THE JOURNEY & THE HOMECOMING.... so good... so God

The Beginning of Your Homecoming

That thing that makes you think...

You are not wrong

To think that way.

That thing that makes you feel...

You are not wrong

To feel that way.

When doubt and alarm make you question

Your men and women garbed in religion...

You are not wrong.

Come here, for here is where you belong...

The religion of love is

The religion of your conscience,

The religion of your compassion,

The religion of your science.

For God has never left you,

It is for you to find you.

And your journey

Begins

Here.

And your homecoming

Begins

Here.

And all meaning worth

Knowing... it all

Begins

Here. 

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

Like you, I was disturbed by my religion, Islam. But later, I am to discover that Islam is not as how I thought Islam was. Islam is not that deranged, insular, bigoted, materialistic, xenophobic, irrational belief that it is portrayed to be, not just by the non-Muslims, but perhaps more sadly, by us Muslims.

Like you, I found it difficult to console my conscience with some aspects of my religion. But later, I am to discover that things are often not as how they seem to be. And that it serves the intentions of some people that Islam is practised and portrayed in a way that is unconscionable, and lacking in empathy. Now, it appears to me that Islam is also the religion and the path of empathy. Empathy not just for our fellow Muslims... but for all humans and djinns, for all created things, living and sentient or otherwise. Thus it is revealed, that Islam is the natural way of the Universe. Not a pebble in the sea, not a star in the furthest cosmos is forgotten in the faith and the perfected way of Muhammad Habibullah (saws).

Like you, I am lost. And like you, I continue my wandering in this world, with tentative nervous steps. For this world is not for us. We seek the Divine Presence, and it is to this, that all Masters of the Path calls on us. 

So you see, like you, I too have not found what I am looking for... but there is a beautiful scent coming down this road we have been guided to, we can hear brief incantations of heavenly music, and sense a light upon light too beautiful and brilliant for careless human words to describe. But try we must.

... ya Ahad ... ya Samad ... Solli ala Muhammad...

Have a beautiful Sunday, sunshine. We are on this journey together, and alhamdulillah... we pray and hope that our homecoming has, in truth, begun. Because even now, it already feels so good... So God.

- notrumi, 21st day of April, 2014

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

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

BURYING MY FRUSTRATION - Saiful Bahri (1964 - 2013) Part 1

In Jordan (May 2012), with a guitar on his lap, a cigarette in his mouth and
surrounded by friends. My brother knew how to enjoy himself!

BURYING MY FRUSTRATION (Saiful Bahri 1)

Yesterday I buried my frustration,

I buried him beneath an overcast sky,

In the company of a congregation I buried him,

Buried him I did, with no need to ask why,

For I have been wondering of late,

How my brother will fare if I am not there,

So God has saved me such fate,

Taking my brother home instead, 

And sparing me 

The worry...

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

Frustrating. My brother, Saiful Bahri bin Abdul Khalid is a brother and such a bother to me. I guess I inherited the frustration from my dearly departed mother, who knew, instinctively, that Abang Chik (for that is how I call him) is the brightest, kindest and most creative of her three boys. But right up to her death in 2002, Abang Chik do not fulfill the conventional expectations rendered unto him, by the God-given gifts that was his blessing, and also responsibility. 

For my dear brother was not a conventional fellow at all. And neither did he try to be. Very early on in his life, he figured his path already. A path that would place him in a position to be teased (by the gentle-minded) and ridiculed (by the rude). He lacked worldly ambitions, you see. Despite all his talents and sense of empathy.

But now I know.

Though I did bury my frustrations yesterday, among a crowd of teary friends and family. By God... I swear to you now, that I also buried something else there too... my inspiration.

And I bet he was enjoying this too. Me bending over awkwardly to kiss his forehead.

He was Saiful Bahri. I call him Abang Chik. To his friends and Family, he was known as Poone.

