STUPIDITY TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT... and the few not joining the race.

You Are Never Alone

If you feel disconnected,

Underwhelmed by

The Consumer Society,

Don't worry,

For you are not alone...

If you feel sidelined,

For nobody's side

Appears appealing,

Don't fret about it,

For you are not alone...

If you ask yourself,

Why do I bother

To read the news

Or the walls on Facebook,

Don't be anxious

For you are not alone...

If you are in a group,

And all the chats revolve

Around insignificant things,

It is no course for concern,

For you are not alone...

You are never alone.

We are here with you.

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

Why am I here? I wonder sometimes. Why do I bother opening the newspaper in the morning. Why do I bother to read tweets and postings on Facebook walls. The amount of vitriol, sarcasm, cynicism, hubris, hate, envy, depression, misinformation, propaganda, under-researched conclusions, racism and bigotry, and just plain old simple imbecility is breath-taking.

Not all sharing is good. It is not that I think this generation is particularly more bad than the previous ones. But the instantaneous sharing (or crowing, is another word) of things online is just too easy. Here we are, sitting with our laptop or smartphones, and throwing our thoughts into the cyber world as if there is no one out there to judge what we write. But you are judged by your peers. All the time, 24/7. 

Online crows real life turtle doves. The funny thing is that when you personally meet some of these online crows, they turn out to be so much more nicer and sensible birds of an altogether different plumage. What is it about writing and sharing online which appears to bring out the bad in people?

Stupidity traveling at the speed of light. You know, there is no harm keeping some bad thoughts in us. For we are all generally normal human beings with normal bias and social conditioning which has made us less than perfect. Often, with the grace of God Almighty, we never actually get around to act out the bad deeds. And in the old days, where you would have to write a letter and post it to a newspaper or magazine and hope that the editor might choose your letter or opinion to publish, the chances of you actually permanently sharing your opinions are actually very, very small. Now though, every envy, every malice, every misinformation, every hubris and idiotic observations will have potentially millions of audience at the press of the button. The Disinformation and Corruption Superhighway we can call it. Hate and Stupidity racing across the globe at the speed of light.

Oh boy.

Doing good. But I am kept on the net because of a few. And these few shine like bright stars in an otherwise ocean of malice, hubris and foolishness. So thank you, sunshine... for without you, what little faith I have in humanity would long have ebbed with the rising tide of violence, corruption and exploitation that appears to be part and parcel of our daily life nowadays. 

They are not all Muslims, these few. But they are living their lives in worshipful praise of God with no agenda, no objectives and no particular aim save one... To do good. 

And to the good is to do God's work.

Don't you agree, sunshine? Auw... bless your heart.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

- Notrumi Embun, 17th August 2014

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

WHEN A STORY BECOMES YOUR HISTORY... how belief transmutes a mere tale into your own personal past

They Found Me
I found them that night,

Nightingales without wings,

Oh how they sang for their king!

I found them that night,

Weaving love in the night air

With their enchanted words!

I found them that night,

Swaying to and fro in a conference of birds,

Swaying to and fro, all perched in many rows,

I found them that night,

Me, the beggarly crow,

An unfit, uninvited shadow in the assembly,

Or so my reason did quell me,

Until came this ancient whisper,

Assuring the broken sinner,

“You did not find us,

We found you,

Tired and torn

Weary and worn,

We found you unspoken for,

So we said unto the Prophet…

We will take him.

This was the trade we made,

Long, long, ago…

This was the oath we took from you,

Long, long ago…

This was the love promised,

Long, long ago…

As the nightingales sang and dance,

Whirling and swaying to and fro..."

These words were spoken long, long ago
How I wish I could remember...

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

When you think about it (and why not?), your past antecedents and your personal history make who you are now. The things you have done (or not done), the words you have spoken (or omitted to speak) in your past, these direct personal experiences have all conditioned your attitude towards God, mankind and the world. But there is also another contributor to your personality... 

Your belief.

In the Sufi school whose zawiya resides not far from my home, is the belief that its mureeds (pupils) were all chosen in some distant event before time began. In that story, all the Saints and Masters of the different tarikats (Sufi schools) were  invited by the Prophet Muhammad (saws) to lay claim upon their (future) mureeds. But from the multitude, some souls were left behind. A Saint and Master  (and in whose name the Sufi order takes after) stepped up, and basically said... "I will take these souls left behind. As none will take them, I shall."

