Unconditional Love

~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

It’s a beautiful, chilly day at the end of October, and i’m running on approximately 2 hours of sleep. I throw on a stunning ivory dress lined with pearls and set out for a mawlid festival at the masjid. My outfit is a bit too form-fitting, so i drape a large shawl around my body- a decision i gradually come to regret as i realize the shawl weighs as much as a small child. I get to the celebration and feel awash in a wave of pure joy- everyone there is radiating with happiness, as if bathed in profound, palpable affection for our beloved Prophet and his family. I wish i could bask in this energy forever; my heart aches to stay, but i’ve got a long day ahead of me.

As i embark on the lengthy drive across town to the next milad, i’m briefly startled when the seatbelt sensor of my passenger seat goes off. “Oh my God, is there a jinn in here with me?!” I nearly have a heart attack until i realize that the weight of my annoyingly heavy shawl must’ve triggered the sensor, so i push it off the seat, laughing at my own paranoia. I get to the next milad and realize i haven’t eaten anything all day- i’m running on iced coffee and fumes. I struggle to sit upright as the milad keeps going and going, exhaustion slowly taking over my body like a sleep paralysis demon. When it’s my turn to recite, i realize i’m too tired to hit the usual notes, so i modify the tune a bit and narrowly pull it off. As the milad draws to a close, i thank God with every remaining ounce of strength in my body and rush toward the door, but a chorus of voices calls out from behind me as two aunties ask me to give them a ride home. My body wants me to say no, but i have a feeling God wants me to say yes, so i sleepily agree.

After dropping the first aunty off, i’m alone with the second, who happens to be one of my favorite human beings on the planet. I should be on the verge of passing out and i can feel tears of exhaustion pooling in my eyes, but i’m in the presence of someone i love, so i feel wide awake and profoundly happy; her very existence eliminates all notions of tiredness. On the drive home, she tells me that she loves me the way she loves her own daughter, and calls me beautiful in a way that makes my heart melt. As she showers me in the sweetest praise i’ve ever heard, i feel unconditionally safe and loved, and i forget what it means to be tired or afraid. My cheeks flush and i feel the requisite nervousness of “God, please don’t let me prove her wrong”, but a part of me understands that she loves me from a place of soul, not illusion. She happily tells me about a meeting the elders’ club is having the next day and asks me to come, but my heart sinks as i tell her that i’ve got another commitment. As she excitedly tells me what they have planned, it strikes me that this is the single biggest complaint i have against life in this world: we never get to spend enough time with the people we love most, and it isn’t socially acceptable to simply tear up your schedule and tell someone, “all i want is to spend hours and days and months just basking in the pleasure of your company, can i do that? Can we please forget about the world for a while and just delight in the presence of each others’ souls?” She tenderly holds my free hand as i drive, and i realize i’m going to miss this night forever.

When i think of the Awliya’ullah, i don’t think of perfect men in flowing robes with beards of silver and shelves full of books, i think of her impossibly soft heart- the way gratitude pours from her lips like a constant prayer; the way she radiates a beautiful depth of God-consciousness my soul can never seem to get enough of. When i think of beauty, i don’t think of youthful faces or chiseled bodies; i think of the warmth of her deep brown eyes and the feeling of absolute love and safety that floods me every time i look into them. Every time she speaks to me, i feel so softly, lovingly seen; given shelter by eyes kinder, gentler, more forgiving than any i’ve ever known. I squeeze her hand in gratitude and say thank you, but my words feel trite relative to the surge of emotion i feel in my heart. I’m still a child relative to her; not sinless enough to be a worthy disciple, nor wise enough to be her student. But my soul dances every time i’m in her presence, and my heart tracks her movements like a dance and remains intoxicated for days.        

x r

A Dreamy Winter Night

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It’s one of the coldest nights of the year so far, but my restless heart is craving fresh air, and i can’t resist the quiet allure of nighttime.  I step outside and the brisk air electrifies my skin; blood rushes to my cheeks and i feel more vividly awake than i’ve felt in days.  I lock eyes with the moon and feel an instant rush of euphoria, like the bliss of seeing one’s beloved after eons of separation.  As i marvel at its striking golden halo, i absently wonder if it ever misses me as much as i miss it.  There is an eternal, unspoken kinship between the moon and the heart of every poet, as if God breathed us into existence to fall in love with each other.

