DO NOT JUDGE, BUT LOOK! - your temporary home in the motel of the human spirit.

Look!

Judge ye not my home

By the measure of my little room,

Nor the smallness of my hearth

And kitchen where I cook,

For my true abode is my heart,

And therein beats the name

Of Ahad and Ahmad,

Do not judge, but look! Look!

Judge ye not my grave

By the measure of its length and width,

For my final abode is built 

With the love from my Lord,

And it is finer than any house

Mortal hands may wrought,

Do not judge, but look! Look! 

...................

Build your home, but do not be tied to it. Build your home, but do not make it a prison. For your house, your apartment, your flat, your bed-sit is nothing but a temporary place for you. At best it is the highway motel of the human spirit. So look for companions that will aid you in your journey and speed you towards the Divine Presence. And travel as light as you can.

Have a lovely Sunday, sunshine. I have always said that writing a poem is like composing a song. It is not about arranging as much words and smart sentences as we can, but what to leave out. So short and simple is always nice. God bless you always...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Mecca of Man

Thy Hallowed House

O’ Lord,

It is not piety that drove me to Thee,

It is not virtues that made me plead to Thee,

It is not faith that led me to Thy Hallowed Sanctuary,

Nor is it patience that allowed me to endure

What Thou has bestowed for me.

O’ Lord,

For Thou knowest best what I hide in my chest

That no other can see, and Thou knowest completely

My selfishness, hubris and vanity.

But as Thou had honoured

The dry arid desert of Mecca

To bear Thy Hallowed House

Honour my dry arid heart

And make me bear Thy name, o' Ahad

And Thy Beloved Prophet, o' Ahmad!

..................

God could have His House built anywhere, but He commanded Prophet Abraham, some 5,000 years ago or more to build it in the middle of the desert of the Arabian Peninsular in the place now known as Mecca. If God was going for accessibility of location, a temperate climate with rich forests and fertile meadows God could have chosen thousands upon thousands of other places. Instead He chose Mecca.

And He could have chosen so many others who are wiser, and more patient, disciplined and stronger than you. But He chose you. Verily, God plans best and the Prophet(pbuh) is His best!

How blessed are you, o' Mecca of Man.

Have a lovely day, sunshine

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Not a Miracle, Merely Love - sometimes, having simple expectations really helps.

Not a Miracle, Merely Love

I saw a cloud in the sky

And the tail of my master’s turban,

But it is not a miracle,

It is merely love.

I placed my hand on the trunk

Of a tree, and someone said

Verily, the master used to do that,

But it is not a miracle,

It is merely love.

I sat on the steps of a building

And someone commented,

Verily, the master used to sit there

Just like that, with his feet

Swinging in the air,

But it is not a miracle,

It is merely love.

I am a sinner and a fool,

But my master is beautiful,

And he does not reject me

Nor turn me away,

But it is not a miracle,

It is merely love.

I write of history,

Of the present,

And sometimes even

Of what is meant to be,

But it is not a miracle

Nor am I Nostradamus,

It is merely love.

People see miracles and magic,

But I only see of love.

People see mysteries and wonder,

But I only see my master.

And really, that is enough

For the likes of me.

......................

And sometimes, it is meeting someone
special that is a grand little
miracle...

Miracles? I have enough miracles already to last me several life times. Honest. Like how I found my car keys again after dropping them in a pitch black cinema. Like how I passed my honours and Bar finals. Like how I was born to a fine lady of a mother and a lovely if slightly demented family. Like how butterflies often hover near and how the trees let fall a shower of flowers and leaves along the path. And how the dog downstairs is finally noticing me after weeks of my saying hello to him. But of course, perhaps for some people, such things are not miraculous at all.

Do you think I should set my standards for miracles higher? Like splitting the Moon in two, walking on water or bringing the dead to life?

The Miracle of Man. But the truth is that I am happy this way. This life appears seldom boring or dull, and sprinkled aplenty with fairy dust. Perhaps the greatest miracle of all is our very own existence and our very own being. Because as one spiritual acolyte recently shared with me, Man affects and changes the environment that he enters into. Whether it is in his house, out in the garden, in his workplace or among animals of the forest. Always affecting for the better, if what he looks for is goodness.

It is this ability, and his latent strength to rise up again however low he may fall as an alley cat in the gutter that is perhaps, the greatest miracle of all. How fine and beautiful has God designed you, sunshine!

From here, I can see it already. Plain as daylight under the sun of Ahad and remaining luminous under the moon of Ahmad.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Be Careful What Book You Pick Up, It May Be The Lord's! - the rain and the dervish

It Rained All Day And Night

It rained all day and night,

It rained with no respite,

It rained till morning came

And the Sun woke up.