Old Story. I once wrote about Abang Chik in May 2012, when he was away in Jordan (Click Here to My Brother, Horseback Archery and the Caliph of Islam). In the short posting you may understand why, despite appearances to the contrary, my brother was a singular force of all that is good and beautiful in my life.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way  

BLUE SKY, GOD & YOU - the haze, the hermitage

The Song of Solitude

I am caressed by the silence,

Listening to the song of solitude,

Alone, here in the hermitage in the sky,

I am as I am, asking God,

The pre-Eternal question...

"Who, what, how and why?"

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

After almost one week away, I am back at the hermitage, accompanied with the blue sky that was painfully absent for one week since the smoggy haze enveloped my sad country. But now, the blue and white wispy clouds are back, and I think my fellow countrymen have learned not to take anything for granted, certainly not the heavenly roof of the Earth. In any affliction, there is always wisdom to learn.

Lest You Forget

I made the sky of beautiful blue hue,

And the clouds of white luster,

And it is I Who keep them blue and white,

Lest you forget who is their Creator!

Lest you forget who is your Creator!

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

Yesterday an old friend of mine accompanied me home for awhile. He was delighted to find a balcony which opened up into the sky, and there he prayed his Asr and Maghrib prayers. Later last night, I sent him home.

But the hermitage is not a place for friends, I think. Well, at least not living, tangible ones. I find this place a calm quite oasis of solitude, and in this palpable silence, the voices of those whom we consider 'dead' are very much alive. I put 'alive' in quotes because Allah (s.w.t.) has said that those who pass away in the state of witnessing (syahid) is very much alive (and well). And I believe that Allah's declaration of these souls' life means more than the brief life that you and I are currently breathing, sunshine. These souls are of course the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.), His Family, Companions and Saints. Like stars twinkling in the twilight mist they are a joy constant, an assurance eternal and a sign of hope warranted by the Creator Himself, Allah the Beautiful, Allah the Just and All-Merciful.

Some fair thoughts, sunshine, on this fair and blue Friday.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

I AM LOOKING FOR 'I' - a sinner in a hermitage in the sky

I looking for 'I'

I am looking for 'I',

Leaving my home to look for home,

I am looking for 'I',

Leaving myself to find myself,

I am looking for 'I',

So God shan't sigh,

"My dear old chum, 

You never even tried."

I am looking for 'I'

And leaving my 'I'ness behind,

So look for me, my friend,

At the Hermitage in the Sky.

Hermitage in the Sky. Over the past couple of weeks, the sinner (that is me, a regular old sinner, nothing extraordinary) was considering taking an apartment in the area of Damansara Damai which is, I reckon about 1 hour plus drive (during rush hour) or a mere 15 minutes away (at any other time) from my lifelong neighbourhood of Bukit Damansara. So after much thought, I have decided to take the place for one month trial period. Most landlords would balk at such a proposal, but I have no landlord, for it is a she, and the landlady is my good friend, Rina.

Early this morning I went over to sweep and mop the first floor before going to the office. Let me tell you that mopping is no joke. Mop, rinse, mop, rinse, mop, rinse. And it was initially annoying because the floor was dusty and wet, so wherever I mopped I would leave a trail of mucky foot prints all over the place. So I would wipe the foot prints, again and again and again until there was no more trail of dirt on the marbled floor.

Adab of the Mop. And this mop story is important to me because it is a reflection of life. Often we look at other people and see dirt and stains on their character, and we are resolved to rehabilitate these poor sinners, without noticing the trail of debris and muck we ourselves leave behind in 'helping' them. Because we are not helping actually, but in truth, judging. When you are alone with a mop your mind wanders. He he he.

I brought Mak Ndak, my late mum's elder sister to see the place last weekend. She said it was kinda far, but she thinks it is pretty. That is good enough for me. As my mother is not around anymore, it is important that I have her blessings, albeit my stay may only be a while...

About this transition, I am both happy and sad. Which, when you think of the state of the world, ain't really too bad.

