so fragile, that it was not worth allowing one's self to be so vulnerable to seemingly everything. Fortunately, and alhamdulillah, I was wrong and able to live long enough to see it.
There were and are so many layers to understanding what it means to "hold on to Allah's rope", I thought I knew all of them. I thought that it was the rope strangling me, presenting me with one set way of thinking while placing me in a world where the exact opposite seemed the only way. It turns out this was not the case. I think the best way to describe it might be that I had managed to use the rope to strangle myself, to use it not as a means of ascension or hopefulness or perseverance, but twisting into a justification for dissociation, disconnecting from old friends, from trying to be aloof from as much of life as I could possibly be.
Rope, particularly the one Allah lends to those believe in Him, is never to be so dreary or dreaded. It remains a gift, though people, including myself, may lose sight of its real purpose: to remain ever vigilant, forward-looking, to keep on climbing no matter how slowly we have to go or how many steps back we may stumble.What has past is gone and cannot be changed, but what is to come need not go by those same rules written into the history books. We....I, can find something better if only I seek it, if I never let go of the aid my Rabb gives me and return to Him as often as I have breath to find it.
I will never forget Komal, perhaps the first person I ever knew who accepted me for everything I was and never demanded anything from me to change (though I should have been smarter back then). Memories of that brief but brilliant and wistful time in life will always remain, so long as neurons keep firing. I suppose alhamdulillah is in order, when is it not?, that I had the chance to know someone like her, in an age of true innocence and imagination. For the beautiful and tremendous thing that I had sought at that age, it was not my time to have it. Will such a time ever come for me to find it? I don't hold the answer to that, but at long last, I will leave the doors of possibility wide open.
Long ago, almost a decade now, there was a part of myself I had cherished, an innocence and naivete (so I thought in past retrospectives) that linked me closer to my faith. It was a smiling, brighter part of me that somehow seemed to be able to be cheery even after some of the most difficult times I'd ever known. A part of me that could take its idealism and make it real, fashioning from simple actions and conversations a potential roadmap to its future.
I lost this part of me, or to be more precise, I had let go of it. I once thought that in this harsh reality, where power and wealth and influence seem to domineer over everything, I couldn't hold onto something so fragile, that it was not worth allowing one's self to be so vulnerable to seemingly everything. Fortunately, and alhamdulillah, I was wrong and able to live long enough to see it.
There were and are so many layers to understanding what it means to "hold on to Allah's rope", I thought I knew all of them. I thought that it was the rope strangling me, presenting me with one set way of thinking while placing me in a world where the exact opposite seemed the only way. It turns out this was not the case. I think the best way to describe it might be that I had managed to use the rope to strangle myself, to use it not as a means of ascension or hopefulness or perseverance, but twisting into a justification for dissociation, disconnecting from old friends, from trying to be aloof from as much of life as I could possibly be.
Rope, particularly the one Allah lends to those believe in Him, is never to be so dreary or dreaded. It remains a gift, though people, including myself, may lose sight of its real purpose: to remain ever vigilant, forward-looking, to keep on climbing no matter how slowly we have to go or how many steps back we may stumble.What has past is gone and cannot be changed, but what is to come need not go by those same rules written into the history books. We....I, can find something better if only I seek it, if I never let go of the aid my Rabb gives me and return to Him as often as I have breath to find it.
I will never forget Komal, perhaps the first person I ever knew who accepted me for everything I was and never demanded anything from me to change (though I should have been smarter back then). Memories of that brief but brilliant and wistful time in life will always remain, so long as neurons keep firing. I suppose alhamdulillah is in order, when is it not?, that I had the chance to know someone like her, in an age of true innocence and imagination. For the beautiful and tremendous thing that I had sought at that age, it was not my time to have it. Will such a time ever come for me to find it? I don't hold the answer to that, but at long last, I will leave the doors of possibility wide open.