It rained all day and night,

It rained with no respite,

But it bothered not the dervish

Busy filling his loving cup.

It rained all day and night,

It rained with no respite,

But there stayed the dervish

With his book, thinking...

"One must not be irritated

By every rub!"

It rained all day and night,

It rained without respite,

It rained till the riverbanks broke

But not once from his dream

Did the dervish awoke...

Wandering as he was

In the vast expanse

Of his heart,

In rapture of

Ahad and

Ahmad!

..............

You Must Be Careful

You must be careful what book you pick up. 
You must be careful into whose dreams you intrude. 
You must be careful through whose garden gate you peer into. 
And one must always be careful whose door one knocks upon... 
For if it is the Lord's, He is not one to leave your attention unanswered. 
Every question you ask of Him, He shall answer. 
Every riddle you pose to Him, He will certainly reply. 
He is after all, our One Lord God, and He is not one to leave 
His servants stumbling about with their whats, whos, hows and whys...

..............

And if you think that God is miserly in granting His undivided attention to His servants... you have not yet found His door. It is not difficult, you need only ask and you will be invited in.

This is not the Lord's Door of course.
This is a door to the Lord's Door.
And it needs a new coat of paint.

Welcome! Welcome!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

We Get You Connected - Prose of Ramadhan Part 59

10. God’s Answering Machine

God answers all calls,

And has no need for an answering machine.

If you think that He did not pick up the phone,

Or if you hear only static at the other end,

It is because you are not ready to listen and accept,

The answers are all there,

Preserved in your memory,

To be retrieved by pressing ‘Accept Message’.

This public info has been brought to you

By the Prophetic Telephone Company Ltd.

We are all 'Live' Performances from One Single Concerto of Love

2. Music, Truth and Mercy
Music is prohibited for none,
Advisable for a few,
Optional for others,
Highly recommended for the rest,
And mandatory for a number.

Truth is for all.
And Mercy is for the asking.
Heh!

No two 'live' playing of a song is ever the same. To replicate accurately the way Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart played his concertos is to be Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart playing his concertos. And even then, each performance of his music will be different from one to the next. There are simply immeasurable factors to replicate accurately.

I think mankind is a 'live' performance of God’s Own Concerto. Each man is different from another man. Each Eve is absolutely different from another Eve. And it gets even more cloudy when the Taufiq typing this blog now is different from the Taufiq having his lunch some five hours ago. Thus we are different from each other, and in ourselves we are different from one moment to the next. And yet, we have only One Conductor, and the piece of music that we manifest resonates from One Single Concerto of Love.

I am no renaissance man. My musical interest spans classical music, the happy hippies of the 60s, the rockers of the 70s, the happy (but hideous fashion) New Wavers of the 80s, right up to the new millennium. I am happy with Bach, Mozart, Duran Duran, the Carpenters, the Who, and yes... even Lady GaGa (despite her music videos being both ridiculous and contrived)

Music crosses borders, sexes, race and religion. I could be hearing the words of the Band Perry, Cat Stevens (aka Yusuf Islam) or Led Zeppelin… but to my soul’s ear, it is one single lament for love, a yearning for the Divine Infinity while we are still tied to our very human mortality.

It is all good and beautiful, sunshine. What is love without a little yearning?

And as the prose says… Truth is for all, and Mercy is for the asking. So ask...

Pax Taufiqa.

If you are a newbie, I have written earlier postings on music. Here are some of them -

God, Prophet & Rock & Roll (Click Here), God, Prophet and Rock & Roll Part 2 (Click Here), Night of the Nightingales (Click Here), God took away my chance to die young - The Band Perry (Click Here).

Women, you know not how you affect us...

42. Molten Love Bell
You come into my life,
And do this and speak that,
Thinking perhaps,
What little effect
I have on him!

Now, truly know that
Sometimes you are pulling
Bells of a cathedral raised
High in the hidden realm,

The bells are cast
In molten love,
From a fountain
That runs from
The lake of Ahmad
To the sea of Ahad.

And my heart is shaken
By the reverberations
From bone to thin skin,
And I cower in awe,
Wondering what does
This all mean.

Love, for me is a tiring thing. It is just like life when the Prophet once said, "You can rest, Taufiq, ... when you are dead." Well, he didn't put it that way, but the gist is there. And it is doubly so when Love, that intangible element finds its form in a woman - in her face, in her form and in her little gestures that was especially designed by the All-Greatest Designer (aka Mr.God) to attract your attention. She may be totally oblivious of your change of heart, she may be ignorant of your constant contemplation, but there you are. You are stuck, sunshine - An Adam neck deep in the morass of clueless infatuation with Eve (as most men find themselves in), blinking and pondering what to do next. Such is the beautiful tribulation that Love manifests in our hearts.

