Poone, the Humble Shovel, Suzanne Vega and the Garden of Stones...

The Humble Shovel

You may have ridden in the finest horse and carriage,

You may have feasted from plates of gold and silver,

But to me will you come at the end of your world,

I am your ready servant, whatever your tone,

Me, beside the waiting gravedigger,

Me, your humble shovel

In the Garden of Stones.

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

The Best Time to Go. I am so at home at the cemetery, especially now that Poone (my late brother and the one I call Abang Chik) is laid to rest there. The only issue I have is the buzzing mosquitoes that insist on accompanying me wherever I am, at whichever grave I visit. It crossed my mind that the safest place from this annoying insects is to be six feet under. But thank God that my own passing is not mine to choose the time and place. Are we not lucky that the circumstances of our passing shall be in the hand of He Who Created us? He Who knows us best (and despite knowing all our filthy secrets), Loves us best of all? 

It will be the best of time for us, and for those we will leave behind.

Obnoxious. I have no doubt of this, because God has promised us... Sometimes, we living inevitably sigh and yearn for the company of our dearly departed kin or friend. However happy, angry, sad or irritating our relationship with the deceased may have been. One of my brother's closest friend said to me, as we were burying Poone, "Oh my God, he is one of the most obnoxious person I know!" And I agree with him. But he would also agree that we would give all our worldly treasures to have just one more obnoxious moment with him. 

He he he.

Poone's musical taste. Before I leave you, let me leave you with what my brother has left me. A taste in some of the great musicians of our era. In the early eighties, Santa Monica-born folk singer and songwriter Suzanne Vega made a bit of name in England, captivating audiences with her haunting prose and magical guitar. This is one of our favourite(est)... its called 'Cracking'.  

God bless you, sunshine. Be happy and assured of love from God, a love infinite in its breadth and deeper in its solace than your most intimate dreams...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE ATHEISTS ARE RIGHT - the Impossible God

Love, the Impossible

I am a plain man,

It is love that made me a minstrel, a prince of thieves,

A poet, a father, a husbandman, a cook in his pantry,

I was all this, you see, until one day I found to my dismay

That love has sold me into slavery,

So I asked Love, “Why have You done this to me,

When all I ever wanted was to please You?”

Love answered me,“There is no ‘I’ in love, so what use have I for you?

There is no want but My want, so who are you pleasing but

Your own desire to please Me?”

“You are impossible!” I replied

“I am that... I am the Impossible. Now you know."

So I asked hopefully, “And now that I know will You set me free?”

Love said, “Would Love have enslaved you?

It is your own vanity that has trapped you,

You are free to go!”

But now I am confused, and I ventured, “No, I don’t think I want to leave You.”

To which Love answered, “I know. So stay…”

Thus I tasted mortality. And as my friends and family crouched over a body now bereft of life,

Some were sad, but others gazed upon me with a knowing look in their eyes... thinking,

"Thus, ends his strife"

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

The Atheists are right, you know. God is an impossibility. Indeed, I would go further, for His impossibility is beyond our bare understanding of what is possible or impossible.

That doesn't mean of course that God does not exist. It only means that He is unlike anything or anyone that our mind can encompass. 

Which is fine by us. But not the Atheists, who needs certainty and validations according to their lights. We are fine with a little cup of love, mixed with a dash of mystery and a sprinkling of grace.

Don't you agree, sunshine?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way 

THE MEANINGS OF AS-SALAMU ALAYKUM & THE GARDEN BEFORE THE GARDEN - The Ramadan Story, Part 17

I don't need your salam! Go awaaay...!!!

The Ego's Salam

As-salamu alaykum!

I am a Muslim!

As-salamu alaykum!

I am about to say something

Rather important and heavy here!

Hey you!

Did you not hear?

I said As-salamu alaykum!

Listen and pay attention to me!

I am about to divulge information

Of great serious-ity!

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

3 Meanings. People use words in all sorts of different ways, as my brother likes to say. And this is the same regardless of what words they are. My brother was mentioning this yesterday in the context of the greeting most used by the Muslims, which is As-salamu alaykum, meaning (as generally accepted) 'Peace be upon you'. Most people of course knows this, but perhaps we can go a little further. 

This beautiful greeting is recorded in the al-Quran in context of the Angels coming to greet the believers who have successfully endured the trials and tribulation of this life to receive the Pleasure from Allah (s.w.t.) in a number of connected verses of Chapter 13. In the 23rd, the Angels are...

