GOOD ATTRACTS GOOD - now that you are not here...

Now That You Are Not Here

Dear gentle soul,

Now that you are gone,

I constantly pray for you,

As I know you are constantly praying for me,

Dear gentle soul,

You were not meant to be long here,

Beneath the eaves of this forest of trees,

And the tall roofs of the minaret spires,

Where are you walking now that you are not here?

Now that you have nothing left to fear?

Dear gentle soul,

The middle child of two beautiful souls,

Will you give my greetings to our mother,

Now that you are with her and not here?

Dear gentle soul,

You shall now never grow old,

And your love will never grow cold.

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

My late brother, Saiful Bahri, whom I call Abang Chik (meaning, literally older younger brother) and you call Poone would undoubtedly say to me, "Enough already laaa with the poems (us Malaysians like to say laaa at the end of everything to stress a point)". But if he took such an unexpected and discourteous exit from this world (well, God fated his passing, but I am still going to blame Poone), I think I deserve as much time as I want to write about him. Because, frankly, I won't be posting anything at all here in the Almanac if I am not writing about my dear brother.

Mak Ndak, my auntie sitting near the foot of Poone's grave.
Well, that's what I call her. My brother called her Mak, meaning mother, for
she cared for him when he was just a baby, as my parents
had to travel overseas for my father's further studies.

Last week, a very excellent friend of my brother called Boy (though he is not a boy anymore) dropped by the house to ask for directions to find Poone's grave in the cemetery. We did not talk for very long, but I was deeply touched by what he said. "You know..., if I get to heaven, I would wish my father and mother to be there, my wife, my children... and Poone."

From all these unnecessary accolades about my brother, I rather take it that my brother was a jolly good fellow. And I think in his all-too short life, Poone also collected a bunch of jolly good fellows as friends.

Good attracts Good. That's what I think. Don't you agree, sunshine?

Have a lovely Monday now.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE DOOR OF SADNESS & THE GATE OF KNOWLEDGE - the priceless inheritance of Muslims (may they remember to ask!)

Gone Before Dawn

What is worth dying for

Is worth living for,

What is worth living for

Is always worth loving,

So love thy mother and thy father,

Love thy brother and thy sister,

Love the wise and the foolish,

The saints, the saintly and the sinners,

Love the music of children laughing,

Love the songs that the birds sing,

Love the peace that you enjoy,

Love the things you loved 

When you were just a little boy,

Love the silence before dusk,

Love the chorus before dawn,

Swear your love to them all,

For one day, who knows?

They may all be gone...

They may all be gone...

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

Bukit Kiara Cemetery, with Mr.Cemetery himself, Mikhail.

BEREAVEMENT. To those you have known before they are no more, to those you have known and yet have never met in this world, to the beautiful memories you have shared and for the memories yet to be made, what do we have to offer but our oath of fealty, our solemn promises of love?

DOOR OF SADNESS. As frail human beings, with mortal vessels that contain our ancient spirit, we are accorded some room for grief. A chamber to house our sorrow and lament the passing of our beloved kindred. To sigh when we inadvertently glanced at a picture of our mothers, fathers, family and friends who have all passed on. But this Door of Sadness, this gate through which our tears flow is also the gate of our heart, the abode of our Most Compassionate God who says that "Though Creation cannot contain Me, the heart of a true believer can."

At the Royal Mausoleum, Bukit Chandan, Kuala Kangsar.

GATE OF KNOWLEDGE. Thus the Door of Sadness is also the Gate of Knowledge, through which we are connected to our Grandshaykhs, the Masters of the Path (Tariqa). Above the laments of our own mortality, is the chorus of the Saints, the Friends of God, who, to this day attend to the matters of this world under the power of the Master of Creation, Muhammad Habibullah (s.a.w.s.) and His Companions. And amongst whom, Saydina Ali ibn Abu Talib is indeed known as the Gate of Knowledge, the entrance to the City of Knowledge that is the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.).

