HU AM I? ,... I am Notrumi

Please Tell Me

Behind closed doors,

Hidden in the veil that we all wear,

What are we?

Father? Mother? Friend or enemy?

Righteous man or riddled with hypocrisy?

If you know me, please tell me...

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

Everyone and his auntie has
written of Rumi and his poetry.
I am Notrumi, and you shan't find
any Rumi here.

Hu Am I? Sufis, artists, lawyers and doctors, beggars and farmers, chairman of the board and the security guard smartly saluting you as you pass him by, all of humanity faces the same question that has dogged our species for eons - what am I? Who am I?

Though we would like to believe that we are what we believe in, it can get a little tiring to be defined by what you think you believe in and nothing beyond that. The truth is our inner consciousness is a turbulent sea, a veritable ocean of disparate thoughts, biases, passions and confusions. A constant storm of contradictions, confusions, perceptions and misconceptions. So my old friend tells me - "Do not let your inner self remain inner. You are what you do, so do! Leave the exhausting inner debate and let your actions define who you are." 

May God dress you with goodness, inside and outside. For the opposite of goodness is a lie, and we don't want to continue living a lie of a life.

Pray for me, sunshine! 

I am a beggar, the acute sinner,

The drunk derelict,

I am Notrumi.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Between Rumi and Avatar - poetic divinity and over-design

The Wings of My Soul

I would spread the wings of my soul

But even the vast expanse of this universe

Will not be able to contain them,

I would wear the crown of my soul

But the light would blind the rest of creation

And leave them stumbling in a formless world,

I would walk around with the slippers of my soul

But I am not used to walking on air,

Accustomed as I am to the earth

Of my being.

I would unmask my soul

But the mirror of this world

Is held up by my own hands,

And the contradiction of my existence

And my non-existence

Would annihilate my world,

And I would come to be to myself

An unknown, anonymous thing,

To be drawn and written and composed

As God deems fit, as the Prophet instructs.

And even this is not the complete truth!

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

AVATAR. I don't have time for spiritual poetry. For I find this physical world manifest already with the poetic symmetry of creation that can come from God alone. If you do not believe me, look at man's own attempt at creature design... from 'scientific' television documentaries which depict animals and plants dug up from the imagination and tenuous rationalization of scientists (who really ought to know better than go for this 'pop' pseudo-scientific fiction) to mega gazillion movies like Avatar and Prometheus. Not one or two, but all the man-designed creatures somehow appear to be contrived and fictional, lacking the symmetry and asymmetrical cohesiveness of this real world and real creation, registered and copyrighted by our one God. 

Oh my God... you are ugly. I would now normally say,
"Prepare to meet your Maker..." but I know for certain God didn't make you.

And almost all fictional creatures end up with
this one singular fault - over design.

RUMI. Err... I appear to have deviated somewhat from today's topic. So back to poetry and poets. I have assiduously avoided reading poetry, because I don't really enjoy language for language's sake. And even that most celebrated poets such as Rumi and Hafez I evade from reading. But sometimes life moves in its twists and turn and you cannot avoid bumping into these spiritual luminaries. As in a little book Heche acquired for me entitled Rumi - The Fire of Love. This book turns out to be a biography of sorts covering Jelaludin Rumi and his muse, Shams of Tabriz. The book is the creation of Nahal Tajadod, a Teheran born scholar and sufi now residing in France. What makes this book very accessible is that it is written from the point of view of a Rumi mureed (student), but composed in a modern novel language. Nicely done.

I am still reading the book, and slowly devouring the stories and history of Rumi, his family, companions and mureeds, all living in that age under the shadow of the rapacious Mongol hordes from the east. Of the many books I have acquired or been given over this past one year, I think this will be one of my favourites! I will share with you my conclusions upon finishing the book later.

But before I leave you (and leave I must), I recall a prose I recorded many years back. It is kinda funny...

1.      Rumi Freak

A friend once said that

I am a Rumi freak.

But the truth is

I don’t read Rumi.

I am holding his beard

And he has his hands

On my head.

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

Have a thoughtful day, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Rumi, Soul Teasers and a Deck of Cards...

These are called Rumi-spectacles. Wear them to change your perspective of the world,
which of course, changes the world itself....