I walk to the park and the world feels like an ethereal page from the book of my dreams. The bold moonlight makes the night sky appear unusually blue, and the sea of silvery clouds plays tag with stray gleams of moonlight.  I glance at the shadowy expanse of bare-branched trees and feel like i’ve wandered into one of Ivan Aivazovsky’s darker masterpieces; the world around me momentarily feels as small and finite as a painting.  Apart from the occasional rush of headlights along the main road, the world feels strangely empty tonight, as if the moon and i are the last two sentient beings in the universe.  I sit on a bench for a few moments, but a dark, ominous-looking cloud pierces the horizon, and the sky suddenly takes on a melancholy hue that sends a chill down my spine. But as i begin the journey home, the clouds slink away to reveal the hidden stars, now vividly gleaming and brightening the sky again. 

As i look up at the stars, i feel briefly awestruck by the realization that there are over a hundred billion galaxies in the known universe… what a compliment to the human ‘aql that God created such unfathomable complexities for us to ponder and explore; and yet, how humbling to be reminded on such a grand scale how astonishingly minute and fragile we are; how brief and momentary our lives compared to the ancient constellations that loom above us.  The thought of my existential smallness is strangely comforting; it makes me want to curl up in the arms of a distant star and be lulled to sleep by the music of interstellar collisions.

x r

How to Steal a Poet’s Heart

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If you want to steal a poet’s heart, touch her soul like a reverberating thread on a sunlit spider’s web, like autumn rushing hungrily into the outstretched arms of winter.  Capture her in your palms like a firefly dancing through the sultry daydreams of summer; catch her on your tongue like the first snowfall in winter. Bathe her in the euphoria of falling stars drunk on the earth’s magnetism, sip her essence like nectar fluent in the dialect of hummingbirds; pursue her like a moth teaching a candle how to burn.  Make her forget the beauty of a thousand sunsets with the tender poetry of your heart; write her letters the moon would trade a hundred starlit sonnets to read.

Her soul is a gentle, forgiving deviation. Be her warmth, her strength, her shelter; be a few moments of steady, unyielding safety amid the cold brutality of the world. She shields herself with the calm, playful forcefield of her heart, but vulnerability defines her; she is a tiny river that dreams of an ocean to hold her when the world’s currents grow strong and her courage grows weak.  But she wasn’t created to crave a shallow, fleeting love that has to be persuaded or won. She was created to bend to a love that has steady, undying roots in His Love; a love that pulls back the curtain of eternity and gives her a glimpse of timelessness. 

x r

Night Walks

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Midnight is the time when most lovers leave home in pursuit of secret trysts, but my nights consist of long, dreamy walks to the park; of solitary conversations with the stars and tranquil reflections bathed in autumn moonlight.  As i walk, i feel God’s adoration in the soft, brisk winds that kiss my cheeks, and i glimpse His immaculate beauty in the infinite mirror of the night sky. I think about my life- every perplexing twist and turn, every rise and fall of fate, every moment that brought me to these moments- how different things are from how i once thought they’d be, but how deeply, inexpressibly grateful i feel for every aspect of my life; what indescribable pleasure i feel at the rare experience of existing in this body, in this soul, in this unique window of time.  

On my way home, the wind grows bold and passionate, and fallen leaves begin to dance alongside me.  The rhythm of their movements against the pavement forms a sound that feels strikingly similar to the cadence of dhikrallah, as if the leaves are engaging in their own imperceptible form of tasbih.  The gleaming stars twinkle in unison with the leaves, and my heart is moved endlessly by this thought: all of creation is a vast, infinitely complex symphony perpetually singing His praises.  Everything is alive with its own trace of the Divine heartbeat; every effect burns with immortal yearning to reunite with the Cause.