I reckon that my friends who often frequents the zawiya, not only knows this story - rather they actually believe the story. And once you believe such a tale, it no longer remains merely a story. It becomes your own history. And the grace and gratitude, the humility and generosity that such history inspires would benefit your present thoughts, words and action. How fortunate are such people!

So let your own good stories become your history and illuminate your life. 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

A FATHER'S MEMOIR - the shy doctor

A Memoir. My father is writing his memoir. After the unexpected passing of my brother, Abang Chik (a.k.a. Poone) last September, my dad turned rather quiet and sober. And this is for someone naturally quiet and sober. Talking about this with Mr. Ikhlas, my old friend suggested that this would be a good time for my dad to finally complete his memoir in time for his 80th birthday this coming March 2014. At the very least it would be a project to distract him from the painful memory of having buried his second son. So I mentioned this to my father, and since then there is no stopping him. He is now giving the finishing touches to his latest draft which he typed with an old manual Olympia typewriter. He is also sorting out some grand old pictures to be part of the memoir. 

A Typist. His draft needs to be keyed into the computer for editing, and originally I planned to get a typist to do it. But after glancing briefly, there is much I discovered in his recollections that I didn't know about his life... and I am keen to find out more. So I have volunteered my typing skills. Though it must have pleased him, since then my father has been strangely reluctant to part with his manuscript for me to type. Every other day, I keep nagging him for it, and each time he said it is not ready yet.

Is the doctor shy? I think he is just contented to have something cerebral to fill his days.

A Fathers' Poem. Some years back, I wrote something for my dad on Fathers' Day. It is a little late in the day to share it with you, but here it is...

5. Now That I am a Father

Now that I am a father,

Worrying becomes second nature,

As I look at my son and wonder,

How will he fare when

I am here no longer?

Now that I am a father,

I can share my father’s joy and sorrow

And his firmness that grated people so,

By taking the high road,

When easier seemed the low.

Now that I myself am a father,

I think, finally…

I know mine a little better.

And on this day,

Which celebrates fathers everywhere,

I have my own to share with you,

Abdul Khalid, my dad,

From the tips of his toes

To the ends of his white hair!

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

Have a lovely day, sunshine. Don't forget to tell your father and mother that you love them so. No matter that your love for them will never equal their love and sacrifice... and I think we certainly don't need a parent's memoir to realise this God-beautiful truth.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

From the Transient Artifice to the Prose of God: True Love - of life, death, grandparents and the divine nexus of Allah (s.w.t.) and His Muhammad (s.a.w.s.)

Jasad & Pertemuan

Jasad bersemadi didalam bumi, 

Namun jasa baktimu kekal di hati, 

Pemergianmu bagaikan baru sehari, 

Seorang ibu, seorang isteri, 

Kita menanti pertemuan 

Yang diberkati Ilahi...

Your body is resting in the earth,

But your charity and deeds live on in the heart,

Your passing seems only like yesterday,

A mother, a wife,

We await a meeting

Blessed by God.

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

A Grandma He Never Met. Over the Eid festivities, myself and Mikhail visited the graves of our kin. And the nearest cemetery is one near my house, where resides the final resting place (in this mortal plane) of my mother, Arbayah binti Haji Hashim. Mika, who always enjoys our visit to the garden of stones, told me that we must visit his grandmother's grave more often. He is right, of course. The funny thing is my mum passed away in May 2002, almost 2 years before he was born, so he has never in fact actually met his grandmother. But Mika is fortunate that my father is still alive, and so is his grandmother on his mother's side. So in a way he kinda has the full grandparent team, something which I myself missed. 

The Home that Arbayah and Khalid Built. But just as how my mum and dad related to me stories of my grandparents whom I never met, so I too often regal my son with tales and escapades of my mother. I keep telling him how generous she was, with so many friends, both in the family and outside (For you should not take for granted that your kin is necessarily your friend... for like all friendships, it takes effort, love and much caring). I would tell Mika of his grandmother's quiet travels into the hinterlands, donating and doing charitable works, whether as part of some women's organization or really just on her own and only with a couple of close friends. I also shared with Mika how my mother made my house a home, with rich abundance and a refuge for anyone who would care to come by for an understanding heart and a ready ear to listen. And boy, did we have a lot of visitors, almost every day of the year...

Mika and His Tok. One night last year, I was sitting with Mikhail outside my father's room, when my father passed by and entered his room. Mika suddenly whispered to me, "Papa, I think Tok Wan (he calls my dad that) must be sad. He must miss Tok (my mum) a lot." I replied, "But why are you talking so softly?" And he answered, "Because I am sure Tok Wan would feel more sad if he heard us talking about Tok and him."