(Saying) : Peace be unto you because ye persevered. Ah, passing sweet will be
the sequel of the (heavenly) Home. (Quran 13:23, Marmaduke Pickthall)

1. The Angelic Affirmation of Human Perseverance, Prophetic Intercession and Divine Compassion. When the Angels thus spoke, the greeting is their affirmation of what has come to pass for you - a celestial garden of joy and pleasure for you. An eternal abode for the patience that you have shown in your devotion, and ultimately, submission to what God had bequeathed you in this world. All the smiles and tears, all the success and failures, all the laughter and sorrow that make up our life, each and every single day we are here. But of course this cannot happen, the Muslims believe, by our efforts alone. Above our struggle is the divine intercessions of the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.), in answer to which is the unimaginable Mercy and Compassion of Allah (s.w.t.), He Who forever looks upon His creation through His infinite Ocean of Forgiveness.

2. The Beautiful Prayer. And as for us wingless non-Angels? One Grandshaykh describes the greeting as a prayer. And how beautiful is the prayer! - I am greeting you with brotherly love, and looking upon your graceful countenance, I am asking Allah (s.w.t.)... 

"O' my Lord! Let our discourse begin with peace and end with peace!

Grant unto him the peace that only You can give. 

Grant to us in our meeting the brotherly peace that only You can bestow, 

Grant us Your peace for our today and all our tomorrows."

Praying.

Whatever conversation that may transpire after that... be it about personal matters, about work, about money or health, isn't this a good beginning? May we always remember how we began!

3. The Ego's Salam or 'Overcome by the Gravity of the Situation'. And of course, humans are sometimes overcome by the brevity of the occasion - an example is when he/she is a politician / preacher about to begin some important religious or political sermon. Then he/she will say As-salamu alaykum in a heavy, serious and modulated tone... to accentuate that he/she is about to say something really, really important and that you had better pay attention.  He he he. 

My brother's view, and I agree with him, is - Oh come on, just get over yourself, will you? 

Salam to the Perfect World. So to conclude this meandering tale, we reckon that the best way to give salam is with a smile, a skip and a joyful hop, as if the world is perfect, that there is no hate or hubris, and the certainty that the Eternal Garden awaits us at the end of our journey through this world's garden of beautiful souls, inspired by the Inspired Mercy that is Muhammad Habibullah (s.a.w.s). For actually the world is perfect, isn't it? Would Allah (s.w.t.) have given us an imperfect abode, even if it is only temporary?

Dunya, The Perfect Fascmile

Peace be unto thee, o' Dunya,

If you are transient, You are perfectly transient,

If you are illusory, You are perfectly illusory,

If you are a fascimile, You are the perfect fascimile,

And I shall take you as my beautiful abode,

The Garden before the Garden,

If only for a while.

Also praying.

43 years old, and only just starting to learn how to say As-salamu Alaykum. I am a late-bloomer, what other excuse can I give?

But you will forgive this old sinner, won't you, sunshine?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE GARDEN OF PRAYER & THE ENDURING SALAWAT - The Ramadan Story, Part 8

O' Prophet, if I could, I would

If I could wrap myself around you, I would,

Like a ring of gold and silver

On your little finger,

To mark our engagement

And long-sought union...

Or like a humble black string

A little forget-me-not,

Tied with the Knot of God

By you, o' Master...

I am saying all this because

I don't know what else to say,

Your love, your beauty and mercy

Confound my words

Day after day after day...

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

Double Assurance. Is there a place better than this for us, o' Muslims? On one hand, you can praise God Almighty with beautiful praises, and the Prophet will undoubtedly say, "This thing that you say and do, this is good!" On the other hand, you can also venerate and plead for glorious blessings from God for the Prophet (s.a.w.s.), and God too will say, "This thing that you say and do, this is good!" It is a double divine assurance. A back to back warranty that you are in a good place and heading to a better place.

The Garden of Prayer & Praise. And however you sincerely sing Allah's (s.w.t.) absolute praises and venerate Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) - there is simply no full-stop to your inspiration or veneration. Your every breath is there to magnify God Almighty and His Beloved (s.a.w.s.), your every gesture, movement and thought can become a Garden of Prayer. And in such a place, you become the gardener, the tiller, the seed, the bloom, the flower and the fruit! Perhaps your only worry is the average life-expectancy in your country. For you are blessed with the certainty that however hard you try, till your voice is raised by the Angels to the heavenly sky, no amount of prayer or praise will suffice to mirror His Love... Leaving you ultimately gasping for words...  

May the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) be surrounded by his garden of praise, from one invisible horizon to the other invisible horizon. Is this life not well-lived already if we have perished only to be a flower in such a garden? Amidst an infinite bloom of salawats showered upon him already by Allah (s.w.t.) Himself and His Host of Angels? 

Lo! Allah and His angels shower blessings on the Prophet.
O ye who believe! Ask blessings on him and salute him
with a worthy salutation! (Quran 33:56 Marmaduke Pickthall)

Compensating for Sincerity? On a final note, I might add that it doesn't matter if you are not a wordsmith or a poet, that you cannot string two eloquent words  together to save your life. For it is the sincerity of the speaker that really matters, not the words themselves. And I guess I go overboard textually because I am compensating for my lack of sincerity? Perhaps this is okay... after all, you cannot spell sincerity without sin.