See you at the hermitage, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Puteh the Cat and the Trail of Breadcrumbs

Puteh the Cat

Here am I, resting on the steps

Of the kitchen door,

Bathing in the soft golden glow

And fair breeze of a gentle morn,

Here am I, as I have always loved to be,

In a lonely house, sitting in a vast paddy field,

Here am I, and I wish for no better home,

Not for me is any palatial abode,

Dukedom or kingly throne,

Here am I, as you shall always find me,

Sitting by the window of my soul

In a home with with father, mother and daughter

Basking in the soft golden glow and gracefully growing old.

……………………….

I write to leave a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest of my life. So that, if ever, I am to find myself lost and wandering desperately in the witch’s forest, these trails of beautiful memories shall lead me back to safety.

Just as how God and the Prophet Muhammad(pbuh) has left a trail of breadcrumbs in the form of the al Quran and the Sunnah (traditions of the Prophet) to guide the wary and bring back the lost from the vast emptiness of this fleeting, intangible reality.

And now Puteh the Cat is also part of that trail. And this somehow, leaves me strangely happy.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

What is Sociability compared to Saving Babies? - a trip with (retired) Dr. Dad

I was having my coffee in the morning when my father broke the silence, "Do you wanna follow me to Kuala Pilah (my father's hometown in the neighbouring state of Negri Sembilan)?" I paused, I looked to the ceiling, I look at my auntie, I checked my watch, I glanced at my brother, then finally I figured, what the heck... "Sure. What time do you wanna leave?"

The following pictures are some that I manage to snap during our trip.

We had brunch at the Nilai rest area, just one of many rest areas that dot the
North South highway which stretches along the entire west coast of Peninsular
Malaysia. My dad frequents this particular one because it is famous for its
Negri Sembilan dishes, which is of course my father's favourite food. There he is
wandering up and down the aisle looking for food and snacks to buy. As it turned
out, this was gonna be an entirely culinary trip. Food-hunting with father.

This is what my father loves. This stall is called 'Masakan Minang' (Minang dishes).
The 'Minang' people are not actually indigenous to this area but are immigrants from the
island of Sumatra, Indonesia, hundreds of years ago. They sailed over the narrow
Straits of Malacca and brought over their food, their traditions and way of life -
In particular the Adat Perpatih, which is a maternal-centric tradition centralising
considerable power, inheritance rights and patronage to the women folk. In fact,
your mother has to be a Minang for your lineage to continue as a Minang. I am
not a Minang because my mother isn't one. She is from the northern state of Perak.

While checking out the Petai (that green strip of fruit hanging over my dad), my
father suddenly made a remark, "My stepmother forbade me from eating the Petai
because it would make my urine smell." It is true. The nut can be quite bitter
but now he loves them. It is suppose to have medicinal properties. 

This is another nut version known as Kerdas. Just like the Petai it can be eaten
raw or cooked. It is even worse than the Petai in terms of its smell. I bought a very
small bag and put them in the rear passenger seat. The odour was too strong that at the
next stop I bunged the stuff into the boot of the car.

We also purchased some corn, duck eggs and Gula Melaka, which is hardened
sugar syrup made from the sap of the flower bud of a coconut tree. My dad refused
to purchase from an earlier stall because they mixed it with normal refined sugar. They
even tried to convince my father that it was necessary to solidify the Gula Melaka.
My father looked at me in a silent comment, "Yeaaah, riiiight...
Do they think I was born yesterday?" 

Coming into the small hamlet of Kuala Pilah we were suddenly assaulted by
a pouring torrential storm. As you can see, my windscreen wipers were in
freak-mode to keep the screen clear for me to see amidst all the rain.

We didn't stop in Kuala Pilah itself, which is basically a one-horse-town. As
we exited the town I saw a beautiful yellow-beige house on top of a hill. It had such
a dominant and all-seeing view from its heights that I asked my father whose house it was. My
father replied that it used to be the house of the estate manager. Ah, yes. I forgot. This
area once hosted the largest rubber estate in the whole world. No doubt, the occupant at
that time was some hard-nosed tough-talking Glaswegian or some other Scotsman.