THE DIVINE COCKTAIL. It is thus the priceless inheritance of the Muslims, blessed and fortunate as they are (may they remember!), that contemplation and remembrance of our dearly departed, inevitably intermingles with Allah (s.w.t.), His Beloved Muhammad (s.a.w.s) and all His Companions(r.a.) and Saints (q.s.). Thus we find...

The Intermingling

In our remembrance of the dearly departed,

Our mortality intermingles with immortality,

Our sorrow intermingles with great joy,

Our uncertainty intermingles with assurance,

Our love intermingles  with the Greatest Love of All,

That is the Love of Allah for His Muhammad...

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

He shouldn't be whirling so close to the water's edge. But kids... they will have their fun.
By the riverside maqam of Tok Temong, Kuala Kangsar.

So if you are in mourning for someone, even if it is for yourself, have great hope, my friend. For you are assured of love, mercy and compassion of a Lord matchless in His vows of love, mercy and compassion for you and the reasons for your sorrow.

Alhamdulillah.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Sea of Golden Memories - the infinite blessings of remembering

Set sail upon the Sea of Golden Memories, the path of love ordained
by God Himself for your past, your present and your future.

The Blessing of Remembering

Blessed is he that remembers...

Remembers his past, his parents and ancestors,

Remembers his future, his children and lineage,

Remembers such memories before the memories are made,

Remembering that God knows the beginning and the ending,

And that God has planned it all for him 

In His perfect planning,

Blessed is he that remembers...

Remembers his prophet and his living history,

Remembers his place in the Nation of the Nabee,

Remembers the love promised by God Almighty,

Who has forbidden upon Himself to forget nor be unjust,

Golden memories to remember forever,

Never to rot nor turn to rust.

Blessed is he that remembers...

That in remembrance of both past and future,

He dons the garb of the servant,

That he may address this very moment, this present,

As both the servant, and the master.

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

I am quite forgetful. Sometimes unintentionally, and at other times, there is undoubtedly a hint of pre-meditated forgetfulness - My road tax has expired? Gee... I must have not realised it. I didn't file in my taxes? Honestly, I am such a dodo head!

And let us be honest here, it is not merely these worldly matters that I am forgetful of. In my remembrance of God, I can also be very forgetful. Neglecting the golden memories, distracted by this world, and above all, distracted by the God-awful noise my ego often makes in the hall of my consciousness. So my chances of being a good servant (let us not even attempt to calculate the possibility of being a master) is quite small. Insignificantly small. It would take some form of miracle to get me out of my Hole of Forgetfulness.

Remembering can be beautiful,
inspiring and a pleasure
indescribable in
words. 

Happily, I am assured by two truths - Firstly, that God made us to be forgetful, clumsy and often neglectful, that we may, in times of realisation of our utter helplessness, turn to Him for forgiveness. For God Himself has said that He made us to forget and to sin, that we may turn to Him seeking mercy, that His attributes of ar-Rahman (the Most Compassionate One) and ar-Rahim (the Most Forgiving One) is exalted in this world.

Secondly, the form of miracle blessed unto humanity (and all the world(s)) in this End of Time has indeed appeared in the form of Muhammad Habibullah (s.a.w.) - the Guiding Lantern for all creation, held by the Hand of God Himself, shining the straight and safe path for us to follow. Lo, how beautiful does the Nur of Muhammad (Light of Muhammad) shines. To light the darkest corner of our vanity, to dispel the blackest mist of our hubris - to bring Truth which is Beauty by any other name, into our hearts - that being Allah s.w.t.

Dzikrullah. As for this old sinner, where am I in this fascinating spiritual station of dzikrullah (Remembrance of God)? I am afraid that I am at a mean low stage - somewhere in the state of trying to remember that I should try to remember these Golden Memories.

But thankfully, God is Most Forgiving of his weakest of servants!

Don't you agree, sunshine?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Truth is Beautiful, Magnificent and Inspiring - *SNAP* *SNAP* - THE PRINCE PART 31

A jewel in heaven, peeping through a modest veil.