And in each breath, our journey is just beginning. 

Have a lovely day, sunshine, and a blessed fast.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

DEATH AND THE DIVINE INTERCESSIONS - karma, trees and this wonderous kaleidoscope of creation...

Death and Divine Intercession

Death is not a veil,

Life is,

And to pass away is

To lift the veil for that

Long-awaited union with

God the All-Beautiful and

Most Desirable above all,

Winning through with the intercessions 

Of Muhammad Habibullah,

The most cherished hope glittering

In the crown of hopes bestowed by God

To humanity, God's Own anointed

Mercy to all the worlds...

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

There is no better way. No more fitting manner by which we can live this life - with the unbelievable varieties of plants, animals and living beings, all forms of tests, trials and tribulations, an infinite scope of happiness, joy and unadulterated rapture, with all of the vast expanse of humanity, friends, families, peers and lovers... There is no better way to journey through this kaleidoscope of creation, than by preparing oneself for the lifting of the veil that Man calls death.

Hidden in a prophetic quote (that I have used before) is the explanation to this preparatory and transient nature of this world, for God's Beloved, Muhammad (s.a.w.s) once shared that...

"There are no trees in heaven. You must plant them yourselves..."

So may God bless all gardeners, farmers and greenthumbs.

My late mother loved gardening. On the 10th anniversary of her
lifting of the veil last year, we arranged this ornamental water-pail
with bright yellow roses to decorate her maqam.
al fatiha

Have a perfectly nice day, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Gardener in the Garden of Stones - Eidul Fitri and my mother

The Gardener

Goodbye sweet smile,

How you broke the gloom of night

In your breaking dawn each time

You turned and smiled at me,

Goodbye gentle heart,

How you lifted me up every time I fell,

How you gathered me in your arms

And assured me that you will always be there,

Goodbye kindly soul,

How you made this house a home

And how you fed everyone who came

With food and kindness,

Goodbye beautiful spirit,

How struck I was with your passing

Never to know when we shall meet again,

Under an overcast sky, I took myself away

And in solitude, I began to cry,

Goodbye loving gardener,

Where are you now tending to the flowers and trees?

In whose garden are you pottering and weeding?

For I hope they appreciate your love and work

Among your geraniums and orchids

Far more than your son ever did.

………………………………..

Each Eidul Fitri that marks the end of Ramadhan finds me just that bit more quiet, just that bit more introspective, as sweetness and sadness mix in the vessel of emotion that we call the human spirit.

This Eidul Fitri is the 10th since my mother left the bosom of her family and friends. She was a lot of things to a lot of people. She was a dutiful and caring wife, a generous and loving mother, a smiling matriarch of the extended family, a concerned sister to all her siblings and an unforgettable personality to her many, many close friends. But to the big garden that once adorned our home for 20 years at No.2 Lorong Basong, she was The Gardener. Every morning I would see her pottering around the garden, watering and trimming the plants, fertilizing the soil and cutting away at the weeds that is her eternal enemy. Later she would scold me for kicking my football into the shrubs and knocking down some of her beloved flowers and ferns.

What I would give to have her come in right now and scold me.

Have a wonderful Eidul Fitri, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Rainstorm Tore the Veil in the Garden of Stones

I love the sunrise after an early morning's downpour. For when I am walking among the gravestones and their dwellers, I would find a carpet of beautiful flowers in and around the rectangular shaped graves. It is as if God is saying, "If there are some among you who are neglected and forgotten, with none of your living kin visiting, I shall Myself send flowers to your honoured resting place. For nothing can honour a place more than I." Such were the thoughts that percolated my mind as I walked beneath the Frangipani trees of the cemetery.

I did not tarry too long, but made my way straight to my mother's grave. In my head was ringing Avril Lavigne's chorus that was playing in my car on the drive here, "...Damn, Damn, Damn, What I would do to have you here... Here, Here... I wish you were here..." Funny how the most unlikely of music evokes the memory of my sainted mother, my uncle and my friend who now lay peacefully in this hallowed grounds. Any old (or new) tune gets me that way.

I spent a few minutes beside my mother's home. It has been her home for almost 10 years now. For the first time, I bent over the bottom tombstone, which would be at her feet, and I kissed it. Then I approached the  headstone and planted a kiss on the black marble. In my mind I was kissing my mother's forehead.

I may have shed a tear. But it was not out of sadness. For I was happy. The veil between life and the after-life can be either very thick or very, very thin. And on this morning, it appears that the rainstorm must have torn the veil a little. I peeked through the tear in the veil and sensed a warmth I have not felt for the longest time.