Every conversation i have with anyone lately tends to carry a note of deep yearning or dissatisfaction; there’s always a problem each person is chipping away at, an unresolved issue, or an unanswered question, and my own heart is no different- to be alive is to be left longing for something; be it an answer, a person, a feeling, or an experience. But on these tranquil autumn nights, i feel a hint of gratitude even for my longings, because i see how clearly each one leads back to Him; how everything my heart has ever wanted is, in its deepest essence, an expression of yearning for Him.  I ask Him to refine my desires and grant me the ones that will bring me closer to Him; to grant me love that immerses me more deeply in His love, to grant me bliss that sweetens my worship.

x r

Experiential Blisses

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I love the way the light falls softly against the living room furniture at the apex of the day. I love the taste of oranges that are juicier than expected, of strawberries that are sweeter than they need to be, of tea on quiet mornings with just the right ratio of milk and sugar. I love the music of early morning birdsongs, the feeling of slipping on a soft t-shirt after a hot shower, the way my hair feels when it falls in a rush of silk against my neck, the intoxicating scent of raspberry perfume permeating cold winter air. I love the rare satisfaction of beautiful words that grip your heart and leave fingerprints on your mind, stoking the soft flame of inspiration that lives within a nameless part of you. I love the echo of ink-stained thoughts and sleepless nights, the scent of fresh paper that dreams of being touched by poetry.  

I love the meditative beauty of a warm gaze that fills with wonder as it meets yours. I love the quiet fire of eyes that linger on the sky as if it is the only attempt that God has ever made at creating beauty. I love the subtle hint of joy that blooms on a face that has been longing to see yours; the mutual relief of being in the same room as someone who laughs at the same things you do; the irresistible pull of minds that follow the same relentless pathways of inquiry. I love the fire of unasked questions and the smoke of satisfying answers; the paper trail left by mysteries yearning to be solved. I love the safe daydream of steady love that plays no games and bares itself like moonlight. I love cards that are dropped on the table instead of kept close to the chest, the tenderness of voices that drip with palpable longing, the eagerness of restless souls in search of home.

x r

On Love and Spiritual Ascension

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Love for other human beings is a sacred element of spiritual ascension, because in its deepest essence, love forms the bedrock of both humility and mindfulness.  When you begin to perceive the inner and outer beauty in every human being, it becomes impossible to think of your own beauty as a separate or significant reality; you simply see it as the same whisper of Divinity that you find within every face and heart you look at.  When you learn to intuit the difficulties every person might be quietly struggling with, your appreciation for every trace of goodness in others deepens, and every encounter with a kind or generous person feels like a miracle. Your alignment with Divine mercy deepens, because the mercy you intrinsically feel toward others increases.

In moments of reflection on the goodness within others, awareness of the self fades away, and the only time you remember yourself is when others express their love for you- and yet even in these moments, you know that the goodness they love you for is not a possession or creation of your own doing, but a gift momentarily breathed into you by God; a consequence of Him concealing your endless shortcomings by veiling them with His infinite beauty.

A major spiritual challenge is to cultivate this awareness without becoming consumed by it, because any awareness that begins to feel like an entity in itself has the potential to become a distraction from the Beloved. In the beginning stages, there’s a very simple, universally acknowledged practice that helps in this regard: conditioning oneself to live as mindfully and presently as possible; consciously striving to take in each day with total reverence and complete presence, the way a child does. To permit yourself to be simply, thoroughly human; to freely, openly delight in the presence of others the way our beloved Prophet (pbuh) did, and to rejoice in the brief moments and experiences you have with them. Such mindfulness disrupts the fixations of the ego, freeing us to experience the true glory of each moment and the potential for gratitude, growth, pleasure, and insight held therein. I imagine this is why falling in love has the potential to be such a spiritually transformative experience: love has a way of taking people out of their own minds by giving them the incentive to become fully immersed in the present moment, because they don’t want to miss a single second of immersion with the beloved.  