On the second day of Eid, while we were arranging red roses (dammit, those roses are really full of thorns) for his grandmother's grave, Mika said, "You know, Papa... I hope to meet Tok in heaven." I glanced up from my bleeding fingers as he continued, somewhat more circumspectly... "Well, I hope I get to heaven!"

Connection with the Hereafter. This connection with someone who predeceased you before you were even born is not merely the habit of a deranged man (a.k.a. yours truly), it is, I guess, a seminal pillar of faith in Islam (including Judaism and Christianity), since the passing of the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) as the Seal and Last of the Prophets. And just as a poor old Papa is trying to keep the sweet memory of his mother alive for his own son, so does the living Saints, both hidden and open, continue to maintain the golden connection between us doddering sinners and believers, with the prophetic presence of Muhammad Habibullah (s.a.w.s.), his blessed family, the Companions and the Saints.

122. Not Dead

Oh, my Mighty King!

I have not left my flock unattended,

I have not left any fences unmended,

I have left stars that any, if lost, may follow home.

But a cold wind is blowing,

Carrying my memories far away,

Blackness is creeping in,

And though they know how to pray,

They have left my way.

Save for my heirs and heralds,

The fulcrum of this Age,

Still toiling in their mortal cage,

Long-bearded, the white, the black and the grey,

In their hearts, evil holds no sway,

In their hearts, Your Name resonates,

In their hearts, I still live,

Not dead.         

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

Connection from the Transient Artifice to the Eternal Real. And based on authoritative sources, I am told that this connection is more powerful than the fastest internet connection known to Man, and more real than you, me and the entire world combined. For in the eyes of Allah (s.w.t.), nothing comes first before His Muhammad (s.a.w.s.), and nothing comes through without the Prophet's (s.a.w.s.) intercessions. This quintillion terrabyte connection is working around the clock, over the clock, up and under the clock, 24/7 365 days a year. All for the Prophet's love and mercy for not just the Muslims, but for all humanity, all creatures, all sentient and non-sentient inhabitants of the worlds. Phew!

The Divine Nexus. In this context, the story of my mother and my immediate family appears to be such a small and insignificant thing. But I know this is not true. Not for me, not for you and your family. For the love exemplified and promised to us comes from the spark of divine nexus between God Almighty and the Prophet (s.a.w.s.). And truth be told, beyond this is more than even my most love-sick conjecture of Divine Love can spell out for you... 

A glittering remnants of a super nova in outer space as caught by the
Hubble space telescope. God's Love is even more beautiful,
more audacious, and more real.

So have a happy one, sunshine. And I leave you with this afterthought - I am defeated in trying to describe the Love Divine and the Divinely Loved. I cannot win in this battle. But I am happy to be continually defeated by every dot, comma, word and phrase that I write by God's own Prose... For love, True Love... which is the Prose of God cannot be explained, it can only be experienced.

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

THINK WELL OF YOURSELF - If you don't, who will? Hu will!

Thinking Well

Think well of yourself,

That you will be good and do good,

That your efforts in charity and piety

Is motivated by the best of reasons

And with the deepest of sincerity.

Think well of yourself,

Whatever villainy you did yesterday,

However lost you became yesterday...

For yesterday is yesterday,

Today is today

And tomorrow is tomorrow...

For verily, Allah and His Rasul

Always thinks well of you.

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

A True Story. Joseph (my friend) was tending sheep and goats under the care of his master. One late night, Joseph was caught by the night watchmen of the city in possession of contraband (Hashish). Early morning at 1.00 am the master arrived at the city hall to post bail and got Joseph out. The master said not one word in anger or condemnation through the quiet drive home.

After a restless night of guilty contemplation, Joseph woke up and the day's chore of tending to the animals began as any other ordinary day. He met the master at the goat house and they started to clear and clean the feed trough. Finally, unable to bear his emotions, Joseph blurted out, "You know, I am really sorry about what happen last night!"

The master paused in mid-scoop, straightened his back and turned to Joseph. Then he said, "There is nothing to be sorry about. Today is a new day, yesterday was yesterday and tomorrow will be tomorrow. Let us leave what happened yesterday to yesterday." He then smiled and returned to his labour.

I wonder how people get away from judging other people, especially when circumstances makes it so natural for us to judge! But I guess that is difference between me and Joseph's master. It is not natural to him because he has not permitted his ego to be his natural state.

God bless him. God bless Joseph. And God bless you, sunshine. 

