بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

On the way back from the Haram in Makkah, after the Farewell Tawaf, a friend asked me what everything had meant to me, how did I feel, or some question along those lines. I couldn't really answer him well enough in one word, so I reached back to a metaphor I'd conceived back in June (ah yes, fateful, endearing June, with its unforgettable thundershowers). 

In something describing me, hope was the arrow nocked in a bow, an arrow immune to every force of this worldly life, with the bow representing the sum of all my experiences/efforts/blessings from my Rabb. 

My answer to him was this: I felt Hajj become the decisive force, the tipping point to gather all momentum, the singular event that finally unleashed my arrow from its bow, streaking towards its target. I think he understood, for he replied "inshaAllah". 

But did I? Alas, even as one who has thought he knew, the challenge ahead is daunting. What kind of road am I trying to forge, to find Allah's mercy in its fullest imaginable expression? Am I prepared? Do I dare wonder at the responsibilities endowed on such a slave who dares to dream so far beyond his scope? I am still yet mortal, never sinless, no saint just sinner, entangled into a life that so oft runs contrary to what I long for. Oh Rabb, where am I now?