Smooth Sailing

Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim

In a deep, oceanic valley lies a deep thought that cannot be reached. The tongue could not move except out of complete necessity, and there remained that thought.

Now in type perhaps its silence can be removed, so with the deserving prophetic greetings of peace may it begin. But there is nothing to follow, and silence is the favoured option of the wise. Articulations betray one's secrets. Deeper meanings of simple words are easily captured by listening beyond the words themselves. This ultimate betrayal of the the soul begins and ends with the escape of just a single, untimely breath.

My nature is inclined to silence, though I've since overwhelmed it and learned to engage the amicable with both guarded insights or free thoughts. But it is in silence that sweetness settles upon the tongue. Eventually, what follows is tastier than any of the hasty appetizers that might have been served to avoid initial uncertainties. It's a meal well worth waiting for, perhaps. But then again, fasting is a gratifying option too. Let God choose the path, and whichever of the two prevails shall be superior.

As a friend gave voice to the challenges that life's directions offered, I listened. Offerings are only that, simple options. The choice need not be her own as it would necessarily be flawed. Chase, and chase, and chase some more, but you'll find your fruits at the end to be outwardly decent, perhaps even beautiful, but inwardly tasteless. Let Him choose, and you're guaranteed sweetness in every oasis you encounter.

I can regret a lot, but it would be a wasted effort. Instead, I thank my Gracious and Kind Lord for His many blessings, and I smile from my heart, deep within, wherein lies that thought. The thought that this life is only a journey. He will send us the provisions that we need as we feign self-dependent navigation. And in the silence of the night when deep thoughts can be heard, we will savour the pleasures of submission.

My Babies

Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim

Sweet child, resting in my arms. I rock you gently as we listen to words, blessed in their own right, praising our beloved, the beloved of Allah, Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him and his family.

Moments earlier tears rolled off your tender cheeks and soaked into your blanket. I still feel the moisture of your tears as I hold you close to me. I lightly stroke your cheeks, and you open your eyes very briefly. Sleep gets the better of you, and in your calm state you fall off into a deep slumber.

It seems like it was only yesterday when that was a reality. But time is moving quickly. In our separation, dreams kept us close. It seemed that not a day passed when I didn't think of you, miss you, pray for you, and hope for our reunion. When it came, you surprised me with your maturity, your strength, and your ability to 'take me down.' I've since learnt to play the fighter, and enjoy every minute of our synchronized laughter filling the room.

The room is now silent. And in its silence, I must take a lesson.

I no longer hope for what may never be, but I try to remember to focus on our guarantees. You are blessings by Allah's will only. Your presence warms the hearts of those who love you, and this is none other than a gift from God. I try to refrain myself from believing that my selfishness for your company is something worthwhile. God has opened another path for you, and as I plead with Him to take care of you and all your affairs, I trust His plan for you and us all completely.

I cannot afford to love you for anything other than His sake. Regardless, my love for you knows no bounds. You'll always be my babies regardless of the changes that we face.

Until we meet again, God willing... May Allah keep you both safe, make you blessings for your mother and loved ones, and make you among the righteous, ameen.
I love you too.

For tomorrow...

Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll fill my day with dedicated study and fruitful reflections.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll dedicate only a few hours to sleeping and eating.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll avoid any distractions and remain focused.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll speak only good or remain silent.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll honour my family members.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll beautify my character.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll treat time as a gift.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll repent for my sins.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll savour my prayers.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll serve others.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I'll begin today.

For the tomorrow that never comes, I weep.

Gentle Eyes

Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim

Those eyes. Even a clone could not imitate them. There is a soul that shines through those brilliant eyes. Your eyes. Likened to a radiating star that challenges the darkness of the night. Peace rests in those eyes.

Eyes are windows to the soul. Not mascara, nor eyeliner or kohl, nor eye shadow, nor anything tangible can add or detract from the beauty of the messages hidden beneath those lowered eyelids. Only in rare and discreet glimpses are the messages, a raiment of hidden jewels, shared and another given entry.

Such is the appeal I find in my gentle giants who shelter their families and mourn their deceased. Though clothed with an intimidating demeanor, they exemplify patient tolerance, dedication, and a promise to care.

But I also see their sadness, and my eyes share their pain. Hunted, caged, abused, and mocked. How can we cage souls for entertainment? How can we justify the torment of any soul? We forget that punishments can only be carried out with just reasons and in accordance with the guidelines of the One who created all that the universe contains. His laws uphold justice and peace. Actions that go beyond His laws are transgressions for which we will be held accountable.

O gentle eyes, o sweet eyes, you see the way. For you, the path is clear, but for me it is not. Your eyes are innocent and your purpose lived, but not so for me. I look into your eyes and hope and pray for the same enlightenment and strength. You opened the window to your soul, though only for a brief moment, and then I knew that were I to do the same one would find only dust.

May the light of your eyes lead the way, by the permission of God. May He forgive us all for our guilty transgressions and may He establish our hearts in the firm and lovingly remembrance of His transcendence and generosity. Ameen.

A Gentle Glimmer

Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim

Like dust floating aimlessly from one surface to the next, as it is easily affected by changing wind patterns or eager dust rags, there is sometimes no meaningful direction in sight. Ambitions are only glorious words, and opportunities are closed gates.

