بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
يا أبا عمير...ما فعل النغير؟
Ya Aba 'Umayr, ma fa3al al-nughayr?
O Abu Umayr, what did the the nughayr [a small bird] do?
الف الصلاة و السلام عليك يا حبيب الله
I don't need to close my eyes to see it. I still see it. Although having missed the chance to return it in the flesh, the world of the arwaah has since opened enough opportunities to compensate the shortfall. When slumber faces the world, indulgences are endless.
If I placed my heart upon a glass tabletop, what would I find? Its colour will likely be charred with perhaps only a single drop of brilliant red colouring. It'll have random scuff marks and boast an arrhythmia. Hard to the touch, it would be a thing of great wonderment. I'd cradle it in my palms while searching for a well-known, hidden portion of sponginess. With no more than gentle pressure, I would gently remove the portion, in its entirety, and place its remnants on a mattress of sterile cotton. Then I would caress the blackened clump hoping to ease the pain of its tiny though substantial loss.
This certainly sounds like a cruel way to return a smile.
I wonder about the interaction between a little boy and our beloved Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. The demise of the boy's bird was cause for the boy's sadness. The Prophet, salla Allahu 'alayhi wa salam, cheered him up by saying: "O Abu Umayr, what did the small bird do?"
I would love to hear the wise insights that have been gleaned from this one sentence. Superficially, one might comment on the act of a busy man attending to a child in his moments of sadness. But wisdom is not in doing what is unexpected, rather it is in doing that which is rarely thought of and even less frequently acted upon.
أين أنت في حياتِنا يا حبيب الله؟
I wonder about the wisdom encompassed in a shared smile. Sharing things of beauty are not negligible experiences. For whom do we reserve our smiles? Are we so tremendously lacking in our appreciation of our circumstances and so self-involved that we keep this heart-moving curve of the lips and twinkle of the eyes to ourselves?
I'm hardly suggesting a charged movement to pasted smiles and heartless gestures. Rather, I wonder at sharing the treasure of actions that springs forth from the sincerity in our hearts. In voicelessness, a pure smile can say we care. How profound it is to not only share it but to also inspire it. A beautiful gift indeed.
يا أبا عمير...ما فعل النغير؟
Ya Aba 'Umayr, ma fa3al al-nughayr?
O Abu Umayr, what did the the nughayr [a small bird] do?
الف الصلاة و السلام عليك يا حبيب الله
I don't need to close my eyes to see it. I still see it. Although having missed the chance to return it in the flesh, the world of the arwaah has since opened enough opportunities to compensate the shortfall. When slumber faces the world, indulgences are endless.
If I placed my heart upon a glass tabletop, what would I find? Its colour will likely be charred with perhaps only a single drop of brilliant red colouring. It'll have random scuff marks and boast an arrhythmia. Hard to the touch, it would be a thing of great wonderment. I'd cradle it in my palms while searching for a well-known, hidden portion of sponginess. With no more than gentle pressure, I would gently remove the portion, in its entirety, and place its remnants on a mattress of sterile cotton. Then I would caress the blackened clump hoping to ease the pain of its tiny though substantial loss.
This certainly sounds like a cruel way to return a smile.
I wonder about the interaction between a little boy and our beloved Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. The demise of the boy's bird was cause for the boy's sadness. The Prophet, salla Allahu 'alayhi wa salam, cheered him up by saying: "O Abu Umayr, what did the small bird do?"
I would love to hear the wise insights that have been gleaned from this one sentence. Superficially, one might comment on the act of a busy man attending to a child in his moments of sadness. But wisdom is not in doing what is unexpected, rather it is in doing that which is rarely thought of and even less frequently acted upon.
أين أنت في حياتِنا يا حبيب الله؟
I wonder about the wisdom encompassed in a shared smile. Sharing things of beauty are not negligible experiences. For whom do we reserve our smiles? Are we so tremendously lacking in our appreciation of our circumstances and so self-involved that we keep this heart-moving curve of the lips and twinkle of the eyes to ourselves?
I'm hardly suggesting a charged movement to pasted smiles and heartless gestures. Rather, I wonder at sharing the treasure of actions that springs forth from the sincerity in our hearts. In voicelessness, a pure smile can say we care. How profound it is to not only share it but to also inspire it. A beautiful gift indeed.
2 comments:
JazakAllah this is truly insightful
Assalaamu'alaykum Sanaa
Wa iyyak. I see you've registered at blogger.. I'll await the link to your blog :).
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