a daylight dream

I will never regard myself as proficient in language until I have found enough words to give thanks. As I walked this crisp morning, crows hollered at me as they ruffled their feathers on barren silk floss trees in tormenting dismay. They sped through the pristine sky with their pointed beaks in fatherly dominion as if taken aback by me not bowing to their distinctive dawn chorus. And oh, it is such a pristine, clear dawn— a gift from the southern and western winds the day before. If it weren’t for the hostile dryness of last afternoon, the sand bellowing in excrements, it wouldn’t have brought us northern, moist and friendly clouds. It wouldn’t have made spring possible, without the rather inapparent dew that covers the grounds for the grass blades to shoot in confident conviction for its place in the wilderness. How I felt agony at my heedless planting of chamomiles when it was not timely, they would have been better planted in warmer times. I always wondered why bananas and strawber...

Our wounds have been carried to healing shores and for this, all is a gift. Wordlessness combats the never-ending drive to say something of use, and even at peak moments of delight, there is not much to say. Do you hear my heartsong? This life is a gift of purification, even the darkest seasons show us the need to detach from non-surrendering convictions. And how I fall to my knees now in deep thanks for all the things that keep resistance afloat so that it can be carried gently to loving lands. All what cut deep in hurt, so unjustifiably, made us realise that beneath it all is a fabric of truth were loved is weaved in through. I look at all what I’ve never accepted, and it collapses, even dissolves in the light of God’s unrequited kindness. I’m wordless and I see our wounds. The gift is the smallness that carries us to forgiveness.

I never really though life could be lived with such effortlessness. The most intimately beautiful things that have occurred to me were merely gifts. I grew up knowing for sure that chasing ideals was the way forward. But how is it possible that I don’t need to do anything to receive substantial blessings that turn my world around? It keeps happening over and over again. Blessings fall from open skies to my open heart, and right in time. In retrospect, even the delay is a gift. There is no way now but to walk through the alleyways of this world with trust that all is guided and foreordained— the faintest whispers of my soul have already been heard. It requires both time and timelessness to receive, and somewhere in between, one spends the time in forgiveness and selfless giving. That is the change of heart, it seems. It is subtle and faint, hardly noticeable, a transformation that sheds the weight of fear and uncertainty. All at once, the sky floods with all what we need with unrequited...

I know I am a human, and in Arabic  insan , coming from the root word  forget . I know I have forgotten my essence, my truth, my God and my path of surrendered love to Him. Yet, I remembered, and in those glimpses, it feels like all is well, all is cosmically aligned, integrated, entwined, balanced, recycled. In those glimpses, all need dissolves. I remembered, and I changed. I don’t need to look into a mirror to see myself— I see myself in all that is my life; wherever there is darkness, there is me, too. I remember, oh God, I remember. I remember once, I was so intimate with your wisdom. I knew You, and I trusted your power. I trusted and gratitude overcame me. I surrendered and nothing mattered anymore. In between forgetfulness, I remember again, and it is so elusively sweet to remember your Love and your compassion, your flooding benevolence. It’s all there is. My fluid joy manifests beauty in the world, and truth is expressed through me. My existence becomes your servant....