But sometimes, as we sit in our reflective corners, we subconsciously turn our faces to the room's generous window. Our gaze lingers without a focus as we toss around those perturbing thoughts, and then our consciousness taps into a sea of shimmering molecules. The sun's wisdom caresses the directionless dust, and in their tranquil and harmonious interaction we find a suitable door through which we may lead our thoughts.

It is through such a door that I hope to carry (and not drag) some of my thoughts.

The human condition is a disappointing one. People will let us down, even if we think that our expectations of them are elementary. It seems too much to expect sincerity in most. It's becoming second nature to consider most promises as good as empty. But that's okay. As frustrating as it may be, in the grand scheme of things it is ineffectual and thus it must not be given more attention than it is worth.

We must live with our principles that carry us, our certainty of faith that guides us, and our dependence on God that supports us. And while we continue to stumble over the same rocks and new pebbles, we must pick ourselves up, even though we may stand alone, and carry on with the preparations that must be achieved for the life of eternity that awaits us.

From irritable indifference, there needed to be a way out. And while the path out and beyond the sheltered cave isn't clearly marked, there is a gentle glimmer.

And it's called hope.

Rock and Paper Scissors

Bismillah

Now let's look to the moon again and beg for a lesson. Switch off the sun and see how its counterpart responds. O bright moon, you aren't to be found. Lost in a galaxy of darkness, bereft of a crown. Such is the case when you take out truth.

What's a textbook word, a plastered face, and lip service except falsehood, an oppressive injustice. Trying to bring in the bling but forgetting that dignified integrity is the only shine worth keeping.

We holla' simple, but don't misunderstand that for a glorified cheap. The price is high. A moral conscience and sincere actions are priceless, the absence of which sets one's worth at zero.

It won't bleed though, not a single tear. Such is the nature of a rock. And what is this world except a collection of eroding rocks?

And so it is, the moon too is just a rock. And we are much the same. Our jewels are not our own. An easy flick of the switch - kun fa-yakun - be and it is. Then what?

If the narcism of others is intolerable, then what of our own selfish natures? This world offers nothing but a mirror. An ugly reflection indeed.

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."
-Henry David Thoreau

The Lone Dandelion

BismiLlahir Rahmanir Rahim

"You forgot one dandelion" the little boy informed his grandfather. They spent some time in the garden tending to the flower beds, lawn, and the many weeds. The astute four-year-old was an eager helper enjoying his time with his grandparents. But this young assistant takes his surroundings for granted as he has to yet to discover his family's history and all that it entails. It is a history of migration and something that he must learn to embrace.

The term "immigrant" is tossed around in various political or economic arenas. People question the wisdom in allowing "others" into "their" country often times neglecting their own histories of migration. Regardless, countries are dependent on migrants, and citizens owe it to themselves to recognize that a country only grows richer with increased cooperation.

My family was like that lone dandelion in the garden. We immigrated to Canada almost twenty years ago from a life of relative comfort in a country of despicable corruption to a life of sacrifice in a country of relative peace. It was not easy trying to build a new life for ourselves as we faced a new array of challenges in a place where we lacked social networks and supports. But God takes care of our affairs, and after some time it has become the only place that we are familiar enough with to call home.

I am very grateful for my history of migration as it offers me an alternate lense to view the world. It's almost as good as travelling except that the "them" that my fellow citizens use to refer to immigrants will always be an "us" for me.

There are a host of psychological readjustments that immigrants must adopt in their new homes. Tariq Ramadan speaks of these, and once mentioned a very simplistic yet profound idea, "there is no such thing as a minority citizen." The implications of such a truthful statement are vast and demands the attention of all citizens.

The challenges that refugees face are a lot more multifaceted and increasingly more difficult. A refugee, by definition, is one who flees for safety, especially to another (foreign) country. A forced migration often times means one comes from an unstable environment to a new land without the means to easily establish oneself there.

Al Amaanah is an organization based in Houston, Texas that strives to serve the needs of the refugee population in that vicinity. Their name points directly to the responsibility that they acknowledge each community has towards the struggling (refugee) segment of the population. It was very inspiring watching these three (1, 2, 3) videos regarding their work.

One young man specifically mentioned that it is difficult for people in need to ask for a helping hand and it is upon those who are able to offer themselves and their contributions before a person is forced to ask. He also mentioned that every community has people who are need and it is up the rest of the community to seek these people out and offer them help in honourable ways.

I pray that God gives this organization divine success (tawfiq) and facilitates their efforts for His sake. May He help other communities combine and utilize their resources in the service of others for His sake, and may He give ease to all those who are suffering worldwide, ameen.

In closing, my use of the term dandelion in reference to immigrants is absolutely not meant to belittle. In fact, I'm hoping that it would invite us to think deeper about how we classify newcomers in our midst. Those who know the value of the dandelion plant actually seek it, collect it, and use it to improve their health. Most of us though cannot see its beauty and instead take cheap shots as we uproot it from a place it deserves to flourish.

As with many things, it only takes an initial effort to put ourselves in other people's shoes in order for us to be more productive and empathetic towards the situations that we face as communities.

And success is from God alone.