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 Flame of Umar and the Favoured Stars in the Muhammadan Sky - Islam, oral traditions and the miracles of the Holy Quran

1. The Flame of Umar
Someone left the door ajar, you see,
So I wandered in.

There, in my Master’s heart,
I found my Prophet,
Radiant like a sea of happiness,
The Prophet then smiled and
Beckoned me to enter his heart.
Unthinking, I slipped in,
And there I found myself
In the Divine Presence
Of God Himself,
The Utterly Compelling,
The Absolutely Knowing.

God greeted me with great joy,
Then He took me by the hand
And led me to a window
In the Prophet’s heart.
“Look out of the window”,
He told me, and there,
To my surprise, I found myself
Gazing out of my own eyes!

And wherever my gaze turned,
The shadowy forms of this apparent world
Is expelled, and truth of its real nature revealed,
Illuminated by the intense radiance of prophetic light
Which is shining out of my eyes
Like a full moon in the night sky.
Setting this illusory world alight,
As a welcoming light to the guided,
A warning to the unwary,
And a Flame of Umar
To the one-eyed Enemy!
..................

Umar on TV. A friend recently shared with me a tele-series about Umar al-Khattab, Companion of the Prophet(pbuh), and Third Rightfully Guided Caliph of Islam. It is an interesting series, disclosing some traditions about Umar that I was unaware of.

The Miracle of the Holy Quran. But to be absolutely honest with you, nothing beats a direct narrative from a Sufi Master. For although Muslim tales and practices may be put into writing and even turned into a film or television show, nothing comes close to watching and listening to a Sufi Master in action as he shares his stories and practices of the Prophet(pbuh), His companions and the Saints. For Islam is essentially founded on oral traditions and direct transmission from one heart to another. The glorious holy Quran is not glorious because it is just a book. It is glorious because it is a continuing miracle -a living breathing mirror of creation and contains therein the past, present and future record of nations and peoples.

'Muhammad' in Arabic script. It may not look like it,
but the name 'Muhammad' and the owner of the name himself
is the key to understanding the Holy Quran. Any other path offered
is an illusory road, for in Islam Muhammad is necessarily
both the Messenger and the Message.

The key to the Quran, Muhammad Prophet of God(pbuh). The key to unlocking the secrets of the holy Quran is in the heart of all Man. And in that context, it is the Sufi Masters that are the adept inheritors of the Prophet Muhammad, the merciful Mover and Shaper of the human heart.

Having said all these, I am still enamoured with the TV series. But it was a long wait until Episode 8, when Umar, on his hot headed way to kill Muhammad, the divider of the Bani Quraish, trouble-maker and wizard, was turned away from his path to instead visit his wrath upon his own sister, Fatimah and her husband for having left their old religion to join Muhammad in his heresy. From then on... it is living history, to you and me now at this very moment. Ah... Umar and the impeachable Companions of the Prophet(pbuh), favoured stars in the Muhammadan Sky! You can click on the first episode below...

Have a lovely day, sunshine. wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Flowing to the Ocean of Light, following the Way of Muhammad - man and the siren call of God's Ocean

Like a River exiled from some Heavenly Picture

Ten thousand hearts ago I was different,

Ten thousand days ago I sang a different song,

Ten thousand nights ago I lived a different world,

Ten thousand thoughts ago I was a collector of words,

Having no time for the trees, no time for the whispering breeze,

No time for the flowers, the birds nor the honey bees.

Ten thousand lies ago I was young and rich,

Ten thousand truths ago I was stumbling like a clown,

Today, tonight with you, my love, I stumble still,

But I stumble with grace, with a pen in my hand

A beggar of words, the towncrier of a deserted town.

My past often catches up and ask me,

“Ho! Where am I? Who are you!

Where are you taking us all!

To which, I only reply that,

“I am me! I was you! And I am paying heed

To the truth in the trees, Moses on the Mountain,

And the sonnets of love sung by the stars in the night sky!

What you do not remember, I have already forgotten,

What you cherish, I am now tasting, what you have left behind

For me to follow, now I am following, taking you and me

To the us in the future,

To the Ocean of Light we flow,
Like a river exiled from
Some heavenly picture.

To the Ocean of Light that we yearn,
Following the Way of Muhammad,
Our Master and Teacher!
………………………….

Imagination or Yearning of the Ocean?

What is life but a journey to the Ocean? A sometimes winding path that takes us from childhood, to manhood, then mid-life contentment to old grey dotage. I am only 42 years this year, but sometimes the Ocean sounds so close by... And I can hear the melodious surf, the seagulls and the peal of a ship's bell in the harbour. It sounds like it just over this dune... but when I arrive atop the sandy peak, I see no Sea, no seagulls, no shore, no ship. Just miles and miles of life still waiting for me to walk.