For Men - Good luck in riding the wave of love sprung from the Ocean of Unalloyed Joy. It is as beautiful, grand and lovely as God promised you... but boy, expect to fall into the ocean a couple of times at least (once a day, is a good ratio) Hehehe.

For Women - You know not how you affect us men!

To the lovers of Love, to the students of affection, to the custodians of responsibility, have a beautiful and Loveful Day.

Pax Taufiqa.

Sinners' Dictionary - the Meaning of Patience and Mothers

30. Patience is a …
Patience is a jewel
Set between the
Contracting and expanding
Of the heart.
It is in the pause
Between a cause
And consequence,
Between revelation
And either submission
Or rebellion.

Patience is a good thing. Indeed, a good dead friend of mine once said that it is the KEY to happiness. "It is not inaction," he said. "It is ACTIVE submission to life's ups and downs, and to do such things which commonly gives you happiness. This is important to remember, Taufiq," His tone pressing the point, "Patience is not mere fatalistic acceptance."

Then he smiled and poked my belly. "So you know you are fat, but more importanly, unhealthy. What are YOU going to do about it?"

Sigh. Everyone wants to make a comment. But I guess its because there is just a lot of everyone who loves us and cares for our wellbeing.

It is smart to submit to God's Love. Because ultimately, we ALL submit one day, breathing our last, and closing our eyes upon the last sight of our beloved family and friends, crowding around our deathbed. I was there when my mother submitted to God's final call. She did not struggle anymore, she simply closed her eyes and never opened them again. After a life-long practice of active submission, I could almost hear her answer, "Yes, yes, my Lord. I am coming. What kept You?"

Love and Death. Isn't this the Truth of our existence shared by all of us? If this is so, why do we bother fighting during the brief time alloted to us from the moment our mother cradles us in her arms and the time we are finally lowered into the embracing earth of our grave? May God guide us all in the unity of our worship to the One God, however we may extol His Praise, and by whatever name we call unto Him.

This is a prayer that is close to my mother's heart, and I believe, in the heart of all mothers. God bless all our mothers!

Pax Taufiqa.

The Ocean of Ahad and Ahmad upon our Battered and Broken Shore

In the summer of 1994, while I was studying in Leeds University, I went on a trip to the south of England and there I found the captivating and wondrous Cornwall, the southern end of Britain which stretches its green toes into the North Atlantic Ocean. For the past 4 years I have not travelled much, remaining like a frog under a coconut shell here in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

It is good to travel. And in these past 3 weeks, I have journeyed further than I have ever did since 2007, venturing to the Holy Land and later to Jakarta. I returned from the Indonesian capital last Thursday a little weary, with a withering cough that is threatening to rip my chest in two. Well, maybe that is poetic exaggeration . I am a little unwell, that's all. Hehehe.

From my trips abroad however I have realised so many things - of my own faults, weaknesses and mistakes. I realise (and I should) how subtle is the human animal, how we are likely to be carried by the weight of our passion for what is good, not so good, naughty and down-right bad. I have little skill for either, but even as a sinner with no talent - it is easy to be bad. So this evening, as I awake from a frenetic Saturday night, I would like to assure my self that I am not alone in this challenge, and that however the day may turn out, we are all safe between the hands of Ahad and Ahmad, between God and His Prophet. That sadness and regret, however bitter, is but a blink of the cosmic eye, and only goodness is real and eternal. An ocean of virtue and love upon our battered and broken shore. So..., anyone for a beach picnic?!

1. Now tell me

How lucky am I to do evil at you,

For you are the discrete ones,

And you are loath to disclose

My misdeeds!

Indeed, I can see it in your eyes,

That you have drawn a veil

Between my misdeeds

And me.

How lucky am I!

Now tell me,

Who is this Lord of yours

To have such gracious servants?

Who is this Muhammad of yours

To have such a follower

Of merciful discretion?

If you are but a small sand

On the shores of your truth,

Oh, how beautiful must be

The Sea of Ahad and Ahmad!

Good curses on you,

For damning me now

With a yearning for something

So peaceful and calming!

1. Your reasons in the Hidden Realm.

When, how and where

You do what you do

Discloses a little

Of your intention.

But it is not all,

For only those

Who are keen and

Able to sift through

Your sands of confusion

In the Hidden Realm

Will ever really know.

