IV. Let go...and Be

"Let go and Be"

I dazed off to sleep the night before hoping for a dream. Hoping to delve in a time where no laws bound my soul, hoping to steer through the future just to glimpse if I will be held, if I will survive in the end.

I woke up happy with a smile masking my face, forming wrinkles that will one day form a tale: a story of a struggle, a story of patience…a story of the past. My morning was spent gazing through a window, driving on a highway, following the line of trees that seemed to formulate a hollow green light from far away. I reached where I intended, and walked the path to the fountains to sit on the bench.

My morning meditation got rained on! The droplets hitting the surface of the water created a ripple effect that seemed to replicate our lives. We are the droplets and life is the pool of water. Every decision and action that we make can affect the whole pool and each droplet waiting to be simulated within by the ripple effect.

The train of thought got interrupted by a phone call. “Where are you? I have been waiting for you for over an hour….do you just forget me like that?” I was stunned, I got delved in into my own thoughts that the appointment with a dear friend was forgotten. So I tell her to meet me at the bench…

From far away I can see her frown drowning her face, from far away I sense her disappointment, and from far away I can feel her anxiety and fears. The closer she gets, I prepare my smile and heart, soften my arms, and warm up the bench. The closer she gets, the more prepare I am, for I know all she needs are a pair of hands to store all her tears, a shoulder to lean on, and a heart to trust….

She sits, so cold are her hands. Turns to me with sullen eyes, and utters “he did it again!”, then quickly covers her lips with her fingers to not speak no more. The heat of my body turns to cold…frozen and shivering in disbelief. All the words left my mind, my arms closed in, my heart sealed, my smile frowned, and the bench turned to thorns pricking our bodies. All this while her tears blended to the rain drops over her face, “he did it AGAIN…..I WANT TO DISAPEARRRR!”

She then looks at me with her sullen eyes once more and said:

“I am not really an outspoken person;
I like to blend in the background.
I’m sorry that I get up tight;
my conscious self won’t let me fight.
I feel the eyes burning within me,
so I feel I can’t draw the tears out.
I can’t go on anymore, I can’t live through his sight.
I want to die, I’d rather live in the abyss of hell for one night….”

I hold her so tight and refuse to listen to another word she utters. I scream out loud

“I love you for who you are,
therefore do not let your heart scar.
I know you don’t deserve this,
its not your fault its his.
You’d rather crumble into pieces before you wish for a destiny in hell,
for hold on to yourself before you’ll hear the end’s bell.
Just be,
then you’ll be free!”

