بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Another possible avenue opens, but holds just as much certainty as the others. The past few months have been something I've never known before, getting to know others beginning at the surface, seeing potential blossom into something amazing, breathtaking. And then, when some of these connections broke apart, it was if there was no air left to breathe, no oxygen left in the lungs, a perpetuated state of cardiac imprisonment that I've been searching years to find one to free me from.

On this side of time, at this juncture, I am without my echo, my twin, my axis. SubhanaAllah. Each of these situations have reminded me what my road has to be, because it is who I am. I have to leave the resolution of these affairs with my Rabb, I can do no more for them than is decent, can express of myself no more than is moderate, can want for them no more than a moment's flash. Perhaps it is because I always try to see into the future, understand what might come to be, what the results of today might reap. It can be so utterly beautiful, yet I can share those insights and possibilities with none as yet.  

I still feel like I don't understand tawakkul at all. I thought I did at one point in time, until my being was eviscerated down to particles so fine I couldn't even describe myself as dust. After an experience (or two, or three) like that, one cannot fathom anything as grand as trust. At that level, the only state I can know is submission, in its most complete form. To think of 'trust' requires me to have an expectation or hope or knowledge of better vs worse, things I simply cannot imagine while my being is in that condition. All I can do to retain any molecular cohesion, to find any semblance of me being actual matter instead of drifting apart in space, is to acknowledge and retain the cognizance that Allah owns me, Allah owns my heart, Allah owns whatever it is I wished for. He owns all of this, and if He wills me to find pain, then that is what I will face. There is no begrudging His right over me as my Creator, no resentment in loss over something or someone, no bitterness or disillusion over something I wanted to call mine. Why? Because nothing is mine, it's all His. The slave has no argument to counter His Rabb, no words of dispute, nothing to resist what He wills. It is just only for a slave to say, "I submit" to His Creator. I don't know where ends such a road, if any mortal will join me for my journey to Him. But in the end, Allah is Whom I will find, and if this meager submission is sincere to Him, then a Day will come where all these worries scatter like wind, replaced by joys that only He can give.