The mindfulness of love thus prepares the human soul to experience worship as a whole more deeply; the more accustomed we are to being mindfully immersed in the present, the less we lose ourselves in worrying about the future or grieving about the past. And the less our minds ricochet between egoic concern for past and future, the better able we are to show up and meet God in the present. Love frees us to meet Him in that liminal, ungraspable space that exists beyond concrete points of time, and in those precious, delineated moments throughout the day when He has asked us for our undivided attention.

x r

A Midnight Misadventure

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It’s exactly 12 am when we pull up to the empty parking lot overlooking the lake.  My friend nervously tells me that we shouldn’t be here, and the small sign announces that the park closed 2 hours ago- so technically, she’s not wrong.  I flash her a mischievous grin, put my car in park, and tell her i want to go down to the water for a moment.  She tries to dissuade me by pointing out that it’s dark, potentially dangerous, probably illegal, and we could get attacked by coyotes, but my intuition tells me it’ll be fine (besides, coyotes are notoriously shy). I’m secretly starving for adventure, and this feels like the perfect dose.

She can tell by the look in my eyes that i’m not going to back down, so she sighs and says she’ll wait by the car.  She stands in the distance and watches as i wander down the dark hillside flanked by forest on both sides.  As i walk, i feel like i’m descending into a dark, hazy dream.  I gradually make my way down to the water’s edge and immediately feel as if i’ve been transported to another world.  The sky is darker here, the stars more brilliant, and the water is just faintly illuminated by a whisper of moonlight.  The silhouette of trees on the small tracts of land surrounding the lake look poetically eerie.  I glance back at the moon as it hovers atop the dark, shadowy trees and am left breathless at how enchanting it all looks.  Not everything has to be sunlit and cheery in order to be beautiful; there is as much beauty to be found in darkness as there is in light, the dark simply requires a bit more courage and patience to navigate.

I stand for a few moments looking out at the water, wishing i could put down a blanket, suspend time, and lie beneath the stars for a few hours.  Small indulgences like this feel safe, almost sacred.  I touch the water and listen to its soft murmur, immediately feeling one with it; i’m highly tempted to jump in and go for a midnight swim.  I wish i could stay here all night- getting lost in conversation with the water and the stars and the hidden depths of my own heart- but i’m acutely aware that i’m probably breaking the law right now, so i tear myself away and head back to my friend, who seems relieved that i’ve returned to her in one piece.

After we hop back in the car, she asks if i want to see something pretty, and i excitedly agree.  On our way to the mysterious location, we pass by a neighborhood with the word “Serendipity” in it, and i tell her about how i’ve always loved that word.  She then drives us out to a bridge overlooking the lake.  My excitement builds as we get there, and i tell her there’s a bridge i’m absolutely in love with that looks similar to this one- she says it’s probably the same one, and i think she might be right.  If this is the bridge i’m thinking of, i magically end up here a few times a year when my route happens to bring me this way, and each time is an absolutely delightful experience.  I never quite remember how to get here, so i leave it up to fate.  I’ve watched the sun set over the lake a few times here, and each time, the surreal beauty of the scenery overwhelms me, leaving a lasting imprint on my heart. We can’t see much at this hour, but the small beams of light that hit the water’s surface please me nonetheless.  As we turn around and head back toward her house, i marvel at the sheer serendipity of the entire night.

x r

The Secret DNA of Languages

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Urdu: the lingering scent of rosewater on bare skin, the gleam of silver anklets on a moonlit night, the music of glass bangles falling against each other, the soft blush elicited by a lover’s gaze, kohl-lined eyes full of passion and warmth, the pleasurable burn of spices at the back of one’s throat, the quiet magnetism of the moon persuading the tides to dance, a steady pair of arms wrapped around one’s waist, love letters slipped into secret hiding places, the alluring perfume of jasmines carried by spring breezes, the sensation of reveling in the sweetness of a loved one’s smile, the bliss of dancing in the rain at the peak of summer, the lush decadence of night-blooming flowers, the poetic innocence of daydreams, the otherworldly cadence of a besotted qawwal, the ecstasy of sinking into a bed both firm and soft, the warm laughter of loved ones gathered for afternoon tea, the sensation of biting into a ripe mango and feeling the juice run down one’s chin, a translucent veil draped over a cascade of dark hair