I was driving home at dusk after a lovely day at work, when just as I was coming up the crest of the hill to reach my house I saw a magnificent sight - a beautiful full moon with clouds adrift around her. Like a gem floating in heaven, peeping through a modest veil. As it was getting dark, I doubted whether my camera phone would be able to take a nice enough picture, which would give justice to just one... just one of the countless beautiful moments in nature that Allah (s.w.t.) graces our day with, each and every day, 24/7.

You know, philosophers say the most beautiful things. Because they often approach the truth of life. And the all-encompassing truth of The Truth is Haqq, that is Allah (s.w.t.) by one of his 99 revealed Divine Names. And Truth is beautiful, magnificent and inspiring. In the context of which, I recall one chap saying some words to the effect that, what you perceive outside, is what you are inside.

So when I see something beautiful, interesting, inspiring, mind-blowing... how I would love to have a good DSLR and the talent to capture for prosperity that sight, that person, that event. And to share it with you, my love.

As I did not have one that evening, I opened my eyes and allowed the soul-camera which we all carry inside the pocket of our conscience to take a picture of that lovely dusk sky... *snap* *snap*. Then later that night, remembering the picture, I sketched something for me and for you, for God(s.w.t.) and His Prophet (s.a.w.s.).

*snap* *snap*

It is only 6.30am now. I woke up early to catch the morning air. In the calmness that God shares with us early-wakers, the stillness allows me to recall all other beautiful scenes and people that have entered my life. Some of whom have long passed away. Their faces, their smiles, and their stories will forever live in my heart. And best of all, I have this wonderful soul-camera which gives me excellent high def pictures. Which makes my memories alive as if it is recurring in front of me right this moment. I kid you not.

It is through the remarkable lens of Muhammad, Habibullah (Beloved of God) Prophet of God(s.a.w.s), that I see such things. And that is how I see you, sunshine. Floating like a gem in the Lord's heaven.

almarhum Sultanul Qulb Shayk Raja Ashman Shah ibni Sultan Azlan Shah (sitting)
...al fatiha

Have a beautiful Sabbath.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Speak Plainly, and Tell Me - The Prince Part 25

Where is the Prince?

Plainly, sir... for I am no wise seeker,

Tell me, is he alive and if so, where is he?

And if he has passed away, then tell me where is he?

Plainly, sir... for I am no learned teacher,

Tell me, has he taught you anything and if so, what did he teach you?

Plainly, sir... for I am no dervish,

Tell me, did he show you the path of love, and if so, 

Where did it lead you to?

Plainly, sir, and quickly too... for I am not young anymore,

Where is the Prince, the Sultan of Hearts?

For I am tired of the Kings and Queens,

The Aces, the Jacks and the Jokers,

Weary of the cards dealt

To misguide us sinners...

Give me the truth,

Let me share a little of the warmth

In the bonfire of love that I see

You stoke for the Prince

Within you...

Tell me about the Prince

and bring me to him,

and leave me not

to my ego's whim.

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

al-fatiha

If almarhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah ibni Sultan Azlan Shah (Ku Ash) was still alive (as we understand life and death to be) today, his family, friends and groupies would be celebrating his 54th birthday. Alas, he has released his material body and what is left for us wandering beggars is his memories.

But the memories of kindly, excellent spirits as the one that is possessed by Shaykh Raja is not the sort of passive memories. I think it is very much alive. As alive as his mureeds (students) choose to make his exemplary conduct a way of their lives, and as alive as is affected by determinants other than the mere choices of mortals.

I am not plain speaking. So thank God (s.w.t.) and the Prophet (s.a.w.s) for the likes of Shaykh Raja Ashman Sultanul Qulub whose simplicity of life and love hides an unknown depth of knowledge and experiences. While remaining sincere, shy and humble.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Junk Mail, Forward Address To The Life Here After - mothers, children and poignant reminders

Yesterday a mail arrived for my mother. It's an invitation from some very keen real estate agents for my mother to purchase properties in London. It is very kind of them but alas, the junk mail is ten years too late, for my dear mum passed away in May 2002. 

