May 30, 2012
May 23, 2012
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
as a golden sword,
as lascivious velvet,
and full of wonder,
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
you feed on mortal
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left
of your immutable soul.
stirs the spring, happiness
bursts through the earth like a plant,
and rocky cliffs,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me
in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher
add to the kiss of love its own.
My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.
But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
the community of man,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we’re speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine.
January 31, 2012
It’s a story with multiple layers of messages about finding oneself (with Allah), our position in ultimate existence, our fitra, purification, detachment with this world, and so forth. And the meanings are only revealed as per the person’s level of understanding of these things. SubhanAllah the story is simultaneously touching, poignant, inspirational, and compels a lot of reflection and introspection. It makes me cry every time… and feeling quite regretful of my own shortcomings. I think it’s def a movie you guys would appreciate – R.P
December 15, 2010
January 13, 2010
May 21, 2009
Let us step through the dawning mist and awaken our senses,
for we have died and been born once again.
It is incredible, to look, to see, to appreciate all that has been..
And then to take a step forward knowing what is behind you,
Will not leave, will not disappear, but will be with you, now and for always.
For what isn’t disappearing, what isn’t illusionary, what isn’t temporarily before us..
It all comes, and so it all goes, where has it brought us, is what we must understand.
From there to here, and now, from here…to where.
Well let us stand still for a moment, to just look.. and see.
How far have we come, how far will we go..
Ilm o Amaal.
The path of the quluub will never cease to be lit…
It is with that fire that we see, that we listen, that we will.
So, let the quluub breathe once again.
Let the ruuh expand yet again, let the souls ease with patience and serenity,
Thus we shall know, and keep knowing.
~Dar bahr-i Khudah, ba fazleh tauwfiq-i Khudah.
February 20, 2009
“The moon came to me last night
With a sweet question.
‘The sun has been my faithful lover
For millions of years.
Whenever I offer my body to him
Brilliant light pours from his heart.
Thousands then notice my happiness
And delight in pointing
Toward my beauty.
Is it true that our destiny
Is to turn into Light
And I replied,
Now that your love is maturing,
We need to sit together
Close like this more often
So I might instruct you
How to become
~ Khwajeh Shams ad-Din Muhammad ‘Hafiz’-e Shirazi (Faithful Lover)
The seperation… has led to only the greatest realization! The physical seperation has only been created to show us the path to the spiritual union. What else is this life if not the beautiful path adorned with gardens, golds, and waters, pointing us to the Divine, to the Creator of all, Sustainer of all, the One and only who can gratify all desires. Nothing is without Him, nothing will be without Him, He is the Giver, and the Taker. Only He.
Do not seek other than Him, you will only end up with dust…
October 16, 2008
Musa and the Shepherd
Moses heard a shepherd on the road praying, “God,”
where are You? I want to help You, to fix Your shoes
and comb Your hair. I want to wash Your clothes
and pick the lice off. I want to bring You milk,
to kiss Your little hands and feet when it’s time
for You to go to bed. I want to sweep Your room
and keep it neat. God, my sheep and goats
are Yours. All I can say, remembering You,
is ayyyy and ahhhhhhhhh.”
Moses could stand it no longer.
“Who are you talking to?”
“The One who made us,
and made the earth and made the sky.”
“Don’t talk about shoes
and socks with God! And what’s this with Your little hands
and feet? Such blasphemous familiarity sounds like
you’re chatting with your uncles.
Only something that grows
needs milk. Only someone with feet needs shoes. Not God!
Even if you meant God’s human representatives
as when God said, ‘I was sick, and you did not visit me,’
even then this tone would be foolish and irreverent.
Use appropriate terms. Fatima is a fine name
for a woman, but if you call a man Fatima,
it’s an insult. Body-and-birth language
are right for us on this side of the river,
but not for addressing the Origin,
not for Allah.”
The shepherd repented and tore his clothes and sighed
and wandered out into the desert.
A sudden revelation
came then to Moses. God’s voice:
You have separated Me
from one of my own. Did you come as a Prophet to unite,
or to sever?
I have given each being a separate and unique way
of seeing and knowing and saying that knowledge.
What seems wrong to you is right for him.
What is poison to one is honey to someone else.
Purity and impurity, sloth and diligence in worship,
these mean nothing to Me.
I am apart from all that.
Ways of worshipping are not to be ranked as better
or worse than one another.
Hindus do Hindu things.
The Dravidian Muslims in India do what they do.
It’s all praise, and it’s all right.
It’s not Me that’s glorified in acts of worship.
It’s the worshippers! I don’t hear the words
they say. I look at the humility.
That broken-open lowliness is the Reality,
not the language! Forget phraseology.
I want burning, burning.
with your burning. Burn up your thinking
and your forms of expression!
those who pay attention to ways of behaving
and speaking are one sort.
Lovers who burn
Don’t impose a property tax
on a burned out village. Don’t scold the Lover.
The “wrong” way he talks is better than a hundred
“right” ways of others.
Inside the Kaaba
it doesn’t matter which direction you point
your prayer rug!
The ocean diver doesn’t need snowshoes!
The Love-Religion has no code or doctrine.
So the ruby has nothing engraved on it!
It doesn’t need markings.
God began speaking deeper mysteries to Moses. Vision and words,
which cannot be recorded here, poured into
and through him. He left himself and came back.
He went to Eternity and came back here.
