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| The return to Non existence... |
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| Maliha |
| 07/08/03 at 10:48:40 |
| [slm] please make duah for all of us... The return to non existence... I contemplate on everything I have done for the past quarter of a century Allah has blessed me enough to allow my lowly existence on His Majestic plane of Life. I try to sift through my memories, for those glimpses, those moments that I have spent in total immersion of Uboodiyya to Him. I try to remember those times that I made decisions simply because of Him and no one else. I try to reflect on those times that I thought I had achieved happiness, those moments that I was blissfully revelling in His blessings completely heedless of the Bestower of those Blessings. I concentrate, I reflect, I think, I scramble through the vestiges of time, looking, frantically searching, trying to find a moment spent in total adoration of my Creator. One meaningful moment in a plane of nonexistent bliss... and I come back empty. A whole life totally devoid of one single moment of true happiness. The eyes of my Qalb, forever in the deepest slumber, have opened little slits during the retreat. Like the alarm that goes off in the early moments of dawn, when the sun just begins to streak it's rays in the deepest pitch of night, and we are cocooned deep in the comforts of our beds, under multiple blankets unawares. The alarm has gone off and the eyes of my Qalb are barely open, just barely feeling the density of it's own weight. I am back in the real world, amidst the deep recesses of dead beings, striving to keep these soulful eyes open. Struggling to claw my way out of the dense layers of my Qalb. Darkness upon darkness... I have been drowning completely unawares of my impending doom. I read the material, those frantic notes I kept taking, hoping to somehow imbdue them in the walls of my heart. Hoping that maybe an intellectual understanding of my desperate state will yield a deeper movement within the spaces of my Qalb. That maybe my wild, untamed nafs (the one I always took pride in being the "rebel"), would take a peek at those words and simmer down into acquiescence. Yet I realize it would take much more than empty knowledge, I realize it would take much more than the hollowness of striving and action, I realize that only the purest, most tangible sincerity would allow my Qalb to take flight in adoration of her Creator. I realize that to taste the true breath of life, I have to die from everything, and arise amidst the beautiful sweetness of His worship alone. How simple the beauty and clarity of this resolve yet how hard is it to implement? While praying, dhikr, and recitation of the Glorious Quran have been made easy for me since my return, Walhamdullillah, other tangible hideous effects of my nafs keep rearing their ugly heads. I realize the reigns I had given my nafs, have been far too liberal. The anger that I have always felt so warranted to express, the gaze that keeps comparing my lowly self to others, the wistfulness I feel in being a "victim" to everyone but my own oppression, the unchannelled bursts of energy and emotions I get at the slightest provocation...Subhana Allah emptying myself of my own heavy weight baggages of my shahawat, and gusting torrents of my hawaa is proving to be so hard! Harder than "trying to sculpt a mountain with my bleeding jagged fingernails"...Subhana Allah. I realize the fullness of my Qalb. The jagged edges of my torrential nafs. The idols, statues, images, the words that seek to justify anything and everything, the apparent "intellect" that does nothing but sway me like a helpless fluttering leaf in the midst of a storm...I realize the weightines of everything inside that needs the most exacting of purging. The spring cleaning that has never taken place, seasons came in and out, and now I have entrenched in my heart the stains of years of neglect, the dust turned sands of heedlessness, the madness within. To achieve the true state of Tawheed seems like a far fetched dream, like the abstract longing that I feel when I gaze at the brightness of a glimmering star, or the heart stopping beauty of a dying sun. I wanna be a wanna be mureed, before I can even attempt to visualize a gift like Ilhaam within, or Firasa, or the beautiful steadiness of Mujahada that renders Allah's presence and Grace within. My Qalb is sore and wounded, and it hurts to even be around people nowadays. Every little thing literally grates the sensitive walls of my being, and I bleed, and I weep, and I struggle. I wish I could have stayed longer in the blissful coccoons of the retreat, the comforting blankets of amazing Quloob in dhikr, the heart rending times we spent in deep contemplation and reflection of our Creator. But it's Maktoob. It is within the Realm of His infinite blessings that I was even given the slightest chance to gain insight to what I have been missing out on all my life. To this there is only one expression that encompasses all others. Alhamdullillah. To everything else I only pray for the burst of Irada to keep propelling us forward in this spiritual wilderness called life. -me. |
| Re: The return to Non existence... |
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| paula |
| 07/08/03 at 11:07:05 |
| [slm][size=2][font=Book Antiqua][color=Navy] Alhamdullillah...... Smile..... that was a nice reflection to start my day with.... Masha' Allah Jazak Allahu Khairan Sister Mystic & Jazak Allahu Khairan for the photo/Verse share of the retreat.... enjoying the post-retreat sharing by everyone. [quote]please make duah for all of us... [/quote] [/color][/font][/size] [wlm] |
| Re: The return to Non existence... |
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| gift |
| 07/09/03 at 04:55:16 |
| [slm] subhanallah ukhti, as always you have such a wonderful way with words :'( [wlm] |
| Re: The return to Non existence... |
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| UmmWafi |
| 07/10/03 at 02:29:26 |
| [slm] My very dearest sister, Imam al-Ghazali made a conscious decision to leave all things and turn to spiritual pursuits after he turned 40. An age where most of us are fixed in our ideas and habits. Our journey on earth ends only with death. Till then, we only have one option. To struggle everyday to earn the right of His Love. Hugs. |
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