1.31.2018

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ


My Rabb, the road is Yours, as its ever been. I don't own my self, nor the time I have, nor the hopes I dream, just the sins I claim, all the mistakes I've made, all the pitfalls I've stepped in. What is there for me to say, but that my eyes cannot see, that what I touch turns to ash, that for me, I myself am woefully insufficient? What does a slave do, when he realizes ever more fully how dependent his reality is on You? Would that I could spend every moment laying in prostration, perhaps that would bring me closer to truth in completion. After what I've felt and what I've let go of, I prepare again to face what Tomorrow holds, for though surely I know I'm not enough, still Your decree is for me to live, to face, to challenge again the patterns of this life, maybe perhaps, to find in my wandering, a way up to those heights. 

Sadness and pain are never far from wherever I'm standing, usually upon the edges of cliffs where Tomorrows are beckoning, but for this fool's eyes, he sees but what he might then behold, if he stands but straight and tells no lies. Alas for the home in the heart still vacant, echoing in chambers temporarily left emptied, hoping that my Rabb brings close to me, she who would fill them all.

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