How can words describe the inner struggle of another, words merely convey the interpretation of the indescribable feelings. If she wrote, she would say:

~~~~~

He once loved, but love turned to something vicious, something that repels one’s heart to never love. He, my father, drowned in his subconscious and started to see evil within his beloveds, especially in me. I was a catalyst to his frustrations; it was all drained on me.

He had his happy moments, but soon they were victimized by his uncontrollable anger, the witnesses to it all were his hands. His early Karate training gave him the expertise of how to hit a limb and never leave a bruise. Thus, never did his hands leave a scar, only the one’s left wide open within my heart.

The corner of my bed became my shelter, and the reasons for it all became me. I was the reason for it all. I came to this world with a defected soul, and the sight of me gave him the incentive to do it all. I became the grave to his amusement; this is the subconscious’s understanding to reason it all.

When a smile composes on my face, this was the very trigger to demolish his inner corked feelings upon my heart. I started to relate love and hate, they started to coexist within my heart: that was the beginning of the end.

Slowly I started to drain into music, relieved my frustrations by other means. Means that would slowly lead me to corruption, means that would lead me to the end. Isn’t that what I wanted, for it all to end?

I started to waste away, wishing I was invisible. I started to melt away, wanting to be someone else. I started to fade away; even my eyes became oblivious to it all. They never shed a tear, and the heart hardened. I lost the taste of life, and the life lost me within its lost cause.

I began to skip classes, and hide in the bathroom within the four walls of the stall, looking over a window that shined so bright, the only opening I let in. Nothing seemed to delve in to my inner depression and wipe it all away. No one could understand...

I come home to house full of miserable talk, noise of destruction. From opening the entrance door to closing my bedroom door, a trail of silence. Ear phones plugged the outer noise, listening to noise that understands me, the words of the depressed. I started to write and draw, releasing what’s eating my flesh away. It has been 35 days since a particle of food entered my body; it took 15 cuts to release the excessive blood from clogging my mind. On and on I counted the days where it all will end, 65 days to go and I will be all fine.

Numbers became my addiction, so did water, planners, notebooks, and anything sharp. I counted everything, everything became a count-DOWN. When I got too drowsy, I fed myself a whole carton of Ice cream, a dozen cookies, 3 cups of juice, and a laxative pill. I would turn on the water knob to drain the noise, the noise of my inner musing will sing, creating a punch line against the water.

Where was everyone? I did not let anyone in. My mother became a foreign object floating her words of destruction around my mind, my sister and 2 brothers were delved in to the amusements of life, My father continued his dominion over my temple, hosting the show to my destruction, but last was my lord.

Who was my lord? The Allah that I never knew, a word that my father used to entertain his beatings. I despised that word greatly, for it was the cause of it all, or so I thought.

When the very religion announced it self as the very cause to my pain, I despised it very mcuh. However, the more I get to know the religion and Allah, I found it that its the LACK of religion that people do such things, hurt the people they love.

It took a day of doom to relieve me from the destructed hands of my father, to the Oft-merciful! One night, after experiencing an hour worth of punches to my body because of merely disappearing into the corner, I was left hanging by a thread in my little closet, curved and crumbled. I felt nothing, my body was numb. I just stayed in that graceless position, frozen for an hour. Stairing at the meadow of my dream, and seeing it all fade away. No tear has formed, no future could be seen. Just there, lying against sharp metal sticking against the closet door into my back, which was felt after the sensation of life has come back.

I could not foresee anything, all I could see was my body laying there dead. I wanted everyone to feel my pain, I imagined my father holding himself tight finally realizing what his hands have let. I wanted each soul to ear my screams, and so I wrote...

I wrote a 12 page letter, back and front, to my father and his lovely family. There was a tear stain separating each and every letter. Something to treasure forever, hanged on a frame in front of his bed. I wrote away my past, I wrote away my current state, and I wrote away my future. I wrote a proposition to an end of it all. I wrote away words of forgiveness, I wrote away my last words to be said: Good Bye!

I waited until every soul slept away, and headed into the kitchen drawer where the sharpest of knives are neatly stored. I picked the sharpest one of them all. I landed on my bedroom floor, 5 aspirins to calm the heart away, and a knife handled by two shaky hands. I was ready…

Thesharp tip was held against my stomach, but I felt nothing. 5 min has passed me by, and I still felt nothing. My past flashed in front of my eyes, all the happy moment: The times when I held my father's index finger, standing on his feet, guiding me through the world. The times where I was held up high and twirled like a dervish. The times where I ran so fast to greet my beloved, excited to see him. The times when he would wipe my tears away, and let me sleep on his arms. Those times all faded away by a mere slap to the face, a punch to the head, a drag on the floor, and a kick on the stomach. All those memories got replaced by my current state, crumbled being whose love got sipped by all the hate of the world. As the knife delved in deeper into my skin, I saw my future:

My body on the floor drowning on a pool of blood. My father coming in my room seeing me laying there, an attack wraps its wrath on his heart. My mother pulling her hair as my sister crying on her shoulder. My two brothers beating each other up blaming each other. All the distruction of the world befell the 4 walls that closed in on my body, as I’m laying there peacefully on the bedroom floor. Then, the real destruction was heard….

…I fell into a warm void. The warmness turned to hot, the hot became burning…I reached the abyss of Hell! “Forever” I was ordered, FOREVER IN HELL…

I let go of the knife. It already pierced through my clothes and the first layer of my skin. But I Let go so quickly at the sight of hell. Nothing stopped me, not my family's destruction, but…the sight of HELL!

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? YA ALLAH, PLEASE SAVE ME”

I woke up the very next day with a knife next to me, the nightmare of the one night stand. The moment I opened my eyes, I knew. I knew that I had a purpose in my life. I knew that I was saved. I knew that I was put on this earth for reasons I knew not, but it was time that I discovered it all.

I blocked out everyone and everything but the One up above. He was my reason of living, he was my reason for everything. I lived for the end, I lived to love. I refused to believe that what had happen was in the name of the Lord, but what has happened was the lack thereof. I became to know the truth, and I became a stranger within my home.

I forgave. Every hit after that day was a sin wiped off, every beat to the stomach was happy moment in the future, every broken heart beat was a love waiting to be discovered…everything I lived for was for the future. I knew what I wanted, I wanted it all to be over, but patience was needed to make it all turn over.

Patience was instilled in me with the word of God. That is the only entity that inhibited me to survive. I became full of optimism, although the outer destruction never ended, but I found a mightier reason for it all.

I knew that someone will come, by my lord’s way, and wipe off the past and hold my hand. Someone will come and show me the real love, the real life to live, and replenish all the lost smiles that were spent on the lost cause. Someone will come…. But until then, I have my lord.

All I had to do is Let go, and be.