Ah. Jelaluddin Rumi. Poet Extraordinaire, best-selling poet in the Western Hemisphere since sliced white bread was invented. Inventor of the dustbin hat. The man who spouted tolerance and inclusiveness before the advent of Hippy-ism, One Love, Flower Power and the Ungrateful Dead. A Game Changer, a Muslim Sufi Saint of unparalleled reach who popularized the whirling ritual and founded the Mehlevi Order.

I don't read Rumi. I don't go looking for him, but every now and then someone would quote him on Facebook and there we would meet... two brick on the wall of a friend. 

To change the topic entirely, as a habit, I do go looking for clouds. Especially when I am driving, which is of course appallingly dangerous. I would be driving up the road and be looking up to the sky. I cannot help myself, you see, drawn as I am to the clouds. They are such shameless flirts... The little soul teasers.

There they are. Teasing me with their God-given beauty.

Getting back to Rumi, about a month ago a stranger named Sean popped up out of the etherness  of the Internet and asked if I wouldn't mind too badly if he could reproduce one of my Rumi-esque Sufi-esque sketches. They are going to produce a 40-deck card set entitled 'Rules of Love of Shams of Tabriz'. Shams of Tabriz is Rumi's famous muse, a wandering dervish who wandered (as wandering dervishes have a habit of doing) into Rumi's hometown and sparked his passionate love and fealty. Shams was the Master of the Master then. This is the picture that Sean wants to use...

...which coincidentally contains the two phrases by which I normally close a posting. I guess this means that I should probably stop here now and leave you to your day, your love, your work and play.

God blesses you always, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

"STAY...", Love said to me

1.      I have seen You!

I have seen You, Love!

Reflected upon the waters

Of your creation!

I have heard You, Love!

In the sweet muttering

Of your creation!

You will not let me sleep,

You will goad and flirt,

You will be selfish

With me,

Again and again.

How You love me

I do not care,

For here You are,

With me,

In any time,

Anywhere.

I cannot walk away,

Not when you look

At me that way,

Telling me,

“Stay.”

Love never said, "Go away." Love never said, "Leave me be." Love never said, "You are excused, you may go." Which is really fortunate for us, for how will we leave Love's presence, sustained as we are in our spirit and our very being by Love's loving gaze?

100. The Minnow

O’ Little Minnow

Swimming in the shallow.

No where could you go

That His River does not flow.

God is Love Manifest beyond the wildest dreams of poets and lovers, and from there comes His Attribute as your nourisher and sustainer. And though He could compel the smallest minnow or the mightiest king to be in His divine presence, He does not - He asks you, as how befits the Lover to the Beloved, "Stay."

So if one day you find yourself standing at the corner, waiting for a cab to take you away from Love, turn off the bitterness and come back inside, where there is love, warmth and you. For where would the real you be if not with love?

"Stay."

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way 

BEAUTY IN ART AND MUSIC - no one made this, the One (God) made this...

An artist at the door of his famous studio in Lefke, Cyprus.

I am Owned, so No Ownership Here

In my courtship of Muhammad, Prophet of God

I wish I could claim authorship of all this prose,

But truth be told, how can I claim to write

Something that is already written ... 

In his beautiful grace,

In his benevolent demeanour,

In his loving gaze,

In his patience,

In his devotion to duty,

In his tender ministration,

In his generous mercy,

And in his enduring mission

To heal our heart and raise us

From the ignominy

Of our sins and folly,

By asking, again and again…

“Look at me! Follow me!”

So how can I claim ownership?

Owned as I am already

By the Prophet Muhammad

Who is unto the worlds ordained

As God’s Sweetness of Mercy.

……………………….

The Blue Mosque, Istanbul.

God the Artist. Poets who write prose, writers who write books, architects who raise mighty minaret-ed mosques in glory of the Lord and the Lord's Beloved (pbuh), artists who carve or draw ornate pictures and designs, dervish dancers and singers for the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) all must ultimately resign themselves to this state of confession that verily, they cannot claim authorship of what they do in their chosen fields. For it would be akin to a traveler walking through a meadow of unsurpassed beauty and purity and then declaring, "I made this!"

