Moment.

These moments..

In these moments we find our entire lives,
In these moments we see the veils rise up,
We start to see the Truth, the Haqq, behind our every breath,
Our very motions, thoughts, and desires are awoken.
Who we live for, what we live for, why we live,
Are all defined within the immediacy of these moments.

Which moments are these?

The ones where we learn what love is when we see the Light shining forth from our Grandfather’s eyes as he bask’s in the happiness of his grandchildren as they run around him.

The ones where the comforts of our family homes encompass the security & safety of our heart’s daily worries and stresses.

The ones where the aroma of Grandmother’s cooking overtakes our senses and lets us relish in the life long memories of her food, no matter childhood, adolescence, or young adulthood. Through just that aroma.

The ones where the never-ending screaming, running and laughing of the children completely go without discomfort due to the familiarity of its presence.

The ones where the late-night chants for pizza and sleepovers go heeded and unheeded, time and time again.

The ones where Ahmedy’s Rock & Rolling, and Amina’s jibber jabber all entice the rest of us to ponder upon their enchanting young characters. 😛

The ones where the thermoses of tea never end for our Mothers, and the Fathers dining room conference table never sees a day without some calendar plans for FL, Carib getaways, summer weekend vacations, or just next week’s memani.

And proudly, now, the ones where the black of the girl’s cloaks, and the whites of the boy’s thobes, mix and mesh night after night for a month long, standing and prostrating under Sayed Yahya’s beautiful deep recitation..

Where the prayers of the youth are embraced by their Mother’s and Grandmother’s greater dua for them. Where the efforts of the youth are pushed to their highest by the barakah of their Father’s and Grandfather’s prayers of nobility.

Which moments are these?

The ones where we see the true face of happiness as the thundering laughter of children rings out above all the other noise of the world, and we finally understand, this is what we live for.

Which moments…

The ones where the understanding between young, old, and middle aged come to a beautiful serenity through the exchange of a deep sense of communication, that which might not need words at certain times.

Which moments…

The ones in which the elderly are living their lives time and time again through the beauty of their young surrounding them with love and compassion. The ones in which the youth learn to sit still in complete awe of those who are trying to guide them through their pearls of wisdom and experience. The moments in which old and young alike learn the power of love just by looking into one anothers souls through the light shining forth from one another’s eyes.

What living is this, what life is this, that the Most Merciful has blessed us with? Where we see the circle of living and loving within our every breath, within our every day, within our every week’s end. It is something that purely amazes me, to the point that I sit and contemplate, what did we do… what did I do.. to deserve such bountiful love.

To see the Love of the Divine manifest in His creation, in pure form, is not easy in this world of chaos and confusion.
So to truly see that love come to life, through the plethora of family, is like witnessing heaven on earth. The pleasures of the Garden are infinite, so too, the pleasures of this love, of this eternal compassion stemming forth from the eyes of our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, is infinite.

God says “Neither My heaven nor My earth embraces me, but the heart of My believing servant does embrace Me.”

Do you take heed? Do you understand? Do you truly see? For if you do, then give your thanks, give your time, give your life to those who have given you so much already.

Thankfulness is an attribute to be understood, in good times and bad. It is this thankfulness that will take your soul to the skies after your body has left this earth. It is this thankfulness that your Creator will measure when He calculates the blessings and tribulations you have been given. For every tribulation is a blessing in disguise, never forget this. Even His shahr is His khayr. Even above sabr comes shukr. Above the patience in times of trial, comes gratitude. Once we understand this, we will have understood a few drops of His mercy.

Sacred.

Below is an incredibly insightful speech given by Chief Si’ahl of the Duwaish tribe in what is now the Washington state region. The speech was addressed in 1854 towards President Franklin Pierce in regards to the government’s offer to the indigenous tribes to purchase their land and place them on a reservation.  It is beautiful and worth your investment of time.

‘The great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him, since we know he has little need for our friendship in return. But we will consider your offer. For we know that if we do not sell, the white man may come with guns and take our land.

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us.

If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing, and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.

The white man’s dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man—all belong to the same family.

So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children. So we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.

The red man has always retreated before the advancing white man, as the mist of the mountain runs before the morning sun. But the ashes of our fathers are sacred. Their graves are holy ground, and so these hills, these trees, this portion of the earth is consecrated to us. We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers’ graves behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children. He does not care. His fathers’ graves and his children’s birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.

There is no quiet place in the white man’s cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of insect’s wings. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain or scented with the pinion pine.

The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath—the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And the wind must also give our children the spirit of life. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow’s flowers.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition: The white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.

I am a savage and I do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and I do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we agree, it will be to secure the reservation you have promised. There, perhaps, we may live out our brief days as we wish. When the last red man has vanished from this earth, and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, these shores and forests will still hold the spirits of my people. For they love this earth as the newborn loves its mother’s heartbeat. So if we sell you our land, love it as we’ve loved it. Care for it as we’ve cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you take it. And with all your strength, with all your mind, with all your heart, preserve it for your children, and love it . . . as God loves us all.

One thing we know, Our God is the same God. This earth is precious to Him. Even the white man cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see.

This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know: All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.

Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

But we will consider your offer to go to the reservation you have for my people. We will live apart, and in peace. It matters little where we spend the rest of our days. Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have felt shame, and after defeat they turn their days in idleness and contaminate their bodies with sweet foods and strong drink. It matters little where we pass the rest of our days. Tribes are made of men, nothing more. Men come and go like waves of the sea.

Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all; we shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover—our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. This earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man. Your destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires. Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say good bye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival..’

 

Many thanks to Brother Jehad Bittar for finding this gem

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