We cannot fulfill our obligation to our departed beloveds while forgetting the living. So on the way home I bought breakfast. As I entered the house I saw my father sitting alone at the breakfast table, occupied with the Sunday newspapers. I called to him, "Bapak, I bought breakfast!" He looked up and smiled. I felt the same warmth here too.

Have a beautiful Sunday, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Rain, the Paddy Fields and the Generosity of People - Back to Tanjung Karang

How do you drive when you can barely see out of your car? But we did just that as we headed once again to the rural area of Tanjung Karang, about an hour's drive out of town (See earlier posting entitled 'A Little House Among the Paddy Fields - a hard but beautiful life.' Click Here). I was sending my Kak Mutiah back home when the heavens suddenly opened up in a biblical rain storm (well it felt biblical). I was only worried about the muddy track leading to her house and whether the car might get stuck in the morass... On the way, her mother called and informed us that (perhaps) due to the heavy rain storm, there is no water supply to the house. Water, water everywhere but where you need it most. 

Happily the rain ebbed away and the Sun peeked out of the overcast sky. The track looked muddy alright but it was not too bad. The electricity poles which dot the paddy fields however looked a little shaky as their underground foundation loosened under the torrential rains pouring on Malaysia for the past couple of weeks. The poles were all leaning sideways and hanging precariously to each other.

It was a crisp cool post-rain air that greeted us arriving at Kak Mutiah's house. The rich golden green stalks of rice are all gone now, harvested over the previous 2 weeks. Its all just muddy fields to the furthest vista. But muddy or golden, I was happy to be back again. To be able to flex your sight and soul. Sometimes I think that a far horizon is the best spot for reflection, whether it is in the deserts of Arabia, the plains of the Dakotas or the sweeping meadows of rural England. The calmness I felt earlier in my first visit returned to the senses like a familiar friend. Now I am certain I like it here. I did not immediately enter the house, but amused myself around the compound and neighbouring paddy field and canals.

Kak Mutiah and her family has been staying in the house with the blue roof for the longest time. Their family were initially from Jawa, Indonesia. There are many Javanese who have made Tanjung Karang their home, and although they speak Bahasa Melayu (the national language), the elders often revert back to their Javanese mother tongue. But the number of people fluent in Javanese is dwindling as the new generation becomes more integrated and marries into the indigenous Malay population.

Kak Mutiah's father mused that the village used to be a lot busier in the past. The houses were much closer and there were more young people about. Nowadays, duplicating the migration trend the world over, the small hamlet of Tanjung Karang sees the continuing drift of its young to the big cities. Things were certainly more lively back then. Kak Mutiah recalls how the village girls would be walking home from Quran recitation lessons when inevitably someone would scream "Ghosts!" and the girls would scamper home at top speed.

Mikhail came along this time, together with my auntie, Mak Ndak. "I cannot live here. There is no computer." lamented my son. But he was curious enough to accompany me around. He was looking at the paddy field canal and asked, "Papa, can I pee in the stream?" And later while we were exploring the compound, "Papa, can I pee under the house?" I think Mika actually needed to pee and was not asking me a purely rhetorical question. Mika's Papa can be really slow sometimes. I directed him to the toilet in the house.

From the left: My aunt (resting after climbing the steep steps into the house, Mikhail looking nervous and shy and Kak Mutiah's mother, named Saleha. Like all grandmothers, she enjoys the presence of grandchildren, even if not her own. She may appear small, but even in her 70s, she is still very strong, "Much stronger than me." admitted Kak Mutiah.

The family served up tea, consisting of fried curry puff, bananas, yam and cempedak. Kak Mutiah's mum was pleased my aunt managed to come too. They updated each other and my aunt invited her to come for my aunt's granddaughter's wedding this coming February. Mika disappeared from the table for a while before coming back and declaring, "Papa, this house has 12 doors!" I think he meant thresholds. I nodded appreciatively, "Good to know, Mika... good to know." Later the mother hugged and kissed Mikhail, and furtively slipped RM15 into his hand. Mika protested that he doesn't need the money but she would not take no for an answer and said "You can buy ice-cream..." And just before we left she presented my aunt with two pairs of batik cloth. How can you not love such people?

There are many, many flowers, ferns and other assorted faunas which somehow looked all so familiar to me. Then I suddenly remembered that Mutiah had over the years been given the saplings from my late mother's large garden. My mother used to potter around the garden for 1 to 2 hours every morning without fail. Like my mother, that garden is no more, so I am glad to find these beautiful trees and flowers alive and enriching Kak Mutiah's home. My late mother was awfully fond of (if at times annoyed by) Kak Mutiah and greatly respected her parents.

I was a little sad to leave and hope to come back soon.
Thank you for sharing a little space in your day with me.

Pax Taufiqa

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will find a way