I just shared this on Instagram, and an old friend advised me to unsubscribe from the sales mailing list. But of course, that mailing list is floating and being circulated with God-knows-who-else and I think to attempt to stop further junk mails to my late mother would be like trying to plug a rainy sky with a cork.

Saying that however, I don't mind reading my mother's name anywhere I may find it, or as in this case, anywhere it may find me. Above the epithet of her gravestone, in the wisdom of my aunties, playing upon the smile of my son or simply printed on a junkmail postcard... it is still a reminder of her.

Have a lovely thoughtful day, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Sultan, The Zawiya and The Enduring Rose - The Prince Part 19

71. The Fountain
I approach the Fountain
And reflected in its waters I saw the sky,
As I came closer
I saw the mountains and trees,
As I came closer
I saw the meadows and valleys,
As I came even closer
I saw the hosts of humanity,
As I arrived and peered straight into its waters
I saw no one,
No meadows,
No valleys,
No mountains,
No trees,
Not even the sky.
I only saw I.
...................


87. Passion 1
Passion is come, and I am overcome,
My Lord has struck my senses dumb.
He has taken me from my place of comfort,
Far away to a place besieged by harm.

Thus, He moves us as He wishes,
From point to point, from maqam to maqam.
Thus, He does unto us as He pleases,
Making dull what is halal, sweet what is haram.

O’ Lord, passion is nigh and this servant is blinded!
Guide me to Layla through Rumi’s secret door,
So that I may see what is forbidden and see no more,
So that I may hear what is forbidden and hear no more,
So that I too may be hidden and matter no more.

O’ Lord, lead me away from the kufr of my worship!
End this separation which You force me to keep!
Lead me to the shore of Your Mercy Ocean
To drown in the waters of a secret consummation.
....................

Sometimes it appears that the Path, that strange winding road of the Sufis and other mystics is a lonely, lonesome highway. At other times it is a jema'ah (congregation) of people, in solemn rows of prayers, or sitting around a mawlud (songs and hymn in praise of the Prophet(pbuh)) or simply waiting in queue to shake and kiss the hand of a reigning Sultan attending a zawiya where once his late son was the Shaykh.

At other times, the Path is also about grammatical correctness, for I would correct myself and say that al marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah ibni Sultan Azlan Shah (may God sanctify his secrets) is still the Shaykh and Master of the zawiya here, though he has discarded his worldly raiment about 3 months ago. And certainly his memories still persist and continue to bloom in the hearts of his many friends, mureeds(students), admirers and groupies. For when someone comes and seed your heart with love and mercy, it is a most enduring rose!

I am not worthy to write, you know. I am barely educated to pass comment on myself, what more Ku Ash, as he is fondly (and impudently) referred to by some of his groupies. There are so many others, who actually knew him and shared activities with him. Having tea, watching football matches and playing futsal. Me, I just write and sketch, and send them over to The House on the Hill where he once resided, not more than a 3 minutes' drive from my own house. Where o' Lord, shall I send the prose, stories and sketches now?

al fatiha

But perhaps, no one really knew him. As perfect knowledge is only with our Lord God and with our Prophet Muhammad(pbuh). Certainly, when I saw His Majesty Sultan Azlan Shah once again in the zawiya, I felt that His Majesty was also looking, through association with those who loves his son, to understand more of his younger prince - to find out what made him tick, and undoubtedly, to honour his memory and legacy.

For you see, they shall always be celebrating Ku Ash's life and love, but they shall also always be in a state of mourning - more than 40 days, more than 100 days, until that day comes when God unites them with the man they call Ku Ash, or in the Sultan's case, simply... my son.

God bless you. Thank you for staying a little longer to listen.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Tahlil Speech That Did Not Happen - Dreaming. Thinking . Feeling . Part 1

As I mentioned earlier, my late mother's Tahlil (traditional prayers for the dearly departed) for the 10th Anniversary of her passing happened today. As I was driving to pick up Heche in the morning to help out with the prep, I was thinking. And I was dreaming...