~~~~~~

And here she is once more. After delving in a high moment, she rebounded to a lower state at the sight of a trial, as such. This is her lowest point of life once more. Her father just gave her a morning kiss to the face, minus the love; plus the scar. She can no longer take it anymore, and her faith is depleting.

I know she is strong, I know that she will find her answers in the one above. I just need to be there for her at these moments just to remind her, that “Allah has everything planned, always be patient….Just Let go when things afflict you as such, and be who you are.”

III. In the middle of the night

“Have faith my dear, your beloved will realize

what he is holding between his hands is

but a lost diamond waiting to be mounted on a ring.”

As I comforted my dear friend on a morning cloudy skies sitting on the bench rhyming our tears to the droplets of rain, rhyming our breaths with the besieging winds, rhyming our words with the ripples on the water. It was at this very bench that she began to tell her story:

Not long ago, maybe over 2 years ago, that she met a soul whose heart found comfort in. It was around the times where her very own story evolved into a blockade of tears, where no corner could serve a sense of purpose anymore, where no friend could be found. It was him that she resided in; it was him that gave her shelter.

A friend he became over a short period of time: a locked spirit with all her secrets. Certainly if her parents or anyone found out the inflicting fitnah she is subscribing herself to, it would have ended what grew to be the unlawful love.

At times, without words but merely a stare into the meadow of her eyes and their tales, I could see her pain surfing through her hidden tears as she described their first kiss on this very bench:

At 8:30 PM after he class, she was holding on to herself sitting on this bench, knees bent as she was a ticking bomb waiting for something to pull her trigger and explode. She thought no one could find her, that she was alone when she yelled out “WHYYYYYYYY!”

She turned around and he was there, behind her, silent, merely standing there listening to the chimes of her clock ticking the countdown to her end. He knew where to find her, as if he only had to listen to his inner voice guiding him where to go. He knew what she was going through, with her father’s deterioration colliding with her dreams, with her mother’s daily refutation upon her weaknesses, with her unfair trials leading her astray. He knew all that, but all he could is stand back in silence.

He knew that if he pushed the wrong button, pulled the wrong string, did anything ordinary that she might jump off a cliff. He was confused as to what to do, but he waited until her arms opened wide for his soul, he waited until she demanded to survive, he just waited until the right moment to tell her:

“I love you. I love everything about you.

I love your shyness and excitements,

I love your diseases and cures,

I love your voice and silence,

I love you faults and strength,

I love your wrinkles when you smile,

your eyes when their silent,

your grin when angry,

your soul when its happy….

everything about you is me.

Even when the whole world disappears on you,

I will be standing behind you silently.

You might not see me,

but I’m there waiting when you fall to pick you up,

waiting for you to grow wings so we can fly away.

I will wait for you…”

She looked at him, disappeared into his soft eloquent words, forgot that she lived in this world and all she could see are clouds. She went beyond the skies above and now residing among the stars... and what’s facing her is the bright moon. All the sounds of the world disappeared with her fury, and all that remained are the sounds of his heart beat, every beat matching her heart’s. She found herself delving into his soul, letting go, silent breaths, sipping from the fountain of love. She found her self with tears flowing from the sudden enjoyment of life, her tears mixing with his, and became one struggle for one love... A sudden urge to live longer, the sudden urge to love.

Then reality set in like the colored horizon formed from a beautiful sun settting on a dark night, stumbled by thundery rain. They separated as if a meteorite has come full speed firing from above striking their locked lips. Only the moon shinning back on her, But the millions of stars witnessing this fallible journey.

What has happened? They both at a mere shock, uttered a silent wail underneath it all. A that long lost minute, they thought they had nothing to lose; Now, they have everything to loose, not only themselves, but the love that was dwindled by the silent mark of time.

A wave of fear spread through her body and caused her feet to run; run away from the beautiful nightmare, run away from the ONE, run away from it all.

As if she became blind and heartless, she couldn’t feel nor cry after that night. She knew that she trapped herself within the dark abyss and now left to mend alone: Obliterate the soft memory that squeezes her heart dry. Meanwhile, the only witness to this mess cornered himself at the other end of this world, and shackled his mind to never feel again.