No, no one made this. Only the One (God) made this and the artists and builders are simply bearing witness unto His heart-breaking Love and Beauty, and mind-breaking Creativity and Power. It is this intimacy that all artists and builders desire to provoke in the hearts of those who may read, listen, watch or contemplate over their labours of love.

And foremost in their labour of love is their untiring courtship of Muhammad Habibullah (pbuh), yearning above all else to be guided by the Most Beloved to the All-Loving. For it is the lore that when God first created the NurMuhammad (Light of Muhammad), He was Most Pleased by what He saw, and thereupon issued forth all of creation, from the Pen and the Tablet and the Throne, to the Angels and the Heavens and Hells, to the Djinns of the smokeless fire and to Man of clay and water, and all creatures and spirits both seen and unseen of all the world(s).

Love makes the world go round? Without love, sunshine, no world would have ever existed.

Life in the Artists' Commune: A bunch of artists and their Mentor and Grand Muse. Alas, one of the artists (al-marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman) has passed on, and like many artists before him, his work is now greatly prized and sought. They are hanging in the antechamber of his mureed's hearts. But I don' t think any of his mureed would part with his work for all the jewel and gold of this world.
al fatiha

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Mikhail in my Cartoons - Saturday Cartoons Part 2!

On Children

(by Kahlil Gibran)

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

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

I don't often quote anyone's poetry in this almanac. But since the sketch was drawn expressly with this poem by Kahlil Gibran in mind, it would not be fair not to do so. And I do try to be fair, though a sinner I am. Honest.

Below are some other cartoons done with my son, Mikhail in it. He has added an extra spice of uncertainty and exuberant brilliance in my life. I cannot thank God enough. And I cannot thank my son enough. One late night recently, as he was about to fall asleep, I said, "Thank you, Mika." Under the blanket and pillow he sleepily replied, "What for, Papa?" To which I answered, "For being born."

All these cartoons have been previously posted, but I hope it shall not impede your enjoyment.

Be close to your children. Who else can they come to,
if they cannot come to you in times of trouble?

The direction of prayers (kiblat) is towards the holy Kaaba in Mecca.
But in their formative years, you are the kiblat of your children.

Your children need you. But don't cramp their style.
They need room to breath and grow as how God intended.

And lastly, expect to be the object of humour and laughter for your children.
Children's laughter is the music of heaven. So what if you look foolish for a while?

Thank you for dropping in, sunshine. God bless all children, wonderful vessels of love and energy that they are.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Camel in the Bamboo Forest - Poetry and Politics

The Camel Saloon asked that we host a link to The Bamboo Forest, a poetry blog sympathetic to Zhu Yufu, a dissident Chinese poet currently detained by the Beijing authorities. Although this blog is not a political blog, nor does it espouse the democratic ideal, I have agreed. Because... you know, poets gotta stick together.

Nothing ought to be viewed in isolation, and caution should be exercised in judgment of any man. I do not know much of Zhu Yufu, his motivation and ideal, his history and present incarceration. However, one should not be jailed merely due to one's poetry...  

Because if that was indeed the case, this sinner would have been apprehended years ago by the police for a breach of the Trade Description Act (Mr. Police: You call that poetry!? I have read better prose in my DVD manual), and for my illegal impersonation of a poet (Mr. Police: If you are really a poet, where is your beret?).

He wears a beret. AND he smokes Gitanes. He is a poet. 

Have a thoughtful day, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Merchant, the Poet and the Dervish - the degrees of madness

96. Degrees of Madness

The merchant counting paper(money) behind closed doors,

The poet writing rude prose in search of clarity,

The dervish crawling naked on all fours,

Differ only in their personal degrees of insanity.

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

Who is crazier? The man who counts paper money (fiat money) and say that it has value over and above the value of the paper and its artwork? Or the poet who locks himself up in his room, divining God's glory while outside, the world in all His Glory awaits to be explored? Or the dervish who calls people to Love while they spurn and mock him for his nakedness?

Who is right and who is wrong? Who is sane and who is insane? Until God sorts that out I think we shall all do mankind a great service by just being nice to each other. Oh, and to our own selves too.

So have a nice day, sunshine. God bless you!

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

Adam is the Stranger in the World of Eve - Marriage, Saints, Rapture, Good Manners and other Useful Information

With You, Each night I Die

My prose is camped

Upon the crest of your eye,

My words are lying on the ridge of your nose,

Gently falling into the dunes of your red lips.