...dreaming...

I looked out at the sky, and I thought "Hmm.. beautiful. I hope everything will be as beautiful throughout the Tahlil.."

...thinking...

In the short five minutes drive, I wrote a speech in my head for the Tahlil. I did not recite it in the end, but I still remember the emotion, etched as it is in my memory. So I would like to share the prose with you, though those who attended the small function did not. Here it is, aptly called...

THE TAHLIL SPEECH THAT DID NOT HAPPEN

The world distracts me with its jewels and baubles,

With its fine trinkets and beautiful stones,

But ever since my mother has passed on,

This world is not truly my home…

I follow those who are attending

To the affairs of the dead

And those yet to be born,

For they are the ones who

Are truly alive in this moment

Which is here and very soon gone!

We are nothing but a wisp of thought

In the Cradle of God’s Imagination,

Not fit for His estimation but saved

By the prayers of our ancestors,

And the prayers of those

Who are destined

To come

After

Us.

My mother who loved you all,

Died with her love undiminished,

And as I look at each one of you here,

And at each one of you who are not here,

MasyaAllah… now I know how she loved you so!

For you appear to me so beautiful,

So sincere and wonderful,

From the top of your heads

To your pinky little toes!

…………….

You are defined by your relationship with people. But perhaps there are few relationships that are more defining than the relationship you have with your mother. I do not consider myself a good son while she was alive. But she was a wonderful mum to me and my brothers.

...feeling...

As I walked Mikhail up to bed early tonight (he has a slight temperature, poor guy), I asked him, "Well, did you see Tok (grandma) today?" He replied, "Tok? But she is in the grave, Papa." Good point. So I asked again, "Did you feel Tok then?", to which he said, "I felt a tingle inside me during the du'a (prayers). Was that her?"

And I answered, "Yes, Mikhail."

Thank you for coming to this 'online' Tahlil, sunshine. You are my guests, and I am your humble host of the Sinners' Almanac. Welcome, welcome, welcome!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way.

Nashua, the Angel with a Long Train and a German Rock Ballad

I am here because you called me, Nashua. 

An Angel with a Long Train and the Scorpion’s Love Lullaby

An angel robed with a long train
Walked past a mingling crowd of working mothers,
Sitting, standing waiting in a row
With their noisy, clapping, laughing children.
One girl, with curly locks over her brown eyes
Noticed the angel and said, “Hey! What are you?”
“I am an Angel.” Replied the Herald.
“Why are you here?”
“I am here because you called me, Nashua.”
She made a face and denied, “No. I didn’t.”
The Angel then explained.

“Yes, you did. Or rather, you will. 23 years in the future. You were heartbroken by a man (that scoundrel), and you were listening to radio pathetico. Then the German rock band, Scorpions came on air with their song ‘Send me an Angel’. When you heard it, you cried even more, and you whispered along with the song, “Here I am, send me an Angel…” So here I am, an Angel.”

“I do not understand. Then, why are you here NOW?” Said Nashua.

“Because at 31 years old, you have grown up, Nashua. And you have forgotten and unlearnt the innocence and wisdom of children. I cannot appear to you in the future. But I am touched by your sadness. So I have travelled to the past to see you. You must keep this memory so that you know that however ill-used you will become, your Guardian Angel and our Lord God is never far. “

She then ventured a question, “Will I remember this? To which the Angel said, “No. but perhaps the love of our connection will remain. So that at the very least, you will remember to call unto God and His Angels, however much you despair of your life.

Then, the Angel smiled. “For that is why, I am here, you see. You remembered me still. As an echo of a Love Lullaby. Even if it took the Scorpions to trigger your subconscious. To be perfectly honest, they are not exactly in Heaven’s Top 100, being you know... a little naff*. But we Angels have learnt to adapt to humanity’s strange caprice.”