Farsi: the watchful majesty of a king surveying his kingdom, sugar cubes melting on a feverish tongue, the intoxicating sweetness of ripe cherries in spring, the delicate symphony of clinking tea glasses, the sweetness of melted butter on fluffy grains of rice, the untraceable warmth of moonlight, a sunlit garden full of decadent roses, the passionate reunion of separated lovers, the sensation of shutting one’s eyes and listening to a tranquil birdsong, the elegant symmetry of a dancer’s arched back, a long pleasant walk with no need for destination, stray moments of reflection amid softly falling rain, the quiet ecstasy of prayers whispered into the ear of God, the dreamy feeling of leaving one’s body and transcending to a higher realm, the earthy fragrance of dried saffron, smooth turquoise tiles warmed by the midday sun, the feeling of lying awake at night and conversing with the stars, the delicate shelter of a soft black veil

Arabic: the guttural roar of a lion on the threshold of victory, the heady scent of honey dripping from one’s fingertips, the unsheathed brilliance of the full moon, heartfelt laughter that reaches one’s eyes, the warmth of a lost lover’s eager embrace, a pair of eyes deep enough to get lost in, the gleam of water droplets on fresh mint leaves, the warm fragrance of freshly baked pita bread, the feeling of returning home after a long journey and falling into a pair of familiar arms, the playful dance of bold glances between strangers, the tension of a drawn bowstring, finding shelter in the eye of a hurricane, the raucous laughter of running children, the smoky perfume of black tea and melted sugar, a few stray notes of an ancient love song, the rich scent of tobacco on a cold winter night, the valiant experience of smiling through one’s tears, the salty sweetness of olives soaked in brine, the tender comfort of a mother’s prayer, wild horses running across sun-kissed sand dunes

x r

My Kryptonite

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I’ve spent my life in pursuit of dazzling intellectual complexities and wondrous fragments of enlightenment, philosophy, and truth, but these aren’t the things i hunger for when i cross paths with other people. What captivates me most in others is the preservation of their fundamental tenderness; of their childlike trust and pure, unhindered curiosity; of their capacity to laugh, connect, inquire, and seek.

The beauty that borders on ecstasy to me is the aliveness of a person’s sense of vulnerability, empathy, and their willingness to pursue and consume that which moves them into deeper states of authenticity and inner knowing.  I’m not captivated by intellect, beauty, wealth, or power… i’m endlessly enamored by courage, compassion, and the depth of a person’s ever-expanding inwardness. I don’t admire qualities that make someone appear superhuman or holier-than-thou; i relish the qualities that make them deeply, unapologetically human.  I have never seen anything more mesmerizing than a soul touched by unbridled passion and fearless sincerity.

x r

The Divine Mystery of Human Connection

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On nights of deep reflection, i sometimes think about the ripples of influence that reverberate from our thoughts, actions, perspectives, & beliefs, and the way those rippling traces of ourselves have the capacity to touch the lives and souls of the people we interact with.  When we connect with someone on a soul level, our mental and spiritual energy often seeps into the reality of who they are, and vice versa.  If someone’s essence is red and mine is blue, the bit of them my soul touches becomes purple, and that minute trace of purple is then subsumed within the rest of their being, sometimes tonally shifting their entire character in the subtlest of ways- and vice versa.

It’s almost laughably strange to think about; as human beings, we pride ourselves on our strength, ingenuity, and dominance over seemingly every earthly force, yet we are so innately, deeply vulnerable to change and fluctuation.  Connection is one of the most deeply-rooted, instinctive, universal human needs, and our need of it makes us the softest, most breakable of God’s creatures.  Of all the factors that shape each individual human destiny, our connections with those around us are among the most significant determinants of our fate; for this reason, every soul we cross paths with has the potential to alter the course of our soul’s journey.