Their night became a lost slumber to the broken record that kept repeating the 2 minute song of Track 20! When the courage overcame her and finally allowed herself to stand up, shamelly, in front of her lord, every word she seemed to utter was a punch to the stomach and a stab to the heart. The bottled tears rhymed with the duas, hands shaking high building the mystery. With all of this, she found herself uttering his name, silently, afraid that the very mention of his existence might reduce the chance of her forgiveness…Silently, she made the following prayer:

“Ya Allah. All along I believed that tribulation conquered my destiny, that there was no light at the end of the tunnel. All this time, I was lost from the righteous road to you, I was far off from reaching to your rope. Oh Lord, I have found a soul that nurtured my heart, even if my breath was overtaken by his might… Alhamdoulillah! Alhamdoulillah that the beautiful moment was defeated by your power. But now I must beg you to forgive me, but allow this soul to inhibit my body. I will not reach for him again, but you must….Please…. make him cross my path once more righteously! If you Will!”

How can he commit such crime of the heart to another heart whose already corrupted, giving her one more thing to think about? This is the moment of choice for him, the moment where the decision he will make, may make or break the already made history. Standing at the edge of the universe contemplating his existence and the soul he let go like a dove from his hand, he knew that at any moment a gush of wind my send him flying off the universe into the unknown.

What is standing before him are two, what promises nothing is staring back at him below over the edge, what promises everything are the skies above. Although a thundery cloud is what’s seen by the naked eye, but beyond is a masked heaven waiting to be inhibited by his soul and mate. It was the moment of truth:

He already professed his love for her, but could he mend the past and reckon a plan to attain her? He knew that she can no longer hold her self but merely swimming the seven seas floating on her back. How can he show her that his hands are safe to hold?

He faced the one above, shamely, acknowledging his failure of such trial, and allowing this moment of khushu3 turn into a dua that no heart has ever felt before:

“It is I, your slave, a mere dust floating midst your destined will. It is I: the sinful. I have professed my love for you, my lord, merely by words and heart, but my actions speak otherwise. I let my hands tie in her knot, I let my mouth speak her words, I let myself become her: Please don’t blame me.

Her love, I cannot control this flame that’s burning every ounce of my faith. Without her hand holding mine, forever in a holly land, I will be a mere particle illuminating nothing but darkness at night, and merely reflecting the light of others hearts by day. I, your slave, am not complete until she inhibits my body. It is You, my lord, that wills it all, so please make it easier on me to be patient until our paths meet again. It is You, the best of planners, I beg you to give me courage for whatever you lead me. It is I, the stranger, and Her heart I put on your hands.”

Days passed by, every sight of her emerged his stomach to delve backwards, the moment he hears her voice from afar his heart surfaces and his heart beats is heard. All while, he reasons she had stitched his mark of love, and sealed the scars he left wide open, erased the footsteps they left behind, and his name disappeared from her mind.

If only they knew that their two roads are one way streets, and the street lights are guided by Allah. It is patience that was inscribed to them, until the time is due to open their ways to cross. He wrote her a small note, inscribed in it were few words of wisdom [Be patient, Allah will make our way, I’ll be coming soon]…Enough to retrieve her lost hopes. If she truly believed in miracles of Allah, he thought, she would return the letter likewise. Indeed she had.

A year had passed by. 12 notes pocketed in a notebook under their beds, one for each month made to each other. Enough to stimulate his strength to go on with life, and induce a heart with the right amount of fuel to energize his will to Learn, to form wings to fly away with her on his back. She straightened her knees and stood tall firm on the ground, equipped herself with the right tools to form a true relationship with her lord, enough to withstand the tests of time. Until the very day he asked for her hand: Not easy to retrieve, so not surprising. Nothing comes easy to the believers; it is merely a way to form an appreciation to the entity you are striving for. His voice and energy depleted until he won her parents hearts…

holding her hand, they took their first steps of this life together circling the Ka’aba: renewed their intentions, pure, delicate…Forever they will be!

II. What Unites Us All

Thursday afternoon was scheduled for a lecture to perceive the existance of a human, made to be a prophet, but mistaken for a God: Jesus Christ. That is when I met my friend named Tom. Tom was a very friendly boy whose soul roamed from page to page in his little Bible pocket book. He loved, and from his heart he spoke. What was he searching for?

Tom came to the thursday lecture ready to back his Godly made prophet, but, the twinkle in his eye by the end of the heartfelt lecture conveyed it all. It was as if everything he believed in got shaken up, like an unexpected earthquake. He saw me with his child eyes and shook his head, "he merely took things out of context, I know the Bible is right!"