And even that they

Partake from Muhammad,

Claiming nothing out

Of their own endeavours,

Being mere tributaries

Of a river

Flowing to the

Ocean Of Prophetic Wisdom.

Have a lovely Sunday, sunshine. I know it is sometimes hard to be happy and contented. But you must try. For that is the reality and every other interpretation is a falsehood fabricated by our wilful ego that is never ever satisfied. Pray for me.

Pax Taufiqa

We have no religion, but Muhammad the Messenger of God has!

Ada orang kata 'islam agamaku'.

Kita jawab yg kita tiada agama, hanya menumpang agama dan adab Muhammad - Habibullah, Abu Arwah!

Kita kata kita penganggur cinta dan hanya merenung kepada wajah dan nur Ahmad untuk pengajaran dan belas kasihan Baginda yg sempurna zat, zahir dan batin.

Kita mengetuk pintu hati Ahmad MUSTAFA dan menyeru, ya Maulana, Ya Rasulullah, terima lah kami, sayang lah kami dan jgnlah lupa kami yang ketandusan kasih sayang tanpa senyuman, berkat dan kemanisanmu, ya Muhammad - madu kurniaan Tuhan, gula dan segala kemanisan yang ada pada keberkatan Tuhan pada kita.

Ada mereka yang berkata kita gila akan dikau, Baginda... Tetapi, hakikatnya adalah mereka belum mengenali dan menikmati cinta mu, kasih manja mu kepada umatmu yang lemah dan kolot - ya, Rasul hatiku, dikau tiada bandingan segala alam. Ameen.

English translation –

There are people who say that ‘Islam is my religion’

In reply we answer that we have no religion, (for we are) only clinging upon the religion and traditions of Muhammad - Beloved of God, Father of Souls!

We are beggars of love, and we only gaze to the countenance and light of Ahmad for guidance and affection of His Majesty perfected in his core, essence and form.

We are knocking on the door of Ahmad MUSTAFA's heart and asking, O’ Master, O’ Messenger of God, accept us, love us and do not forget we who (will forever) thirst for love without your smile, grace and sweetness, o’ Muhammad - the God's grant of honey, (the) Sugar and all Sweetness that is contained in (all of) God’s Blessings for us.

There are some who will say we are mad for you, Your Majesty… but the truth is they have not yet met nor tasted your love, that adoring love you have for your nation who are (always) weak and misguided – O’ Messenger of my heart, there is none equal to you in all of creation, Amen.
………………….

The sms in Bahasa Melayu was sent to an Indonesian friend earlier this morning. Tonight is a night to rest and give thanks. So, thank you, my friends, for sharing a little corner of your consciousness with this hapless sinner.

And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow Eid Mubarak, sunshine!

.

Pax Taufiqa.

.

PostScript, 4.04am Eidul Adha 2010 - I guess I cannot sleep until I serve the full pint of this posting. I respect and admire those who are yearning for God through religion, beyond the tyranny of their ego - Those who are breaking free from religious pride / hubris and annihilating the misconceived notion that they 'own' their religion.

.

My sweet friends, whatever faith you practise, you never own your religion, just as much as you never own God, nor His Names or Meanings. Eons and thousands of years ago, Moses, Jesus, Buddha, Confucius, Muhammad and so many other messengers and prophets were inspired by God to guide, warn and give succour to mankind. Some messengers are well known, while others are now anonymous, their names lost in the mist of time. To them you owe your wisdom and rituals, and the religion that you practise is essentially theirs, not yours. You are merely a guest, or sometimes a stowaway and trespasser in their lore and wisdom. Yet they tolerate you, God tolerates you, no matter how often you misrepresent their teachings.

.So do not take God's ways in vain. Do not claim ownership over religion nor God. It is in that seed of hubris that we find the trail leading to the insane 'us and them' dogma - a disease that is forever seeking to kill the essence of what your messenger and your prophet has left for you - Love, Hope, Tolerance, Mercy, Kindness... all of this will be lost, if we allow our ego and pride to overcome our submission to the Benevolent Will of God All-Loving, All-Merciful.

So my thought turn to the pilgrims in Mecca and pray that in their pilgrimage, they shall find the truth of who they really are, and who God really is. And of course, to each and everyone of us, who are undertaking their own pilgrimage, each day and each second- a pilgrimage from the falsehood of the ego, to the Truth of Love, of God. Come, my friend - help me in this journey... for I am told that the Host of Pilgrims is the Aid to all souls heart-broken. Let us mend our broken lives there... in the Guest House of God, which people call the heart.

.

Thank you, sunshine.