Was it just my imagination that I heard? Or my yearning?

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

Returning to the Ocean of Mercy and Divine Presence is a parable about life often used by Sufis and other mystics. And death is the consummation of this ardent desire - to return home to God. To be by His side in eternal bliss. But what is eternal bliss? It is just a word used to describe the indescribable, and really, it says nothing of what could be.

But what is, and what is here now is our life and this reality. And I think we have a lot to give thanks for... for this world that our Creator has given us, the beauty within us and the beauty displayed in nature. And always, that inner yearning... that unending siren call beckoning us to the Ocean of God, to the Sea of Mercy, to Love and Bliss aplenty...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Door of Knowledge is the Door of Giving & Sharing - today it's all about doors. hehehe

The Door

The door is open,

The door is open,

The door is open,

I want to go in but someone hands me a pearl

And said, “No! Not yet! Throw this into the ocean!”

I did as I was told and immediately returned to the door,

But this time, the hand extended,

Handing me a beautiful rose,

“Take this and put it in the hearts of your friends and enemies!”

And again I did as I am commanded,

I made my way back to the door, and for the third time

A hand offered to me a paper on which was written a song for the Prophet

And I was told, “Find a singer and let him sing this in front of an audience!”

I rushed to find a singer, and I found one and he agreed!

So I hurried back to the door

And again a hand reached out,

This time with a pen and a bottle of ink,

“Take this and write.” The voice said.

So here I am.

Writing.

And I will not be rushing to the door again.

For the voice had also assured me...

“Don’t worry. When the time comes,

The door will come to you.

And the door itself will say - Enter! Enter! Enter,

O’ servant of God, 0’ child of Adam and Eve,

O’ Nation of Muhammad!

The time for looking for doors

And the time for knocking on doors

Has ended for thee!”

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

What a strange little prose that came with the morning Sun today. I think this little dispatch is talking about 'that door' which mystics often refer to. The door of understanding, and the door of giving and sharing.

Say hello to MY good manners!

Whose hand is it that is reaching out from the inside? I haven't a clue. But he appears to be giving good stuffs. Can we take this prose as an assurance that we are already guaranteed salvation? Because the door will ultimately be looking for us?

The good adab (courtly manners), as one friend is sharing with me, is to to take assurance that the prose has already been written. And to take assurance that someone (I think he means you, sunshine) is actually reading it. "If this world is created to worship God and to obey His Prophet(pbuh), and to extol the wonderous and multi-channeled ways that the Divine let His presence be felt by us weak humans, is this already not good enough for today?"

Then my friend paused and smiled. "After all, who knows if there is a tomorrow for you?"

Ah. He is right. We should be happy with what we have, in the present. And we should be eternally grateful already for what the Lord has already provided for us in the past. The future? It is all in His hands, just like our past and present. And verily, if God is anything like what the Prophet, His Companions and the Saints have intimated... masyaAllah... is there anyone in all of Creation more blessed than you?!

Have a lovely day knocking on doors, sunshine. But sometimes it is God who is knocking on your door. Remember to recognise his knock!

You might guess that this entire posting is actually a riddle.
Good luck solving it!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Servants of The Lord of Forever - The Muslims and the Believers

1. I found Forever II

We have the form,

We have the essence,

And we have true measure

Of the enemy that

Stands before us!

And while they scurry

Like madmen to meet

Their deadlines,

We meet them at leisure

In the instructions

Of Forever.

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

The fearsome West think that they are against the Muslims, but they have not met them yet. The fearsome East think that they are fighting for the Muslims, but they too have not met them yet. Both peddlers of ancient hates and prejudices are so busy conquering and dominating mainstream mass media and the geo-political world, that they are not bothered with the Muslims and the believers. They are dressed as padres and preachers, evangelical crusaders and neo-jihadis, ulamaks and imams and priests, issuing forth from the pit of despair and bringing whatever creed they believe in as a religion of despair, death and destruction. They speak of God, on behalf of God and with God in a most unruly, angry and ego-driven tone. They have blood on their hands and have chosen to worship at the altar of terror and death.

But the Muslims and all believers of One God are biding their time, being servants of God, Most Compasionate, Most Merciful - Creator of Time and the Lord of Forever. And I think such benevolent men and women are everywhere, on all the points of the divine compass.

May we be blessed to be in the company of such people.

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.