I reassured him that everything he said was right, and that if only we open our minds and step back, It is then that we are able to perceive the truth. That night, as he later said, was his awakening. He dreamt that a spirit inhibited his hollow body and he felt the presence of the "holly spirit". Calmed and soothed him so to not make a sound, as if everything was alright.
He then woke up from this serene dream, knowing that Jesus was the true God and Jesus was sending him messages that "Its ok, you faith must not shake!" How did I come to know all of this?

I was sitting on the very same bench on a friday morning, about an hour before the prescribed Jumu3a, reading and contemplating the Quran. A bright sunny day it was, a perfect day for a picknique, i thought. As I was going through the beautiful verses, Tom showed up.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked formerly. "Oh go ahead, I don't mind" I replied, very surprised. "Are you sure? I dont want to get you in trouble, you know your friends and all"...."Oh no, go ahead!" I thought that was very intersting how he cared that I might have cared what others might think...

As he was sitting there, he pulls out a small book, A baseball field on the cover. He starts reading the book, turning the pages ever so softly, as if it was given to him by his long gone grandmother. "What are you reading there?" he asked. I had tolled him that I was reading some verses of the quran. "Oh ya! would you care to share?"

Well, It so happens that I was reading Surah Baqarah, the creation of Adam and contemplating the purpose of life. So I started to explain the Quranic story, and he interupts by saying "I AM READING about the same thing!" wow, am I to be shocked or was it the perfect start to a beautiful conversation.

How can two random people, reading two different books, reading the same story, sitting on one bench. One thing led to the other, from the purpose of mankind, to the purification of the soul and heart, the concept of sin and evil, the concept of the love of the divine, the concept of .......God! Quoting from both the quran and the bible, we found each other AGREEING on 99% of everything, but we stumbled on the last thing:

Whether Jesus was crucified or not? This was going to be the turning point to both of our faiths. While Islam denies the claim of crucification, the christians have that one riddle to solve. That's it, other then that, everything from the Quran made sense to him, but he held on to that one verse of the bible that went along the lines of that you must believe that I was crucified to save you, and to perish your sins!

The time for my prayer has announced itself, so I had to go. He demanded that we must sit and contemplate upon life once more, but I just answered my most demanded worries, I am fulfilled with my decision to stand firm with ALlah's words! What will become of him?

I. The Bench

In the late afternoon, I walked away over shaken by unexpected news, that shackled my hands from behind, and corked my eyes…all I could do is walk….run….run away. In circles, like a mystic dervish finding its center of the world, finding its union with the One above. No where could I find the peace of mind except on one empty bench overlooking a water fountain. Its voice of serenity pronounced my inner feelings; it soon opened a path and unraveled the mysteries I layered inside. Over time, what was hardened and forgotten became so soft and eloquently flowed. Formed streams…finally releasing me towards my revival, my spiritual healing. Indeed, the fountain of mystery.

I found myself leading a direction towards the bench every time I wanted to breath, as if these pieces of wood clamped together by random number of nails are the perfect fit to my soul. It was on this bench that stories were made, the past was tolled, and the future waiting to form.
The bench was placed at a perfect position where all the forces of wind come together, and brush its flow on my hijab, into my clothes, and bathing me in its serenity. If I closed my eyes, I would be in midst green hills over looking Ireland, but it was only the fountains of UH. The number of souls found their way to this very bench is unknown, but I have encountered many of them, enough to form my stories, enough to form my past, and enough to expect from the future.

First words...

It was at the wake of time when all the souls seemed to perish, in a land no one can discover, in a land far away. A very wise man once said that it’s only a matter of time until you become acquainted with every soul that roamed this world, if only you chose to uncover the layer of the unknown.

Footsteps were left behind, and are kept being overtaken; but we rather believe we are alone, that we are the only souls that faltered, and that we are the only ones left on this earth. Our motivations are streamed to only consider our only hearts and history on the making. We tend to delve in inside our spirit of happiness, and forget the sorrow of others. We are, and what we become is a trait of uniqueness only granted by the One above.

What will become of this life if all the billions of souls are all unique, lost in the mother land, claiming to have the truth: that they own the most beautiful souls! However, what will become of this life if all the billions of souls are all alike, united in the motherland, claiming all the falsehood: that they don’t own a soul at all?

It was at these passing moments that we witness the test of time, and the test of souls. We get acquainted with familiar faces, and forget the ones that are lost. We become united by theories and philosophies, most of them formed from falsehood notion that life is merely a pass of time; thus, loose its purpose and wisdom. However, what unites us all is our little experiences, the “random” encounters, and how it effects us all.

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