Return of the Blog

Bismillah
What a terrible shame it is to begin something and leave it unfinished! That is how I feel about my blog - so much promise and then nothing...
Well, it is my intention to return to my blog insha Allah and get as much out of it as possible this time.

So, I will begin by quoting someone else's words, the words of a very talented Muslimah based out in the States named Maliha. This being the month of the Qur'an (Ramadhan), I thought I would share with you her piece entitled 'The Qur'an: When Beauty Speaks'. Enjoy...


In the time before I had any real memories to keep; its rhythm lulled me within warm layers of comfort. Later, my soul would be hushed in quiet awe; when I heard melodious voices of various degrees competing to perfect its recitation. Within those hazy recollections, I can pick out strands of soulful expressions blaring from the tapes my mother would play during those busy mornings when I would keep my eyes shut a moment longer to let its beauty soak into my soul.
An eternal memory etched into my consciousness displays my mother; sitting on her favorite spot on the couch, reciting in her usual matronly cadence, heavy with a touch of softness; methodical with no hint of haste. She regularly welcomes the first sun rays with her own host of Angels.
During those times when I couldn’t fully discern the lines between reality and imagination; and everything was touched by sparkles of magic and carried on wings of fantasy; I remember still being impacted. Somehow every time I heard what were then incomprehensible verses and words, all the noises around me would mute and inside I would be perfectly still, trying to listen, to discern. The potency of those moments nestled within my budding sensibility stayed with me, ingraining my first and most fundamental lesson in poetry:
For a collection of words to qualify the elite circle of what is deemed poetic; it must move not mountains but souls (and all dusty matter crumbles in its wake).
A timeless eternity later and I am steeped in its verses; every year unfolding more layers of meaning that sometimes shatters the comfortable boundaries I have foolishly drawn for my mind.
My journey through its pages is a living testament to the highs and lows of my own spiritual state.
Those few precious moments, when every word reverberates through my being; when I feel adored in its light; gently chastised by the beauty of its compassion; those indescribable moments when my soul is called from a far distance to pay attention to all that I am supposed to remember but apt to forget.
The cyclical nature of my own seasons keep me going back; to re-learn the fundamental whys of my existence; to retrace the path of mankind; our downfall and rise; our foolishness and arrogance. I keep going back to seek causes and consequences; to grasp responsibility and meaning.
I go back to find an imprint of His signs when my vision fails to discern beauty. When the eloquence around me is muted; I turn to its pages for inspiration.
At times the walls of this world threaten to cage me and I feel too large for my surroundings; I then go trekking the unseen uncovering timeless archetypes drawn and redrawn implanting imperceptible seeds of truth pregnant with wisdom deep into my soul. Historic wars and epochs, transcendent personalities embodying grace; exhortations and remembrances; Angels and Jinns; Hell and Heaven; Light and Darkness; Twin souls of sleep and death; I trail the outer limits of our space and time and come back with a shifted perspective, the largess of the universe overwhelms me once more.
Other times I am all a raging storm of conflict, fighting the verses with bitter tears, questioning why? Why the suffering, the inanity of this life when death beckons in every direction? My fingers strike lightning across the pages and I rage, raining tears of pent up frustrations, finding those bookmarks of comfort and losing my self over and over again; until I am spent. When the billows of darkness recede, I find myself alone and realize how foolish I looked fighting my own soul.
From a young age I was taught the proper rules of its recitation, which I keep breaking and forgetting, remembering and neglecting; and I can’t quite recall the time when I didn’t understand at least the surface meaning of the words. Yet, every time I peel a layer, I am faced with the certainty of how little I really know; and the profound gulf that exists between my Creator and I.
I implore Him by all the Names He has taught me; O’ Compassionate One , ya Merciful, O’ Knower of All Subtleties, Forgiving, Wise, My ultimate Protector, O’ Ever Living, Source of All Goodness, Perfection, O’ Guiding Light, Originator of all that came into existence, O’ source of peace…
I appeal to Him through all the rote prayers that were drilled into me as a young child; which I repeated at first dutifully, at times resentfully, hurriedly, sadly, absently, and pushed until one day something broke within me; and words, prayers, actions melded together into one large heart rending inarticulate space keeping me prostrated by the weight of all that I should be grateful and penitent for. That place where the illusion of “I” is emptied and I am left begging, pleading, reaching “Ya Salaam, Ya Salaam, Ya Rahman, Ya Raheem”…and nothing matters…nothing matters…nothing matters, except Him.
And at times I still forget.
So when Ramadhan descends yet again and the doors that are closed are opened (momentarily) and those that are open are closed (momentarily); the weight of those verses take a hold of my soul and with crystal clarity everything comes back again; and I remember again to never take this window for granted. Somehow this window encompasses my whole life.
As I hold these reverent pages in my trembling hands; time stops; the world is on mute and my soul is once again suspended in the audience of her Fashioner in that place where silence is complete and emptiness engulfs everything. And yet again, I am left standing, bare, alone with the piercing realization that I have run out of excuses and my time is finally up.


Taken from her blog entitled Lightness of Being... deep and truly beautiful, thrilling the poetic soul, stirring yearning in the heart of the beliver, to be that close...

JazakAllahu khairan wasalaam until the next time...
Na'ima B.