- in the name of Allah -


Among the times I go back through some of my older posts here and reading the comments people left, one thing really struck me: so often a compliment or admiration they'd write...but you know what? That wasn't at ALL what I was looking for in those posts. So much of what I reflected then was the pain of my history, yet for many onlookers, this was...a curiosity, a thing to admire, like a painting of a holocaust on a museum wall that's looked at with admiration/respect for the artistry - but the response to it is utterly devoid and non-reflective of the actual adversity being represented within it. Such a casual, roundabout way of thinking some people have, they can see pain, obvious or cloaked, and comment happily to have read it, lending no word of commiseration or dua or advice/guidance. That's not to say some didn't leave good advice, they did. But it was really amazing to notice, in the big picture of things, how different was what went into writing a post and the kinds of replies it lead to. Strange but true, c'est la vie.



Onwards, flying to more pleasant thoughts-

walking slowly, blindfolds there and still just enough tight, the pace is steady but their holding, to the side lush greens and gardens, palms of trees laden in fruit leaning over to yield their produce at ripest beck and calling. through the shade of centuries, pass we by mere seconds as if walking on a carpeted breeze, there's things ahead I need to show but only for one to see. perhaps I'll begin my brush's stroke with the waterfall cascades, at its base we sit to relish the mist, taking in rivers of milk and honey and the finest champagne, things to drink not for thirst but pleasure's purpose only and first, gifts from our Creator well-pleased and in front of us His promises dispersed. we haven't even reached our mansions or their thrones, perches fit for seekers and the sought, when our mates from balconies above call us home, to laugh and smile and relish in all the mercy from our Rabb we could ever want or know.
an eternal springtime of the spotless minds, here coalesces hope from fruit into wine.