My poetry has no meaning compared

To the physical manifestation of you.

Useless to encompass the holy scriptures

Written in your eyes and recited in your heart.

Unable to herald the wind of your breath,

The gentle slope of your breasts.

The morning sun that rises in your auburn hair,

The evening sun that sets in your west.

I am learned,

I am a sinner,

I am all and I am neither

When in your light,

I die each night.

"You married? How old are you? Why you not married? Marry! Find him a wife! Find someone for her! You not married? And you not married? Why not marry each other?! You ARE married? Take care of your wife! Take care of your husband!" This is the refrain I hear years upon years that new mureeds are introduced to the Sufi Master.

Adam is the Stranger in the World of Eve

The Lord created Adam first

But when Eve arrived later

It was Adam who is the stranger

Not Eve...

God gave unto Adam two worlds,

The temporal and spiritual worlds.

Of womankind is a third world

Which the Lord did not grant him,

Only His invitation and by her permission

To dwell in her hidden thoughts

And her secret universe.

God blesses the woman who welcomes

The man into her world with grace and kindness!

God blesses the man who

Pleases and praises his host!

"Two words you must always remember to say to keep your marriage happy and strong!" The Sufi Master said. The mostly male congregation waited in bated breath for the magical spell, the secret incantation, the ancient runes that could help them secure marital bliss. Finally their Master said, "Yes Dear!"

As a divorcee I am an exile. A wandering sheep (or wolf?). Perhaps one day I shall be exile no longer. A passionate cook visited the Ancient Sufi Master recently in his home on The Island East of Albion and asked that Taufiq (that's me) be married soon. The old man raised his hand and said "InsyaAllah! (God Willing!)"

Have a beautiful day, Adam. Have a glorious day, Eve. But if you are in love it is already a beautiful and glorious day, yes? You have no need for my good wishes! 

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

Longhair, the Moth, the Flame and the Sinner - Prose of Ramadhan Part 65

Longhair is wandering close to the flame. Crazy fella...

I am not much for posting other people's poetry. But I do it sometimes (see posting entitled Lewis Carrol - Life, what is it but a dream - Click Here). Anyways, I was trawling through my old collection when I came across two poems that my friend, Longhair wrote to me some 7 years ago -

3 MARCH (2004)

Salam O’ intoxicated one!

Longhair has fallen into a cask of wine and is all wet, HaHa!

I have been made confused by his presence

And his leaving has me even more confused.

I am a moth playing by his candle and my wings are burnt!

4 MARCH (2004)

Ya Rahman…

A sinner is come asking for mercy!

I am without faith, my amal is tainted by my ego

And I have many sins

But You are the Forgiver and Most Merciful.

So I come to Thee with the conviction that I am a sinner

And You are the Forgiver of sinners!

In the name of the Most Praised!

Well, I hope you like it, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

Returning to God in a Happy Carriage of Smiles, a Phoenix Rising! - Prose of Ramadhan Part 21

104. Less Easy, Always Best
If this is your first time
In the Conference of the Birds,
You must expect all kinds.

It is easy to fall in love
With the swallows, eagles
And nightingales.

But less easy to fall
For birds of lesser plumage,
Though you are one yourself.

But it is ever true
That the less easy path
Is the best for you.

For being
More accepting,
You would be
Less damning,
Not only of others,
But more succinct,
Of yourself.

Silence! The chair-bird
Is speaking,
“We are here, o’ seeker,,
To help you find
And accept
You.”

“We are here, o’ wanderer,
To help you defeat
The enemy’s devices,
To bear your ashes
To the Master,
And hence from
A phoenix
Rises.”

Farid-Ud-Din Attar is a prince amongst poets when he wrote the mystical poetry entitled The Conference of the Birds in the 12th century. A Persian sufi in the way of Rumi and Hafez annotating the unyielding attraction of man to God. I myself was not invited to the conference, not being on the mailing list of sufi birds. I am Taufiq, who is a thief amongst sinners, plying my trade with lofty text scribbled while I sit hunched behind a pillar in the Halls of the Wise. If you ask any of them, they shall not know me, inscrutable as I am, hidden in the shadows.

