Variance in Altitude

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

It's been almost a year and a half since my Gift professed her desire to be my Mia, subhanaAllah what a moment that was. Now the title is hers, though how strange it is for someone so gorgeous and evocative to be so out of attunement with her own impact. Well-acquainted is the one who envisions and imagines to the reality of a state being far from its potential, but a handful of peaks and many pleasant slopes are enough to make certain that I remember the wisdom of my Rabb in what He decrees. This life and its purpose should not be condensed into a search for the single moment of validity or presumed excitement. A measure of contentment, once found, becomes the bedrock for sustenance, for progressing onward, pushing on in the days when all we want to do is just fall into bed and sleep. 

Alhamdulillah for such fuel, for all that it is. I suppose it would be egregious of me to wish also to know how fare all my beloved, even as tiny parts of their lives I know, there is so much I do not. Being part of them, knowing their struggle and joy, that would be sufficient. But He decrees for me further silence, a statement the tongue wishes would just shackle it in permanence already, to diffuse all my speech internally because the ones I want to reach, He keeps in so far an orbit from me. How might they come to know what I want them to hear? Of beloved unwritten, for whom time passes and their conditions change, up to down and down to up. Were He to give me multiple lifetimes to keep on writing, keep on trying to get something across, I would be unable. The only cure, my only cure, is proximity. Everything other than that, is an illness and ailment, a malady that runs its circles around me, but one day iA, sooner or later, the fever's gotta break.