Many times this happened.
It’s foolish of me
to try and say this. If I did say it,
it would uproot our human intelligences.
It would shatter all writing pens.
Moses ran after the shepherd.
He followed the bewildered footprints,
in one place moving straight like a castle
across a chessboard. In another, sideways,
like a bishop.
Now surging like a wave cresting,
now sliding down like a fish,
with always his feet
making geomancy symbols in the sand,
his wandering state.
Moses finally caught up
“I was wrong. God has revealed to me
that there are no rules for worship.
and however your loving tells you to. Your sweet blasphemy
is the truest devotion. Through you a whole world
Loosen your tongue and don’t worry what comes out.
It’s all the Light of the Spirit.”
The shepherd replied,
I’ve gone beyond even that.
You applied the whip and my horse shied and jumped
out of itself. The Divine Nature and my human nature
Bless your scolding hand and your arm.
I can’t say what has happened.
What I’m saying now
is not my real condition. It can’t be said.”
The shepherd grew quiet.
When you look in a mirror,
you see yourself, not the state of the mirror.
The fluteplayer puts breath into a flute,
and who makes the music? Not the flute.
Whenever you speak praise
or thanksgiving to God, it’s always like this
dear shepherd’s simplicity.
When you eventually see
through the veils of how things really are,
you will keep saying again
“This is certainly not like we thought it was!”
Mathnawi II 1720-96, from This Longing: Poetry, Teaching Stories, and Selected Letters,
translated by Coleman Barks and John Moyne (Putney, Vt.: Threshold Books, 1988), pp.
I absotively love this story! Ah, Subhan’Allah…
May 12, 2008
Those That are Truly Pious
The truly pious sisters never do anything to ever jeopardize their haya
The truly pious sisters have a deep attachment to salah
They have noor dripping from their faces
They are never to be found in all the wrong places
The truly pious sisters are always glowing
They are not the ones that have all their limbs showing
Rather they are those that wear abayas; long, loose and flowing
And when they are tested by Allah they increase their ibadah and keep going
They are mindful of their speech and never engage in idle talk
And they are not amongst those that wish to be noticed when they walk
They are those that have ilm and are constantly seeking
They have the best adab, ahklaq, and manner of speaking
Just like the truly pious sisters there are only a few truly pious brothers
And the truly pious brothers take care of their sisters and mothers
The truly pious brothers have exemplary ahklaq
Pants rolled above the ankle and carrying a miswak
The truly pious brother is cautious about violating others rights
And you can hear his attachment to the Quran with every Surah he recites
His forehead has the mark that only one can get from praying tahajjud every night
Noor eminates from him, and every strand of his beard twinkles like a light
And if the time comes to fight, then he will not take flight
He will enter the battlefield strong like a knight
The truly pious brother makes dua to Allah for his enemies to be guided
And doesn’t incite hatred towards other Muslims, lest we become more divided
The truly pious brother’s eyes are always looking toward the ground
Lowering the gaze because non-mahram women are around
He never insults or curses anyone, and never wastes time
He’s always just with others and keeps his nafs in line
The truly pious brother is always trying to learn more in the deen
Traveling for the sake of ilm is a regular routine
The truly pious brother is always making istigfar for the sins that he may or may not have done.
And he is not the lazy, depressed or pessimistic one
The truly pious brother loves for his brother what he loves for himself
He is never satisfied with his condition, so he is always improving himself
And you will find that the truly pious sisters have sabr and complete tawakkul in Allah
And the truly pious brothers have devoted themselves to seeking the pleasure of Allah
And you will find that those that are truly pious are like the scent of perfume in the air
To the average Muslim, they just don’t compare
They are like precious jewels that are extremely rare
Remaining in their pure form because they are unfit to wear
So if you want to marry from amongst those that are truly pious, then be worthy and not obscene
And don’t waste your time looking for them in places that they would never dare to be seen
You would never go to a swamp to discover a pearl!
Unless instead of a pious woman you want a cover girl!
And if you think that you can go to a garbage dump in search of diamonds
Then that is because you’re looking for Cubic Zirconia, and not those that are truly pious
March 17, 2008
Spring Aphorisms Told by a Sunlit Rock
By Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore
If you comb your hair forward over a bald spot
don’t expect the wind to cooperate.
Slick ice horizontal is more fatal than slick ice vertical.
The mane of a rose doesn’t make it a lion
If stairways appeared in your mouth would those who enter
descend into fetid cellars or rise into solariums of light?
Eyes reveal what words conceal.
Words conceal what the heart feels.
The heart feels what distant meadows in
absolute solitude do at the
break of day.
Orange sunlight in shafts of gold hit the
heart’s meadows damp with dew.
The Iron Age was human beings hammering out
a few tools a lifetime.
Does technology have to lead to such gluttonous excess?
The jaws of the desert open wider than the
stomachs of forests.
Each inch of rainforest is kissed by acres of
rainfall leaning into its green mirror.
A mist wipes away cosmetic glamour.
King Midas couldn’t eat a seed, or drink a
drop of water.
At least poverty partakes of the wisdom of the dead —
everyone inhabits a pauper’s grave at last.
The wristwatch is our personal Doomsday Book.
There’s no song like the present
that began before throats first opened
and goes on when the last ear has been sealed.
Death is Spring spelled backwards.
Spring is a sunlit rock.
-Seasons Journal- Zaytuna Institute.