بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
It’s the way that the sunshine touches you. الشمس. Through whichever glass means it is given a way to: whether that be
Newish-style city bus, trundling almost soundlessly through marble city streets. Or rain-stained dusty train windows, and tear-wounded cheeks.
And the orange-yellow smell of suncream, hopeful and cooling and promising. How it shields you at least a little; how it sticks to your hands, your face, your skin.
The love of rolling the windows down in the car, and sticking your head out a little:
And the wind. Like the whole world is small, and big, enough. And you just need to polish the seeing-glass a little, let the sun kiss your skin, the light touch your heart.
The human eyes: ‘windows to the soul’. They don’t lie. And you’ll see tenderness, sometimes. And fear at others. People weakened, and gently quaking.
If this whole little life is struggle, then look with keen eyes to find the sweetness. It’s ‘little’ good opportunities:
To tell somebody you love them again. To err, humanly. And to be given that chance to try again, a better time.
I know that I am not God.
And that Allah alone Decides.
When, and what, and why. Unique trials, and blessings. Whatever it is: it’s for you, and for nobody else but you.
That I could look back and say sorry, maybe a hundred thousand times.
And look forward: to unique and different, different times.
I’m sorry that. And that. And that I didn’t quite meet those marks.
And I’m happy that. And that. And that I’m who and what and where my very Creator has Chosen for me to be. It’s a comforting thought:
Qadr is Qadr, and Du’as to Allah can be powerful.
One cannot look back with anything but contentment. A reason to do better now, and a drive to look forward, window zapped down, at least a little. Feel goodness, and sunshine, and wind, and comfort, and even air pollution, upon your very skin.
Yesterday, my friend ع and I ate outside. On wooden benches, and with the trees in our lungs. And it was sunny. I’m glad we decided to eat and sit outside.
And I’m glad that we got that reminder, in one of our classes: about how a Muslim should have beauty in his heart.
And in his clothes, and in her words, and in his ways of doing things. It’s the religion of moderation, and of contentment. If you fulfil this trust correctly: then walk humbly, and with beauty. Knowing that you, by the Decision and Will of Allah , are a part of Jannah, walking through this Earth.
So: to keep our hearts clean. And to let the light in. And to try to give some of it off too. Like musk, like the colour white.
And like the flicker and the fragrance and the flame of blessed candlelight.
The Sun — الشَّمسُ
Glass — زُجَاجٌ
The heart — القَلب
Light — نُور
Wind — الرِّيحُ
Beauty — جَمَال // حَسنَاء
Candle — شَمعَةٌ
نَافِذَة — Window
Blessed — مُبارَكٌ
Fragrant — عَطِر