Tag: reflections

  • Return to Me

    Return to Me

    I stumbled upon a collection of some of my writing from many years ago. I had so much more clarity back then. To reconnect with that will require stripping away a lot of the clutter accumulated from my encounters with troubled souls in recent years. At some point, I stopped thinking aloud and started speaking to an audience. I need to forget the audience and return to my state of introspection. In my efforts to be understood, I distorted who I am in favour of inviting others in. Even now, in my contemplation of what is needed, I am addressing this to other than me.

    I need to return to me. My thoughts, my reflections, my promptings, all intended to reground my soul in my space, without any need to solicit the accepting glances, or the affirming smiles from those around me. I departed from the familiarity of who I am when I sacrificed my voice for a voice that was more palatable. Am I still within reach?

    The cacophony of murmurs from abandoned souls drown out the clarity that once tugged at my collar to remind me that I am. Not wanting to be, but am. Not looking for familiarity or warmth, but knowing with certainty that both resided within me. Comfortably, and harmoniously. Every sacrifice of me has proven futile for garnering the elusive embrace. It was always only enough to invite them in, but once they arrived, their needs overpowered my own, and my own self was subdued for their release.

    Release from the self is liberating only if redefining the self appears within reach. Too many shrug at the opportunity of reinvention, but torture their souls into a deafening silence as they find themselves caught between hating the present, lamenting the past, and pleading for the future, but refusing to give up an inch of familiarity because to be familiar even with demons is more comforting than being unfamiliar with strangers.

    To be known, I must return to knowing me. I must rediscover the voice of my soul, and relinquish the voice of my beast. The vessel of expression must once again succumb to the seat of intelligence, or else intelligence will be lost, and the basest of desires will forever remain unfulfilled. The ramblings of this madman must be exhumed from the grave of compliance and conformity and set upon this world of mediocrity without expectation of ever being recognised, but knowing that the cesspit, if it remains unchanged, did not remain so for the lacking efforts of a whimpering spirit.

    Success is yet to be defined, since all that had definition was defined from a need that abandoned the purpose that feeds the soul. Such definition distracts and destroys, but never prevails. Such definition is a contamination of the purity of purpose of the soul, and reflects nothing more than the needs of the broken. I am not done. Even if this world is done with me. There is still breath left in me, and it must be expended in nothing less than sincere contribution, or no contribution at all.

    I must return to me…

  • Fleeting Thoughts (VII)

    Fleeting Thoughts (VII)

    A therapeutic release of clutter is one in which there is no need to string together coherent thoughts.

    Coherent thoughts dictate a concern for what came before, or what needs to come after which reflects the earnestness of life.

    Life itself does not afford us the indulgence of being inconsequential, or being oblivious to consequence.

    Those seemingly oblivious to consequence are simply focused on outcomes that differ with what we may consider important.

    Perspective is what you gain when you pay attention to what is not being said.

    Unspoken words hold more truth than a blatant show of commitment.

    Commitment wanes when expectations are plundered.

    Plundering of the soul occurs when those with whom you’ve invested much reciprocate only obligingly.

    Obligation fills the gaps, but leave the voids untouched.

    Touching yourself deeply holds more hurt and pain than puns of fun.

    Sometimes the fun is not just a pun and instead touches you deeply but only briefly.

    A brief joy is sometimes more painful than a lasting torment.

    Torment is endured when neglect waxes and hope wanes.

    Neglect of others forms the bad habits that ends up with the abuse of ourselves.

    Abuse is an investment in seeking significance, but without the hope.

    Hope is only as relevant as the probability of its fulfilment.

    Fulfilment is elusive for the wayward wanderers because a journey without a destination is simply a life without a home.

    Home is a journey the heart undertakes each time it needs to breathe.

    A breath of air or a breath of sanity is only visited upon the one who sacrificed both in pursuit of either.

    To breathe is to hope in the moment that comes next. It is a statement of defiance at the heart breaks of the past.

    Heart breaks are bitter sweet. Bitter because of the break, but sweet because of the rarity of the heart that is fragile enough to feel it.

    Fragility is sometimes strength, but only if you realise that it requires courage and a brave soul to expose vulnerability.

    Vulnerability is only preceived as such for one that does not value conviction or sincerity.

    Sincerity is tainted when a fleeting moment defines your entire reality.

    Reality is never real. It is always only ever perceived relative to what we wish to take from it.