About five minutes out of town we arrived in the small village of Kubang Rusa -
Pelangai. "Here...Here! Here!" My father  frantically gestured. So this is the main
objective of the trip. It seems that my father absolutely adores the grilled chicken,
duck, catfish and beef as well as an itsy bitsy bird that we call Puyuh. We bought them
all except for the duck. 

While my father was examining the dead and burnt fish, poultry and cow, I wandered  down
the road a little and saw a small cemetery on a hillock. Happily, my father wanted to
rest for awhile and we sat at a coffee house across the road. 

I took leave of my father and wandered through the old stone graveheads. This one
was buried in 1955. But it is quite clear that some of the graves are much older, with
many slowly sinking into the gentle embrace of the Earth.

In this grave sanctum were buried three children, perhaps no more than
little babes...

In fact it suddenly dawned on me that many of the graves were all tiny ones. A reminder
of just how high the mortality rate was for infants in the old days before modern medical
care became readily available in this locality and throughout rural Malaysia.

Which brings me to an interesting facet of today's journey. Through out the trip, my father would point out to a government clinic, saying something like, "This was just a dispensary. I built the clinic here, and now they even have a full-time dentist." Or later nearer to town, he would comment on a large district hospital, "I chose the location for this hospital, because the previous one was too narrow and small." In fact throughout the entire country, my father's invisible hand is evident in many, many dispensaries, district clinics, dental clinics, nurses training colleges, maternity homes and general hospitals all through the 13 states. He was once the director general of MinHealth, you see. It makes me think how he helped lower the mortality rate among infants in my country. And because of that, there are hardly any new baby graves in the cemetery of Kubang Rusa-Pelangai. My father has come along way from the poor little kampung boy living in the small village of Juasih, Kuala Pilah.

People sometimes complain that my father is unapproachable and has limited social vocabulary. Even I complain sometimes... But I must admit this - what is sociability compared to saving babies?    

Hope you had a wonderful Sunday, sunshine. I did.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The United Kingdom, Beatles & Pink Floyd, the Oracle and the Columbine Massacre. And something about houses - Books connect us

Was the queue long? Is the Pope Catholic?

Hi, sunshine. As I mentioned earlier, we visited the Big Bad Wolf Book Sale last Sabbath, and below are some gems I managed to purchase at really great discounts. They are not the latest books, but awesome nonetheless.

A chilling read says Oprah.
I agree.

'The Sceptred Isle Twentieth Century' is essentially a large but effective tome covering the United Kingdom's 100 years. Great up to page 50 already, and the only sad thing (for me at least) is that it also highlights the crisis in the early 1900s which saw the slow demise of the Ottoman Empire, beginning in the Balkans as well and the southern tip of the Arabian Peninsular. 'The Secret Architecture of Our Nation's Capital' by David Ovason is an interesting but a little laborious study of freemasonry's influence in Washington's iconic buildings. It's not for me actually but for my friend, Longhair, who is an enthusiast in masonagraphy (is there such a word?). Rarely for me, I am also starting to read an uberdark book entitled 'Columbine' by Dave Cullen, about the two high school seniors who decided one day in April 1999 to massacre their friends and teachers in Columbine High School, Colorado. Into the 3rd chapter, I must say that it is very well written, giving me a bird's eye view into the psyche of these 2 demented killers. 

After watching an excellent documentary on the Oracle of Omaha, I was curious enough to pick up this book by Alice Schroeder called 'The Snowball - Warren Buffet & the Business of Life', then one book about the Beatles and a pictorial biography on Pink Floyd. Oh yes, I also picked up 4 home design books for ideas. The houses are so beautiful.

If you wanna build houses, you gonna need some help...

In the early days of Pink Floyd the audiences were expected to sit or stand still
and listen attentively to the music. For Pink Floyd is not just about rock music.
Pink Floyd was a rock renaissance.

Nothing poetic this time, sunshine. Just books. Wonderful life-enriching books. May you have a good read this Sabbath.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

A Little Envy and a Little Walk

When I am envious, I turn orange, not green.