Nashua did not fully understand the Angel’s extended monologue, but her wise 8 year old heart understood enough. “Well, I guess I must thank you, Mr. Angel.” With great dignity, the Angel bowed before Nashua, “You are most welcome, o’ daughter of Eve.”

The little girl blushed looking pleased, and said,

Okay, so now what?”

The Angel stood up to his full height and extended his hand, “Why, now we have a little time before I leave. Hop on my train, and I will take you for a ride.”

Nashua smiled, crying, “Yeah!” But then she paused, and asked, "Wait. What is naff?"

Footnote: Courtesy of the BBC website – meaning of ‘Naff’. N-A-F-F. British slang. It means worthless, tacky, unfashionable - 'that's naff', 'the party was naff', 'those clothes are naff' - unenjoyable, of poor quality. 'Uncool', I suppose people would say these days - 'that décor is naff', 'that software is naff', 'that pub is naff'. In other words, it's used in a huge variety of circumstances as a general dismissive term…

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

Truth be told, I am actually fond of the song by The Scorpions, being kinda naff myself. Anyway, if you would like to see the music video, Click Here.

Hope you enjoyed the story, sunshine. You may have noticed that time appears to be circular in the tale, begging the question, which actually happened first - the past or the future?    

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Old Pictures and Human Clutter - Memories define who we are

UN-CLUTTER. I have been trying and failing to un-clutter my life. So many souvenirs, pictures, knick-knacks and brick-bracks collected from trips and studies abroad, friends and houses I have visited, weddings, dinners, luncheons, suppers and teas I have attended, places I have worked, cinemas, theatres, clubs, shops and car parks that I have graced with my presence (we have a vibrant brochure-in-the-wiper-blades industry here) and the other occasions and sudden acquaintances with humanity which is part of our rich tapestry which makes up our 24 hours in a day.

OLD PICTURES. I have a special place in my heart about pictures though. I find it very hard to throw them away. I guess un-cluttering our lives is not simply about chucking away rubbish, but rearranging and reorganizing our thoughts and memories, both happy and sad - often embodied by old pictures of places we have been to, friends we have known and our own beloved family. No. I find it very hard to throw photographs. And I don't think I will.

SOME WHERE. After all, there is probably some place some where out there in the world where there is a picture of you, kept in an old album. And for some unknown reason, the person still keeps your picture.

We need memories. Memories are what defines us. But there was once a time, in a place before no 'place' was ever created, before time itself was given meaning, before anything else, when it was just me and Him. This is not actually a 'memory' but I think this is also a moment that continues to define what we are. All of us.

1. Alone with You

Alone with You,

Without memories,

With no history,

No tales to distract me,

No thoughts to consume me,

No regrets nor unconsummated promises

To bind me.

Only You.

Beautiful You,

Unforgettable, Undeniable You.

How shall my heart ever be worthy?

Have a picturesque 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.

My Mother and our Little Cottage in the Pennines

41. Mother’s Cottage
If I was a dutiful son or daughter to thee,
Oh, how warm would my nights still be.
For even in the harshest frost of winter,
I would watch the dying embers
And hear the crackling of fire,
Alone in a cottage,
Resting high in the Pennines.

There would I have lived,
In a house I have never been,

And there would I have died,
Atop a hill I have never climbed.

On Friday morning, after I dropped Mikhail off at school, I found myself at my regular table of my friendly neighbourhood mamak (Indian Muslim) restaurant for my morning milky tea. And as normal, the TV was showing our early morning tv show. As Mother's Day is coming this Sunday, the theme was about mothers. Oh, and how everyone blubbered. The female host spoke with difficulty about how she was a problem child, but her mother never gave up on her - and she blubbered. Then they opened the phone-lines to caller-ins, and everyone shared their mother-stories which one way or another showed how a mum never gives up on their most appalling children and are willing to sacrifice anything for the happiness of their kids. And of course they all blubbered like little babies. So sweetot.