    Give or take. We all are both, but only lament one.

  • Taking Care of Me 

    In a self indulgent world, distortions of reality threaten to taint the essentials that hold our sanity together. The essentials are so much more difficult to recognise these days. This binary lifestyle that we’ve perpetuated for so long now insists that if we take care of ourselves, it must be to the exclusion of taking care of others. Even though I believe there to be truth in that, making such a statement seems like an unfair projection of my gripes on the world.

    Setting out on some open road therapy this week, hints of guilt trailed closely behind me. My focus having increasingly shifted to servitude over the years, self indulgence suddenly felt wrong, or blameworthy. Taking time to collect my thoughts, clear the fuzz, and regain my sense of purpose offered the only hope of holding on to what defines my unique contribution to this world.

    Self-censure has been rife in recent times. Sometimes because of the futility of expression to an oblivious crowd, but more often because of the taunting accuracy of predictable outcomes. Hope flirts on the edges of such trends and promises a break in the cycle, but that break is never self-realising. It takes an active contribution or effort to break a cycle.

    It’s like the waves that I see breaking over each other. Those washing up against the shore full of energy and motivation to reach the land as they crash and subdue the residual of the ones that went before. The ones that went before spread out lazily on the beach, aerated and foaming with delight at their achievements, then losing momentum from the complacency of their arrival only to recede in order to make way for the next wave of enthusiasm. And each time I saw this cycle repeat itself I was reminded of the lapping ripples of the Mediterranean off the island of Kerkennah. Peaceful and uninspiring, but so easily disrupted. A thrashing run through the waves I saw before me now would leave no trace even before my feet would reach the sand beneath it, while a casual stomp through the ripples on that island would see my footprints left in the sand beneath the water. Even if only for a while before the complacent lapping erased its presence while restoring the order of the ages.

    Life plays out in the cycles we disrupt every day. Without a critical mass of support, we’re no more than a bad wind drifting out to sea. Sometimes we impose ourselves as rocks of confidence and guidance as we watch the waves shape around us. But there are too few rocks and too many waves. Being such a lighthouse of fortitude can be taxing, but only as long as we expect the waves to stop pounding and instead to become ripples that caress our foothold.

    Abstracts aside, taking care of me threatens to become a central theme in my life if I lose focus as to why being me is important. It’s not important because of a need to prevail. It’s important because I provide, or at least seek to provide a counter balance to the insanity I see crashing down around me. The moment I stop serving a purpose larger than me, and I start serving me only, I add to that stench that I so revile.

    Taking care of me becomes more difficult as my awareness grows of what plays out around me. It’s easy to dismiss my contribution towards those that are obstinate in their distraction or defeatism, because I can easily justify it by focusing on the quick-wins instead. The ones that are hungry for change, for advice, for support, and so much more. But I’m always faced with the blunt truth when I shy away from the tough ones. Am I turning away to preserve my ego, or am I turning away because my time would really be better invested in one that will embrace my contribution? In fact, isn’t there a threat of ego-preservation in that as well?

    Egos, expectations, trust, and betrayal. It’s all part of how we express our happiness or dismay at the world. None of us are immune to its ill effects so be sure never to trust one that claims to have risen above it. The challenge is in being able to reflect and recognise the influences that each have on our choices. If we do, we stand a chance of living purposefully, rather than defensively. Without an ego, a leader will not step up to lead the masses out of a sorry state, and without expectations, followers will not look to leaders for guidance. Everything has its place. It’s when we allow it out of its place and let it prevail where it shouldn’t, that is when we lose sight of ourselves, and taking care of me suddenly becomes denying the rights of others in favour of me.

    We all need some self-indulgence sometime. Even for the one that has it all. When you find yourself awkward in your own company without any distractions or company to keep you occupied, when your thoughts scratch the insides of your skull or gnaw at your rib cage, and your instinctive response is to get busy with something, anything…when that is the state you find yourself in, know with certainty that you have not taken care of yourself. You have only distracted yourself from the reality you wish to avoid.

    [Another incomplete thought process to add to the collection.]

  • Reflections on Islam as we know it

    The more I learn and experience and the more I witness with my own eyes, the more I realise that Islam is not nearly as monolithic as many would like to believe it is. Far too often I come across many sahih ahadith (authentic narrations) that are seldom quoted when I see the raging debates about whose manhaj (path) is more correct.