If you think however that I extol what I do not know, then you err - For I hear the church bells ringing, and I hear the muezzin calling, and by the sea, words of love pour forth from an Ocean of Infinite Mercy. I do not know poetry very well, but what I hear, I record, just like No.104 above. May we be guided if we are wrong, but if it is by His Plan that we are lost, then I am happy to be lost in His Hands.

Tomorrow is Sunday, sunshine. Bless the day by remembering who you are and where you came from. By His Grace, surely you shall return to Him in a happy carriage of smiles, a phoenix rising.

Pax Taufiqa.

Lewis Carroll - Life, what is it but a dream? - Prose of Ramadhan Part 7

A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

BY LEWIS CARROLL

A boat beneath a sunny sky,

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:

Echoes fade and memories die:

Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —

Lingering in the golden gleam —

Life, what is it but a dream?

Well, we are coming to the end of the 1st day of Ramadhan. And in the sort of generous (and admittedly, lazy) spirit that I am in, I have decided not to write any prose this evening. Instead, my brother last night directed my attention to the above poem written by Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898) from his second book. 

While I am not really a poetry reader, I appreciate a good yarn when I read one. And I think this poem is simply splendid. Have a wonderful day, sunshine. But however the day may turn, isn't just life simply a dream?

Pax Taufiqa.

Ahmad Shah Massoud, the Lion of Panjshir Chapter 1 - Prose of Ramadhan Part 6

The Lion of Panjshir (Ramadhan Verses #7)

Massoud, where are you now?

You were the breath of Islam

And you maintained the balance

In the Path of the Middle Way,

The Path of the Nation of Muhammad.

Massoud, what are you doing now?

You were the handsome leader,

The Commander of men,

Lettered and wise, feeling with emotion

The Feeling that a true leader should have.

Why did they want you dead?

Massoud, who are you smiling at now?

Beneath the sky of God,

You fought for your people

On the soil of your ancestors,

But some were ashamed of you,

Because they did not understand

The Light of Love that animated

Your strength and your compassion.

Massoud, how are you?

You who once surveyed the land

From the top of a mountain,

And you look upon your nation,

Tired, poor and dispossessed,

But you saw the coming of the pirates,

Who came to your valley with

A foreign hatred and a foreign bullet.

They said they were Muslims, these Talibans and al-Qaedas

But what faith were they following?

You stood in their way,

And with certainty you said,

“I reject you and your horrifying interpretations!”

Massoud, who are your companions now?

This Ramadhan, once again I know

That you are not with me anymore.

You have left us and only ghosts

And whispers are left of you

To counsel us, to caution us.

You were the Lion of Panjshir,

But you shall always be to me

The Lion of Islam,

For I claim you

In the name of

The Nation.

How can the world now forget

Massoud?

Who tried in his own tireless way

To do good?

This man, Ahmad Shah Massoud was instrumental in the defeat of the Soviet invasion and occupation of his homeland, Afghanistan. Later he was murdered in a lowly and cowardly assassination by the ruthless mechanism of his own co-religionists, when he rejected the Taliban and al-Qaeda as portraying a very wrong idea of Islam. His passing marked the end of the one real hope for the country before it fell into the hands of the evildoers.

"The only thing standing in the way of future Taliban massacres is Ahmad Shah Massoud."

—National Geographic, "Inside the Taliban"(2007)

I expect to be writing more about him during this month, ergo, this is Chapter 1.

Osama bin Laden is a blurry footnote of a footnote of a footnote in the page of history that belongs to Ahmad Shah Massoud. And with the killer’s demise, his mad ideology should perish too. But I fear that people will remember Osama more than Massoud - the Muslim bodypolitik are so easily manipulated, and a large chunk of Muslims are showing time and time again, why they do not deserve a leader like the Lion of Panjshir.

When leaders like Massoud is shining upon the Muslim nation, their compassion and courage only shows up the horrible ugliness of those other ‘Muslim leaders’ who continue to defame the Prophet’s legacy by their hate, hubris, arrogance and violence. Such managers of suicide-bombers and 'moral guardians' may be sincere in their convictions, but madmen can be sincere too, so we reject them utterly.

Especially in this holy month, we shall give them no quarter, and no respite.

wa min Allah at-taufiq