Into His Embrace I Fall, Dying in Someone Else's Dream

Into His Embrace I Fall
Muhammad is my master, my captain
And the messenger sent to me
By God to teach me about Love.
So his mecca is now my mecca,
His medina my medina,
His companions mine,
his family my family,
And his concerns
My concerns.

He is the root through which
I drink the strength of the earth
Beneath my feet,

He is the trunk and branch by which
I stretch my hands towards God,

He is the beautiful blooms
That are my children,

And when autumn comes
He is the leaves that
Blanket the earth,
Where I gently lay down my love,
All my kisses and sighs.

And when life ebbs
From my withered limbs,
It is into his embrace I fall,
Closing my eyes for the last time,
To the birds, to the trees and the skies.

On Thursday night, I took myself away from company and listened to music. I do not know why, but I started recalling all my friends, old and new that I made during my Umrah Pilgrimage. Accompanied by no one but Beyonce's song, Halo, I started to write the above prose. It was my first poem since I came back from the Holy Lands, about 1 month ago. I sent it out via sms to a couple of my companions on the pilgrimage. Some responded but others didn't, no doubt wondering, "What the...?" Hehehe.

One Friday morning I arrived in the office and Ani said that last night she dreamt I died. She said that in her dream, me and Ariffin came back from a meeting, and she saw that I looked very tired. The next thing, she was already at home when she received the news on her cellphone that alas, her boss have passed away. She said many people attended the funeral. I wonder who they were?

Compound of the Dome of the Rock, March 2011

We should live our lives to the fullest. After all, who knows when we might die... even in someone else's dream.

Have a perfectly lively Sabbath, sunshine. After 1 day of blogspot downtime, I am glad to be back.

Pax Taufiqa

Mothers are just WOW - Following mine around Jerusalem

INTREPID MOTHER. Sometime in mid 1990s, I was vaguely aware that my mother went to Jerusalem. The fact that Malaysia and Israel has diplomatic relations, the fact that in our Passport, it specifically states that Israel (and North Korea back then) was one of only two countries in the world where we are not suppose to visit, did not stop her. Nor did I find it surprising that she would find her way to Jerusalem. I knew she was keen to visit the Holy City, so one way or the other, I expected my intrepid mother to figure her way to the Dome of the Rock, al-Aqsa Mosque and the Old City.

THE WAILING WALL. And she even ended up where I didn't, which was the Wailing Wall. If you recall in my posting on my trip to Jerusalem (I met a man in Jerusalem - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 13, CLICK HERE), I kinda ditch the group to walk around myself. They all managed to visit the Wailing Wall, sadly I didn't manage that. (You visited Jerusalem and didn't visit the Wailing Wall? You idiot!)

MOMS ARE WOW. My dear chocolate sunshine. Our mothers are our trailblazer. Indeed it is nigh impossible for us to even be around without the active participation of our mumsies for 9 months - bearing a load of love. This year I finally found myself retracing the steps of my mother in the Land of the Prophets. On a little pilgrimage, not to Medina and Mecca, but to find the little bit in me that is my Mother, the good part, the beautiful part. This was a journey planned long before - 41 years ago when my mother cradled me in her arms, and for the first time ever I looked into her eyes, thinking "Wow".

17. Haj II
O’ pilgrim,
Be aware of each heart beat.

Because your pilgrimage
To the Hidden Kaaba
Begun from the first moment
You were conceived in your mother’s womb.

Each fleeting moment of your days
Is a step in your pilgrimage,
That either brings you closer to
The Holy Precinct
Or draws you further away.

Happy pre-Mother's Day, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.

Afternoon at al-Aqsa - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 12

The courtyard of the Dome of the Rock was a garden of Olives. As I walked pass slowly (not in deference but in exhaustion and jetlag) I could see school children playing and ancient Arab women making their way to the Dome. As it turned out, there was a women's prayer and study circle going on in the Dome. But we were permitted in anyway since we came a pretty long distance to get here - They came all the way from malaysie...!

The Dome of the Rock.

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The Dome of Taufiq next to the Dome of the Rock. My Dome is growing bigger as my hairline fights a losing battle against my ever growing forehead. The Dome of the Rock, as far as I am aware is still the same size since the day it was completed by Caliph Abd al-Malik in 687 AD - about half a century after the passing of Muhammad, Prophet of God.

