Aug 31, 2016
When the local commuters, cyclists and dog walkers all shout, "Good morning, AJ!" as they pass you, You know you're a local too... (Don't ask about the third person reference to myself.)
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When the local commuters, cyclists and dog walkers all shout, "Good morning, AJ!" as they pass you, You know you're a local too... (Don't ask about the third person reference to myself.)
A seeker, a healer, a virtuous soul, my mother emits a golden aura! Alhamdulillah ya Rab! <3
Just love. <3
You feel?
Another Age.
Late night wander along the shore. Glaring at the sea, swayed by the reflection of the moon's shimmering. Sipping whisky from the bottle; toking on the weed smoke - contemplating life. What has it become? I'm unsure, it's beyond my scope...
Happy birthday, Ajaz.
Actions are (judged) by motives (niyyah), so each man will have what he intended. Thus, he whose migration (hijrah) was to Allah and His Messenger, his migration is to Allah and His Messenger; but he whose migration was for some worldly thing he might gain, or for a wife he might marry, his migration is to that for which he migrated.
It is narrated on the authority of Amirul Mu'minin, Abu Hafs 'Umar bin al-Khattab (ra) who said: I heard the Messenger of Allah (peace be upon him) say this. [Hadeeṣ 1, 40 Hadeeṣ Nawaawi]
Refuge.
We have all felt the need to take refuge at some point: in brick buildings, behind closed doors, in our beloved's arms, under duvets and security blankies.
We have all sought saftey and security in something, somewhere - in an education; in a working role; or a book; in writing; perhaps even chocolate. Or like me, in a sincere prayer to God, or at the bottom of a bottle, or in a cloud of weed smoke. Refuge. A word which humanity has related with since humanity began.
We've all felt loss, pain, anxiety, debasement and displacement. We have all been through something that others can relate to, however slight the relationship may be. Or indeed, however monumental. Let us all agree, that we have all, indeed, needed refuge of some kind. Do you relate now?
And then there came a photograph. A boy's lifeless body, face down on a Turkish shore. Aylan Kurdi. He captured the world's attentions. The photograph spread faster than Aylan's name. But no one can recall the millions of names that have never reached them. Then this one matters all the more. Humans are vast in number, humanity is abstract.
Artists made murals, writers penned poems, speakers poised tongues, the press reported - everyone did what they thought best. What they thought righteous. Everybody came forward; everyone related: like family, every body discernibly, many distantly.
Refugee. A word with more connotations than I can list. Humans are vast, not just in number, in thoughts and traits. Evidently, there is no easy solution to this situation.
Me? I would give refuge, to anyone who needs it. A single man, living and earning alone, I could house two or three. A family if they prefered a cosy intimacy in a crammed flat. But others see it differently. We humans are vast vessels of ideas and ideals. Humanity is a collective effort of these, is it not?
I don't know. Admittedly, I'm doubtful that anyone does. Putting your hand up first in class doesn't make you the smartest, it doesn't even mean you know the answer. Everything is so much deeper than the surface. Do you relate?
Maybe my views are warped, because I believe in the Truth of God. Maybe yours are, because you don't... But whatever it is you think or believe, just be sure to have carefully thought it through.
Find humility in your place among the world, among the people who surround you and keep open. Humans are vast creatures but humanity is abstract. A collective effort to be human, non-the-less.
O’ how my heart weighs heavy with love; How I yearn to share all I hold. Capturing these moments of life With cameras and captions: Writing myself inside words, And searching for myself, outside. Snapping a selfie outside, And searching for myself, online.
...
I have a vast body of work; I have penned a catalogue of life, of love, loss and God, but because I have written across so many different platforms, it’s become difficult to organise my works.
I literally have so much work scattered, that can’t find some things anymore. I also have stuff hidden away, because I can’t even bring myself to read them. They were written in a previous life, by another person, an identity I no longer claim.
I have so many pieces of myself that I have never shared with anyone. I feel my best pieces of work are the most personal. So much so, that I have spent the past year writing a novel, and have fallen in love with it. I’m not halfway through yet, (around 50,000 words) but there is something about it. Something intangible in its language, alone… Those I have spoken to about it, would feel this passion I’ve shown….
Anyway, I have this little romantic idea. Hear me out…
Upon its completion, I wish to handwrite and bind it like a handmade scrap book. I would gift this scrapbook style novel, the only one in existence, to the one who I wrote it for. I would gift it to the one I love. She is, after all, its inspiration, its reason and its purpose…
Something to contemplate…