26. Unwed and envy

I am unwed, you know,

Though once I was.

And I am pleased

And happy with

Where I am

Now.

But I am human too,

And when I visit

The homes of

My friends,

I will not hide that

Envy fills

My body,

And wonder

If there

Shall ever be

Another

Home for me.

A LITTLE ENVY. I wrote this some 3 or 4 years ago, soon after my divorce. I would be chilling at my friend Moses's house, with his children running around us, and suddenly my very soul would sigh... *SIGH*. Alas, I am human and envy (a bit). Kinda miss being married. But I am glad to share with you now that life, like always, is again looking up for the sinner. No, he doesn't have a home yet, but he is actively pursuing a solution to that with the cooperation of Heche. And nowadays he is happier still because Mikhail is with him 5 days of the week (Mika's primary school is like 3 minutes drive away).

A LITTLE WALK. I have been walking a bit nowadays. And very early this morning (6am) Mika offered to accompany me in my walk. It was an cardio-vascular exercise for my heart and an audio-vascular exercise for my ears... "Papa, I thought we would be walking around the house, not around the block! Papa, look! I am walking faster than you... Papa, why is this house so big? Papa, why are the windows all dark? Are they hiding something? It's like a haunted house, Papa... Papa, I think they need a big house because they have dogs... why are the dogs are so loud? Woof! Woof! Woof!... Papa, would you like to sleep in a house with a dog barking like that? Papa? PAPA?.....

Have a lovely day, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

The House is an Abode of Memories - My Mother and Father

My Dad circa end 1960s. 

MOVING HOUSE? We might be moving house. It has been in the offing for some time now. I was talking to my dad about it and he asked what should be done with all the furniture and knick knacks that he has (via my late mum) accumulated over almost 4 decades of marriage.

One of the items which I thought we would dispose of is our old keyboard organ. “Its pretty old, you know, so I think we should get rid of it.” I said. My father however said, “No, no… I want to keep the organ.”

“You want to keep the organ?” I sought clarification because I thought he never really cared much for it.

“Yes.” He answered. “Mama (as in my late mum) gave it to me as a birthday present.”

MY DAD THE PIANO MAN. I recall the first time the musical contraption arrived at our old house some 15 years ago. For about six months my father diligently tried to learn to play the keyboard, taught by a Chinese girl who would come to the house in the evening.

GRANDFATHER CLOCK. The only other impressive birthday present my father bought himself was a grandfather clock. I remember him showing off the towering clock with some pride to the bemusement of our visitors. This was some 3 decades ago. In those days, my house was rarely empty of visitors.

My Mum circa 1959.

FROM FAT SALOON TO ULTRA COMPACT. For the last 2 decades in government and another decade plus in the banking sector, my father was driving or being driven in a Mercedes Benz. A year or 2 after my mother passed away however, he sold off the huge saloon and bought a nippy little compact car called the Kelisa. It would be hard to find a smaller and cheaper car in the market.

My dad was never much for ostentation and luxury. And I think he kept the Mercedes all that while because my late mother would have never allowed him to change the car.

We have been living in this house for the past 10 years. In that course of time, people have been born here, people have died here, people have been married and divorced too. So the walls of the house is full of my family’s sweet and sorrowful memories.

I write so nonchalantly about moving house. But deep down, I know that if we do move, it is gonna be an emotional wrench for everyone concerned…

134. The House

Ah! Seeker!

If you desire only to see where I live, enter!

You are most welcomed to admire

The ornate carvings, the high arches,

The beautiful murals and prayer niches.

But if you wish for more,

If you wish to build your own house,

Ha! Your sight must become keener,

And you must dig deeper,

To see the foundations hidden under;

Blessed of all are those

Amongst Allah’s servants

Who can say,

“What my tongue extols, my heart feels and my hands do.”

God bless you, sunshine. May God protect your home always, and if you are traveling, may He keep you safe in your journey.

Pax Taufiqa.