I find this to be one of the most wondrous things about the human being: to realize all the ways in which God has made us so easily touched, moved, and impacted by others. How many strangers have we shed tears for and lost sleep over after we read about their suffering in the news or in books of history? How much of our yearning to absolve the world of its pain and heal its endless divisions arises from the pain we feel at the grief of people we’ve never met?

When we ponder the lives of the most influential beings in history, we often find at the center of their work a particular teacher, guide, lover, or muse; at least one significant person who heavily influenced their ideas and breathed life into their work. No man is an island, and no one flourishes in isolation; all human brilliance is attributable to sources and influences outside itself. Every time we rediscover the words of one of the great thinkers, scholars, poets, and iconoclasts who left their immortal signature on the consciousness of humankind, we breathe new life into a legacy that spans thousands of years, the rise and fall of centuries, the days and nights of the perpetually unfolding dream of human life. Every time we’re altered by the ideas we take in, we pierce the veil of time and give each of our influences a sip from the cup of immortality.

Of all the abstract reasons to conclude that a Creator of everything must exist, i’d put forth the depth and potency of human connection as one of the metaphysical miracles that leave me most deeply certain of His existence. Something as profound and multi-faceted as human connection could not have been a mere biological happenstance; nothing short of Divinity could create such a complex and immeasurably powerful force. This aspect of reality- the abstract space wherein we connect with and influence each other- is an endlessly complex realm. If each human life represents a potential manifestation of the Divine, the intersections between souls are like threads from the eternal needle of God, woven together to generate a unified masterpiece that echoes the Ultimate Unity.

x r

The Secret of Ishq

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Becoming an ‘ashiq was never a conscious choice for me… my fate was sealed the very first time i laid eyes on the ocean as a child, the beauty of the waves calling out to me with the potency of a siren. That exquisite sight enthralled me so deeply, it inspired my first lines of poetry.  How could i not have fallen madly in love with the One who created it, whose presence lingered as palpably near the waves as the steady shore that tamed them?

Forgive me if my simple words hold no weight, or if my foolishness reveals me as ignorant. I didn’t come to the threshold of ‘ishq through the elegant use of reason, or the steady, systematic buildup of eloquent philosophical arguments, or by the intrinsic worthiness of a saint. He pulled me here by the reluctant strings of my rebellious heart; He drew me here through the meandering lines of my poetry; through the secrets He imparted into the deepest recesses of my soul, staining my depths with the permanence of wine.  He hid within the empty spaces between each letter, between every inhale and exhale of my breath, between the timid, fluttering heartbeats within my chest.

Every time i tried to hide, He lured me back to Him with the seductive artistry of the stars on a clear winter night, the soft beauty of an autumn sunrise, the rush of rose-scented breezes at the climax of spring… He has enraptured my heart so thoroughly, my flawed, sinful senses have never beheld a beautiful thing without experiencing Him.  Every day, i feel like a small child stumbling through the rocky pastures of life- but no matter how far i wander, He catches my wayward soul in His eternally outstretched hands, claiming me for Himself.  And in those moments, awash in the bliss of reunion, i remember no reality but His Love and every beautiful emanation of it. I briefly forget the myth of my self, and fall in love once again with the reality of Him.

The rationalists contend that God only favors the worthy, and i wouldn’t dare disagree with them, but my own life poses a perplexing counterargument. I am inescapably mortal, deeply human, and endlessly erring- i have never been worthy, and yet, the Most Generous and Most Compassionate of all lovers has never deemed me unworthy.  God chooses me again and again despite my infinity of shortcomings, and i’m thus inclined to believe that He chooses everyone; it is we who reject Him, who drown out His voice with our arrogance, cruelty, sin, and disdain; we who glance past His love in our recurring preoccupation with reason and self-importance. In a field beyond these illusions, He waits for us with the patient tenderness of a devoted lover, and laughs when we inevitably come back to Him, world-weary and confused.