I felt a little melancholic because my mum has passed on to pastures green, no doubt now tidying her little corner of the vast expanse of the Divine Consciousness which people call the HereAfter. She won't be around for me to kiss and hug, to say Happy Mother's Day, and perhaps take her out for lunch. For you see, when she was alive, being the sinner that I am, I took her for granted. And never imagining a life, nay a world absent of her lovely warm presence.

The poem above was written perhaps 1 or 2 years after her passing. It recollects a dream of mine in which she was absent. I dreamt I lived in a cottage in the Pennines (not too far from where I was studying in Leeds, West Yorkshire), and I can vividly remember walking out and hearing the gurgling of a little stream running behind the little cottage. I did not see my mother in my dream, but the place felt like home. So I knew she must be in the cottage somewhere, perhaps in the kitchen, cooking some delicious dinner for a family who misses her now in ways my heart finds impossible to describe.

Life is not long, and the most beautiful rose ebbs and diminishes as God calls her home. So while she is with you, do your best, sunshine. Do not be like me, who must now write little poems and riddles, casting them into the night sky and hoping that some kind angel will bring my message to her, wherever she may be in the Garden of God. May our Lord bless our mothers always.

Have a lovely Sabbath, pet.

Pax Taufiqa.

Sound and the Nature of Memory with the Lord of Time

SOUND WAVES CANCELLATION. An anonymous pigeon in Jesus, Rabia, Moses and the Pigeons - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 14 suggested that I google 'How sound cancels other sound'. I was curious whether my snoring and Arjuna's could have cancelled each other's nocturnal orchestra, and if so how. The answer is yes, but it is possible only if the two sound waves are exactly opposite each other. In other words the cancelling wave (my snoring) needs to be of equal and opposite amplitude or magnitude of the original wave (Arjuna's snoring). Now, who says you don't learn anything in this blog.

MEMORIES CANCELLATION. I don't exactly know why, but this got me thinking about memories, and how we are able to cherish and keep them alive, and how we are able to crush and destroy our memories. Of course there are some memories we wish to forget, while others we wish to cling to. I do believe that memory cancellation is just like sound cancellation.

In other words, we cancel (or at least damage our memory recall) of some memories by doing the exact opposite of what those particular memories embody. So, if we have some beautiful memories of a time spent say... with our auntie, then our hold to those memories become weak each time we say or do something bad to our aunties, or if they are not around anymore, when we fail to love what or whom our auntie once loved or adored. It can be all sorts of memories, really...

It may be the memory of the simple pleasure when a butterfly perched on your hand, or...

...the pleasure of leaning against a one thousand year old column in Angkor Wat, or...

... just parleying with your son at your friendly neighbourhood paediatrician, or...

...being hugged by your youngest grand auntie.

As a sinner, I sin. I mean its what I am really good at. So maybe that's why I cannot recall any memories before birth. You know, those happy care free days in heaven before the angel tapped my shoulders and said, "Hey, Taufiq, time for you to meet your parents..." and I was flung (ever so gently, I am sure) from heaven into my mother's waiting womb.

I guess this blog is one of my attempts to remember. To write about what is good and beautiful in this world. To remember those people who deserves to be remembered, and of whom many, sadly, I have already forgotten.

Well, at least God remembers. And I do believe that the rules of Time becomes a plaything in the hands of the Lord of Time. And when it comes to memories, good or bad, God will bend the rules and twist the clock to make it good and better for us. Of this I am certain...

129. Love Of The Lord Of Time

The Lord of Time whispers,

“My servant. Long have you been troubled

By your misdeeds.

Yet you seek Me in such a state.

Know therefore that

It is not My Will to permit entry into My Presence

The distracted and the grief-stricken.

So this day, I have brought the past to the present,

That you might right your old wrongs

And set your anxious heart to ease.

It is My Desire that those who do come to Me,

Come crying tears of happiness in meeting their Lord,

Who would bear witness upon My Name,

To the dwellers of heaven and earth

That Their Lord,

Would bend time and space,

And Lo! Break all the laws of nature that He alone has created,

For the sake of His servants.

Have a great day, pet.

Pax Taufiqa.