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I lost my group. But all these contratemps and happenstances mean little when I am resting my back against a column that's probably more than 1,000 years old. It makes you think, doesn't it? And it makes you hungry, yes? It doesn't? Well it did for me. By now, I was already conspiring to leave the others to wander around the city on my own. Rushing from one holy place to another is just not my thing. I need to feel the place.

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The al-Aqsa Mosque is very big and has a very high timber ceiling. During the zuhr (afternoon) prayers, the congregation was rather small, filling up only a small section of the mosque.

The al-Aqsa Mosque stands one level down from the Dome of the Rock. It has a dome too, which is grey in colour. The distance between the two holy sites must be about 200 plus metres, but both are contained within the same compound and surrouded by ancient sandstone walls. We saw a patrol of Israel soldiers pass by. Later, Saiful (a companion) mentioned to me that as these soldiers were entering into the holy prescint they saw him and greeted him with asalamualaikum, and not the normal hebrew shalom.

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From any angle, the Dome of the Rock draws your attention. Each stone step, each pillar, each golden leaf upon the Dome must have a story to tell. Where I fail, I hope that you, sunshine, will be able to visit the Dome one day and continue where I left off.

I did indeed leave the group after the prayers. WIth my aching feet and terminal lack of sleep, I simply could not go on. Little did I know that Jerusalem was not done with me yet, and the afternoon would end up with me meeting an old Arab gentleman by the name of Abu Ayob and a trip to a his village. But that is another story for tomorrow.

Thank you, sunshine, for listening to my wandering tale in the Land of the Prophets.

Pax Taufiqa.

Dome of the Rock - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 11

WEST AND EAST JERUSALEM. We entered the city through the Jewish side which is West Jerusalem. It looked nice, clean and cosy, reminding me of the mews and close of old London, with beautiful gardens and picture pretty frontages. I remember passing by what appears to be a University campus and young Israelis walking to and from classes.

As our bus climbed up the hill, our arrival at the Arab quarter is announced by the stone walls of old Jerusalem, parts of it rebuilt by the Ottoman when they held Jerusalem. Feroz the guide mentioned that this is discernable by the Ottoman type architecture and design. I nodded sagely while wondering “But this end of the wall looks exactly like the other end of the wall…” No doubt a practiced eye would see the difference which is lost to this sinner-pilgrim.

We finally arrived at the appropriately named Holy Land Hotel. After a quick breakfast and shower (after almost 20 hours' travel, I felt and no doubt smelt like a camel's breath), we assembled outside for our walk to the Dome of the Rock and Masjid al-Aqsa (“Al Aqsa Mosque”). The roads of Jerusalem are narrow with impossible corners and turnings, but somehow tour buses and large lorries still manage to navigate the serpentine streets of this city (with a lot of shouting, hand waving and honking).

HEROD’S GATE. About 100 metres down from the hotel we arrived at Herod’s Gate, which is one of the many entrances into the Old Jerusalem. At the gate, the sign of ‘Allah’ (God) and ‘Muhammad’ in Arabic script adorned the right and left side (which is the traditional position – as Arabic script is written and read from right to left) of the entrance. The ubercool thing was that it was written on two road signs. This is the first thing which made me think, “Yowza. I like this town…”

The labyrinth of the old city was captivating. Down each alley, turning right into a corner, I feel myself walking back in time, as around me, Arabs children play and their elders drink coffee and smoke outside the shop fronts.

Despite my dreamy reflection, I was soon jolted into the present when I saw an abandoned police barricade - a sign of past troubles and an indication that while the city seems peaceful, tension and conflict is never far beneath the surface.

I must run! Even my companion travelers on wheelchairs are far in front of me. I turn left, then right after a Christian souvenir shop. I walked down a long straight which was kinda dark at the end. In the gloom, two bored Israeli police officers sat, (boy, they look young! In fact all Israeli soldiers and policemen I encountered looked to be in their 20s) observing with mild interest the arrival of these strange creatures from Malaysia.

THE DOME OF THE ROCK. Then suddenly, I saw a glint of gold. There it is, beyond the darkness of our troubling times, a light at the end of the tunnel. Beautiful and golden, glorious monument of the Prophet’s heavenly ascension…

How did it feel, sunshine? It felt familiar. Oh so familiar. Suddenly I am reminded why I am here. I am pursuing Love. As Muhammad did, when one serene night Gabriel came to him and led him away from Mecca, far away from Arabia… to the Land of the Prophets and to the City of Prophets and Saints - beautiful and captivating Jerusalem. It felt like a dream. And writing this now… It feels like I am there still.

Pax Taufiqa.