This is the hidden paradox that intoxicates every ‘ashiq, the flavor of the wine that drives His lovers mad with yearning, the beauty that leaves every poet breathless… every time we believe we’ve witnessed the apex of His mercy, He unveils a new horizon drenched in ever-deepening hues of Love.  We give Him a thousand reasons to turn us away and find us irredeemable, but He refuses to see us as ungenerously as we see ourselves.  Could any other form of love be so endlessly kind and patient? How could i not overflow with affection, hope, and love, when my Beloved is so tender in the way He handles me? Yet how could i not be aflood with shyness, shame, and fear, when i remember how heedless i’ve been toward the One i love most?

x r

A Rare Find

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4th floor of the library: no one ever comes here, so it’s one of your favorite places to hide.  The outside world disappears as you run your fingers along the spines of unmet books, your mind tingling with the desire to be stimulated.  A mysterious cover bearing the half-shadowed face of a woman catches your eye.  You curiously open it and are stunned to find lines that perfectly mirror your innermost thoughts and feelings, as if penned by an unseen half of you.

Mesmerized, you drink in the stranger’s words without restraint.  You sink to the floor, consumed by the exhilarating rush of finding the perfect book of poetry.  The cold metal shelves send chills down your back as you devour each page like an impassioned predator consuming its prey.  How long have you been waiting for such soft, searing honesty? How much of your life have you spent searching for such finely expressed truths? What would existence be like if every conversation felt this raw and familiar?

As you finally shut the book with a satisfied smile, you remember that this is the hidden impulse behind every poem- the desire to initiate a conversation that can’t be had; the need to meticulously arrange words so as to convey the inexpressible.

x r

The Conversation

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It’s a conversation you find yourself having, like clockwork, again and again. Someone shares the inner radiance of their heart with you, and you listen closely, quietly marveling at the way human beings resemble the unfolding sunrise every time they open up. Every shred of truth, each confession of longing, pain, ecstasy, and fear, seems to carry its own hue, and you watch with childlike wonder as you behold the unique symphony of colors that comprises each person’s inner world.

But as your eyes curiously unravel the secrets tucked away in theirs, a flicker of uncertainty overtakes them, the spell breaks for a moment, and they say: “what about you?”

And you never know what to say. You can happily, readily dive into the deepest waters of another person’s soul, but you’ve never quite mastered the art of inviting them into yours. Where would you take them? To the lush meadows where your daydreams of a peaceful, harmonious world live, or to the eye of the storm that harbors your wildest, most hidden impulses and desires? Should you bring them into the lively fire of your passions, or should you invite them into the calm, steady sea of your deepest contemplations? How do you convey that all of these seemingly contradictory worlds form the reality of who you are? And if you showed them, would they stay?

You’re never sure, so you smile and look away. They sense the distance that exists between you and the world, but only you know deeply it sometimes wounds you. It exists as a secret between you and God, the insurmountable conclusion of who you are. But you’re learning to embrace it, because you finally understand: had He made you any simpler, maybe you wouldn’t have sought Him so deeply. Maybe making you different was God’s way of creating a standing invitation for Himself within your heart; a space that only He could fill.

x r

A Camping Reverie

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As i look up at the sunlight pouring softly through the branches of the trees overhead, i smile and remember that the Japanese have a word for this phenomenon; they call it ‘komorebi’.  My friend and i are lying on a tree swing, quietly musing about life while periodically making each other burst into fits of laughter, and the world disappears for a while.  If Paradise is anything like the pleasure of a calm spring day spent with someone you love, i really hope i get to see it someday.

I spend most of Saturday letting my inner child run free, both literally and metaphorically.  I try to reign myself in, but i’m totally lost in the joy of being in my element; i want to tire my body out until my muscles ache from the pleasure of exertion.  As an overthinker whose brain never rests, physical activity holds more weight for me than it might for other people- i find it to be an almost meditative experience, allowing me to slip out of my overactive consciousness and into a tranquil flow state, where the instincts of my body overrule the chaos of my mind.  On a simple human level, being outdoors and playing sports evokes blissful childhood memories of running around with my brothers, our young hearts awash in excitement.

