.بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
(Heads-up: this one is quite… sad).
فَمَا لِعَيْنَيْكَ إِنْ قُلْتَ أكْفُفَا هَمَتَا
وَمَا لِقَلْبِكَ إِنْ قُلْتَ اسْتَفِقْ يَهِمِ
So, what grieves your eyes so, that when you tell them to hold back their tears,
They still continue to weep more?
And what unsettles your heart so, that when you bid it awake:
it wanders about further in distraction?
[Lines taken from Qasida al-Burda (‘Poem of the Mantle’), by Al-Busiri, 7th Century]
The eyes reveal so much. They show, are signs pointing towards: love, and interest, and disinterest, and longing. Anger, and sadness, pain, forlornness, or when a person might be tired. Excitement, and wonder, playfulness, and slyness. Uncertainty, distraction, softness, and shyness.
The eyes bleed in pain, sometimes, but we find that only water falls out. Transparent, to others’ eyes, but urgent, blood-red, in our own.
The heart, meanwhile, is your beating core of being. Though the mind can ‘rationalise’, seek to make ‘academic’ lots of things: your heart is your compass. North Star, intuitive guide. The distraction means something, and your tears will not be told to stop. They — heart and eyes — are telling you something of truth, so please: listen to them.
Trauma. It’s something that ‘changes you’. You walked on some sort of ground, only to discover that it just takes — barely even — a day, or a night. You felt ‘secure’ in something: routines, dependencies, understandings. ‘Planned’ for things, in that mind of yours. And then —
A car filled with her family, and her things — left that same driveway, under the cherry trees, and then drove out of view. For the last time. And you ‘did something wrong’, and you’re something like a ‘bundle of mistakes’; it’s hard to recall if, at least at times, you have ever been ‘okay’ and right.
Catastrophe: a breaking. You can almost even hear it in the word itself. People ‘move on’: to new worlds, people, new loves, and newer friends. Do you matter?
These memories, the ‘mistakes’: they course through your blood, at times keep you awake. [Integral to the fact of our humanity, these here flaws are.] Are you ‘good enough’? [Well, actually, ‘good enough’ has never been ‘good enough‘ a label to encapsulate you]. And then —
Somebody goes to sleep, and does not wake up the next morning. The heart mourns, aches, and falls heavy. Eyes tell the truth, though your words might say, “I’m okay”, “I’m okay”, “I’m okay”.
Injuries arise, and illnesses occur.
Do people go, to different people, and places, and leave you here, without them? Can people see the scars that stain your skin; the blood behind your eyes?
Traumatic happenings are practically inevitable. We hurt as a result of them; our wounds heal, bit by bit, with time. Blood congeals: it won’t always be so hard. You’ll get on with things; unexpectedly wonderful things will happen, over and over again. Breathe.
And: we learn through them. Grow through them. We were birthed in… trauma. And it tends to lead to, with time and patience, at least something, or a bundle of things, beautiful:
“So indeed, with difficulty, there is ease. Indeed with difficulty, there is ease.”
— Qur’an (94:5-6)
[It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, and you will, In Shaa Allah, be alright.]
And if the weight of the loss has been heavy: it just means that the value of the love has been so much of light.