    These are ahadith that refer to social interactions, differing forms of worship that many are keen to dismiss as an innovation, and many other contentious issues. And it leaves me wondering how many times do we engage in ferocious debates aware of only the mainstream view of the subject without being aware of the body of knowledge that supports many alternate views?

    I’m not suggesting that we should suddenly become liberals in our tolerance of the views of others, but consider that there are over 600,000 ahadith that have been narrated. Of that amount, how many have you actually seen quoted to substantiate differing opinions of how to worship Allah? Given the number of times that I have consistently seen the scholars get it wrong regarding principles versus rituals, I’m loathe to assume that every differing view, except where it blatantly contradicts direct injunctions from the Qur’an or Sunnah, is actually a heretical view.

    The tendency for the scholars to selectively refer to principles at times and dismiss principles in favour of rituals at other times is also concerning. The issues pertaining to the sighting of the moon versus calculation of salaah times, and the use of those pagan symbols without any significant opposition by all the leading scholars is just two simple examples that I as a layman has been able to identify. Why then is it so difficult to believe that Islam is not merely what is presented by the scholars, or their blind followers that have been so effective in driving divisions in the Ummah, and even in communities?

    Recently the Islamic school that my daughter attends issued a newsletter indicating that the parents will be given the opportunity to visit the teacher to review their child’s progress. However, the meeting will commence at 09h30 and continue for the rest of the school day. This is directly aimed at encouraging mothers only to attend such discussions since most men are at work during this time, and only women from traditional Muslim homes are available. This despite the fact that all schools in the area hold parent meetings in the evenings to accommodate those parents that are in full time employment. What’s more irksome about this is that there are clear ahadith that confirm that the provision of education is the right of the father over his children. So why is the Islamic school system so mother-centric?

    This is just another example that further cements my concerns that we’re getting it wrong. We’re indulging in excessive ways and interpretations because of this perpetual focus on individual piety and we’ve completely lost the plot regarding social cohesion in Islam. We establish barriers and divisions under the guise of modesty and negate the fact that free movement and interaction with mahrams present is not outlawed. Yet we insist on husbands and wives sitting separate from each other at social gatherings because we want to pre-empt the individual actions of a few deviants. Whenever this happens, I always recall the hadith where Rasulullah (SAW) was present with Aisha (RA) at a public gathering where entertainers were performing. Rasulullah (SAW) sat there with his wife while she watched, and he turned away from the entertainment because he disliked it. (May Allah forgive me if I am quoting this incorrectly, but I will search for the original hadith as soon as I am able to, insha-Allah).

    My point is, the constant focus on individual piety, and same sex groupies is eroding the community. Women and men both play an integral part of the Muslim community, jointly, not separately. But just because we’re afraid of encouraging illicit relationships, we establish boundaries that are unnatural and disruptive to the harmony of the community, whilst the very same fitnah that we aim to prevent continues unabated.

    The very same groups where hijab is strictly enforced, separation of sexes is strictly enforced, and most women are in full niqab are the same groups where I have either witnessed first hand or heard reports from credible sources, the degradation and outright disgusting behaviour of many. This is not to suggest that they are worse than others that don’t observe such boundaries or attempts at modesty. Instead, this proves that our excessive efforts at establishing unnatural boundaries not supported by the Sunnah is in fact pointless, and quite possibly attracts ridicule towards the Sunnah rather than embedding its wisdom in the hearts of those that observe it in practice.

    We always seem to focus on excess in a negative light on those actions that are blatant innovations, but we fail to realise the excess in our actions that are intended to achieve piety. Excess of any form is forbidden for Muslims because Allah does not love excess. Yet we label those that encourage moderation, and elevate those that encourage excess in forms that are apparently above reproach.

  • Ramblings of me

    The balance of my life always fluctuates between function and dysfunction, but that there has always been a balance is undeniable. I’m often distracted by the potential outcomes of the dysfunction that presents itself that I exaggerate my responses under the pretence that I’m simply choosing to be decisive, when in fact I’m simply disguising my fear and frustration.

    The longer I live, the more jaded I become because I’m prone to seek to protect myself. I grew up feeling exposed and fragile, so it seems that I may have over compensated for this in the development of my defences. The dysfunction that I experience leads to stress and morbidity, but I’ve mastered the art of presenting a composed disposition under circumstances that would scare the hell out of most. It works well for me, so I’m unlikely to consider any significant shift in my disposition any time soon. But I have this nagging feeling that it also excludes me from some of the joys of life that most take for granted.