The highlight of the day for me is the shooting range: i’m generally a pacifist, but there’s a strange pleasure in wielding a tool of destruction when the use of it feels like an artform in itself.  It takes me a while to remember how to do it, but i gradually find my rhythm: i cock the gun, take aim, and press the barrel against my cheek, resting the end against my shoulderblade.  I take a deep breath, bite my lip, and pull the trigger. I feel a rush of satisfaction each time i hear the telltale clink of the pellets against the target.  The man running the range is a friendly old cowboy who regales us with sweet stories of teaching his kids how to shoot and ride horses.  He praises my shooting like a proud father and mentions various targets no one has hit yet- i immediately go after each one, and he admits that he likes using these challenges to motivate people like me.  One of my new friends refers to me as “a beauty and a danger”, and i jokingly tell her that i want that written on my grave… people often treat me like a fragile, mindless wallflower; i love being seen as dynamic and powerful.

We move on to archery next. As i nock each arrow and draw it back against the bow, i feel a rush of primordial nostalgia, as if my blood is surging with the memories of warrior women in my bloodline.  I find that the key to excelling in archery is much the same as shooting; to silence the flow of your thoughts until only consciousness of the target remains, and your body and the weapon become one in their singular pursuit of the target.  As a diehard animal lover, i despise the notion of hunting for sport, but i can understand why people enjoy it: perfect harmony between mind and body is a rare state to be in, and it results in a quiet, fulfilling rush of ecstasy that reaches its peak when the target is struck.

I join a group of girls for a quick game of volleyball as the sun goes down, and i throw myself into it with full force and passion.  I end up badly bruising the back of my hand after a few intense volleys, but the pain is worth it- playing volleyball in slightly cold weather is a 10/10 experience.  The night ends with a beautiful campfire, which always makes me think about the early days of human civilization and the ways of our ancestors; of the timeless magic of gathering around a fire and exchanging stories, experiences, wisdoms, and epiphanies.  My wildness quickly turns to shyness as everyone gathers around, but i have some fascinating discussions that set my mind afire with perplexity.  If i could end every night with a deep conversation about all the questions that keep me up at night, i think this world would feel akin to Paradise.

As my friend and i head home, i feel seeds of happiness and renewal taking root in my heart, and i hope the spring rains will bring them to bloom.  Before i fall asleep, i revisit the question of when creation began, and i experience a simplistic version of ibn Sina’s grand epiphany: God and the first creation can be co-eternal, because eternity is not inherently a property that can solely be ascribed to Divinity… even if the Giver and the first recipient are both without beginning, the point remains that the recipient will always be contingent, and the Giver will always be necessary.

x r

A Brief Philosophy of Love

~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

When i think of love, i don’t think of extravagant gestures or eloquent declarations… i think of the quiet, flowing harmony between two souls at total ease with each other.  I think of the transformative magic of unconditional acceptance, the vulnerability of stripping oneself of carefully-constructed armors and masks, the steady heat of passion that catches fire through deep, soul-centered understanding, and the boundless adoration that blooms from mutual appreciation and unguarded trust.  I think of playful mischief and understated bliss; of white-hot ecstasy underscored by soft, unyielding tranquility. 

The aim of love shouldn’t be to carve another person into the image of what we believe the ideal partner should be. Love, in its most unadulterated form, is about giving another human being the freedom to unfold completely as themselves- paradoxically, this is precisely what gives them the self-belief to become even greater. To truly love someone is to embrace them so unconditionally, our affection breathes life into the dormant qualities within them that are hidden manifestations of the attributes of God. Love isn’t about creating glory within another person… it’s about unleashing the Divine glory that already exists within them by eliminating the layers of doubt, frustration, unworthiness, boredom, and disillusionment that have clouded that glory and rendered it inaccessible.  Love is emboldening someone to pursue the depth of fulfillment they’ve always dreamt of; to deeply understand their soul’s inner vision and water it with vivacity, encouragement, and passion.  To love a person into a state of fullness and expansion is to have truly loved them as God intended.

x r