    There is much that others take for granted while I marvel at their abilities or experiences, yet they marvel at my apparent composure and seemingly level-headed approach to life. We’re all actors after all, but it’s only those of us that realise and accept this fact that are the most powerful in society. Sometimes I seek to impose my sense of balance on those around me. I do so with sincerity of intent to want to improve their quality of life, but I’m soon reminded that such an endeavour is steeped in arrogance. Arrogance in the belief that I am superior and that my challenges were more significant, and therefore, if my balance works for me, then surely it must work for lesser mortals, right?

    This post seems to reflect the senseless ramblings of my soul quite accurately this morning.

  • In trying to maintain my focus in salaah, I often find myself trying to picture myself standing directly in front of Allah. But given my lack of knowledge regarding what image should be conjured in my mind from such a thought, I’m left with a feeling that me, being a minuscule molecule on a dust ball in the middle of a universe that teems with magnificence well beyond our arrogant imaginations, am not able to present myself before Allah, but only to Allah; whilst Allah, in His infinite grandeur and majesty, is greater than what we can grasp of this universe while others debate what His true form is. Since this universe is part of the created, how much greater must the Creator be?

    I consider the scale of creation that allows me to observe the tiniest known particles of creation, and then I consider how much unimaginably greater the scale must be between me and Allah. My nafs will always prevent me from grasping the true meekness of my existence, yet despite this, I have the promise of bliss that even the most elaborate of imaginations will fail to grasp.

    I’m often reminded of the description of just the dust of Jannah the beauty of which will leave us standing and marvelling at it for 40 years. That’s just the dust. I cannot imagine myself beholding a piece of dust with such amazement that I would be entranced by it for 40 earthly years, let alone 40 heavenly ones. How futile must it be then to attempt to contemplate the beauty of Jannah or the magnificence of Allah?

  • I pray that I will never be beholden to society. Such obligation has seen the most well-meaning turn into the most attention-seeking. And if the profession of humility is in itself arrogance, then I am already teetering on the brink of such filth by making this statement to begin with.

  • Reflections

    When I look at what may lie ahead for me in life, it feels like my struggles have just begun. The uncertainty and hopefulness, if left unchecked leaves me feeling ambivalent about important goals and objectives and often results in me slipping into a morbid state wondering if the future holds more promise than my past, which gets me reflecting on my past. In doing so, I realise how my life has been nothing but a blink of an eye. It feels like I was in high school just yesterday, yet when I consider the events of the many exhausting lifetimes I’ve lived since then, I realise exactly how much time has passed.

    Just yesterday I was looking up to my uncles and other elders in the family and contemplating if I would be able to achieve as much as many of them have achieved in life. Quite literally in a blur I suddenly realised that I am now the uncle and my nephews and nieces will probably start viewing me in a similar light. The secrets of the future have always been such a distraction despite being proven time and again that I have no control over the outcomes of so many incidents in my life that I exhaustingly applied myself to.

    There were times when I believed that no matter what came to pass, I would persevere and I would be successful in overcoming the obstacles I was faced with, only to realise that despite my greatest efforts, my efforts would only ever cause my own will to yield to the objective at hand, but never the will of others. That has probably been the seed of my cynicism in life, because each time I reflect on my foolhardiness to lift myself up and try again, I’ve realised that I’m not cynical about life, just people because people are most unpredictable when they’re fearful. Even the most seemingly dishonest person only acts that way out of fear for the repercussions of honesty.

    Living sincerely takes away our excuses to bow out gracefully at times, because we’re forced to deal with the raw emotions of others that have been allowed to touch us where it hurts most. Each time we’re hurt we recoil and establish a barrier to protect ourselves from such hurt again in future because we’re survivalists by nature. If we live consciously, we remind ourselves of the context of that experience, optimistically believe that not everyone is the same, and persevere sincerely into yet another skirmish with fate.

    But most times we lose consciousness to reality and instead dwell in our space of fear, resulting in those barriers being cemented rather than contextualised, which causes serenity to evade us, and beauty to be stifled. It’s this idealism that has given me much to cry about, but even more to reflect on with smiles when I sit in that swing on my porch marvelling at the obliviousness of the next generation as they go about their lives believing that they’re invincible until their first great disruption. The circle of life. Everyone quotes clever thoughts and memes about it, but so few grasp it.