No Mercy for Fools!

     And it was so painful to him to realize that all that time he was such a fool. Her fool!! He totally believed her. Totally believed in her. An angel from outside, but a devil from inside. So ugly, so scornful! He thought she was a saint, while she was nothing near it! All this time she was using him. Playing with him like a silly puppet. He kept on thinking about her and that she deserves all the goodness in the world. He even thought that he could take a bullet for her sake! He trusted her blindly, without reading the rules of the trust game manual! Trust Game for Dummies: Rule #1--She bluffs, he calls, she's the winner and he's the crying loser!! 

     He was an easy prey and fell into the webs of this 'black widow' so willingly! She strikes her thorny fangs and sucks his streaming blood, and he is still totally blinded! Call it a miracle that he got saved before she surrounds him with her 8 hideous legs and turns him into a lifeless skeleton: for her webs were as fragile as her lies and deception! 

     So he fell, hardly conscious, with a very slow recovery to come. She is still winning, temporarily, seeking another prey and another blood to suck, another game to play. And he lost, but no more a loser! No mercy for fools, that is true. But once a fool, never a fool, for at last he saw her dark side and broke through her multiple masks. She is totally exposed! And he is finally released...

دعنا ننطلق .. معاً

هل أتاك ذلك الشعور بأنك تدور في حياتك في حلقات فارغة مفرغة، و كلما حاولت الاقتراب من مركز أية دائرة من الدوائر العدة التائه بها كلما كان الابتعاد. فتظل تدور وتدور دون توقف و دون جدوى! وتدور دون حتى نقطة تلاق مع أي كائن من كان يمكنه أن يهون عليك مشقة الدوران أو حتى أن يشاركك. كأنك تعيش في عالم خاص منغلق مخيف لا يجرؤ أحد على الاقتراب منه أو على الأقل محاولة اختراق أسواره الهشة. كأنك تتحدث بلغة لا يفهمها أحد و لا يحاول أحد تحدثها أو التعامل بها أو معها ولو بالإشارة، ولم العناء! ابق في عالمك المغلق و سد فتحات كهوفك بالحجارة القاسية و أجج فوهات براكينك بالحمم الحامية و املأ حقولك الخضراء بأبابيل الطير الأسود الضارية و أغرق بحورك بالأمواج العاتية... ابق في مكانك و دعنا و شأننا، فأنت لا تستحق أن نتكبد من أجلك مخاطرة مواجهة المجهول وإن بدا حسن الطالع! اندمج مع العوالم المختلفة و تحدث بلغة غيرك و تخلى عن كهوفك و أخمد براكينك و آنس طيرك و حول بحورك أنهار وستجد نقطة التلاق، وعندها ستجدنا أول من يهون عليك أي عناء و يشاركك أي حدث! إفعل ذلك، ودعنا ننطلق .. معاً ....

At the Dark Alley of Life

At the dark alley of life, there they slither;
There is always a buyer for every commodity,
A dog barking at its own reflection.

A Message

Writing to you what I dare not say,
Saying to myself what I failed to portray;
Thoughts drift through seas of ink on piles of tidy paper,
Feelings flow insomuch that each word turns into a skyscraper,
But all are to wear out.
Paper boats sailing in seas of turbulent thoughts nestled,
Paper planes flying over skyscrapers of streaming emotions unsettled. 

Living in a Chessboard, or in a Painting

It is as living in a chessboard; every move counts, directly towards fate.
Every step needs serious planning, or else .. Checkmate!
But am I the player or just a wooden piece on the plate?

Like being in a picture surrounded by a frame so obtuse,
The frame is cracked, and the picture is broken loose,
But am I the painter or just a painted figure in recluse?

I am my own player, but sometimes others' wooden piece,

I paint my own life, but my whole existence is a masterpiece,

But whether a game or a work of art, my meditation is never to cease.

Who Am I?

Am I my father's likeness, or maybe my mother's resemblance?
Am I a human being, flesh and mind and soul?
Or maybe a mere container of maps of genes and cells?
My veins and arteries are roads and blood is its passengers.
My bones are the residence and the flesh and muscles are its inhabitants.
And my skin is the stretched coating, covering this whole city!
Am I the only conscious being in this world?
Can I feel what people feel, think about what people think about?
After all, do they feel or think at all?!
What does it take to feel alive? What is meant by 'life'?
Metabolism maybe? Growth? Adaptation? Response to stimuli? Or even reproduction?
So what about sharing, learning, loving, caring, thinking, dreaming, or even blaring?
Am I someone whose ancestors were long ago thrown in this world, a consequence for their sin?
Am I a sinner? Am I a repenter?
The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing.
To err is human, but to err humble is divine!
Are my thoughts the outcome of my body functions or just a means for setting my life course?
My thoughts are my beliefs, my beliefs are my behavior, and my behavior is my attitude!
I am the son of my father and mother, a creation of my Almighty.
I am a conscious being, but not so conscious.
I am rational and emotional, yet relative and not absolute.
My life is a fruit, so fresh and beautiful: not so ripened, but not at all ripped.
Science means everything to me, but so is religion.
My ancestors are me; their sin is the gate to the sanctuary of my repentance.
I am who I am, what I am, and where I am.
Another breath on the wall. A body, mind, and soul.
I am a human being...

In the Operating Room

The Day of Surgery. It is 6:30 am. The loud ringing of the alarm clock is shattering the peace of such quiet morning, but seems that this peace has been already shattered for some time now as I have been already awake. Maybe I am letting my nervousness and worry from that day take control of my thoughts and senses. It is my first surgery ever, and, ironically enough, it is the only type of surgeries which makes me simply breathless whenever I watch it or hear someone talking about it! Now I have an hour before I head to the hospital, enough time to remind myself of the plan for the surgery: go through it, hang tough, get out of it standing tall. A plan so simple! As much as I hope that the Matrix's famous line "There is no spoon!" applies here, I am pretty sure that there will be not just a spoon, but a whole silverware! Where is Neo now when you need him?!! 

In the Hospital. It is 8:30 am. I checked in into the reception and went for the nursing department to do the final check-ups before the surgery, and then a long wait ... Waiting for my turn, for my name to be called. It is interesting how masterful I am in hiding all the nervousness and the shiver deep inside while appearing so calm and in control from the outside. The longer I wait, the colder it gets, the more I recall all the thoughts that prevented me from having a good night sleep the night before, the more the effort I exert to bury the shivers under the soil of my innerness. Then, the waiting is over.

In the Operating Room. It is 9:30 am. I am inside the operating reception room, all by myself: no companion, no support, even no clothes but that loose blue garment and that white baggy head cover. The wheel bed is set, the needle is in my vein, and the solution is in my blood. Being all set, there I am transported to this fully equipped room. There are the bright lights above my head, so bright like the day light. And there I get swallowed inside these lights, totally embraced by its chilly rays. The surgery begins...

Where am I? I remember that vast green meadow, with its tender sun, its delightful weather, and its evergreen trees and colorful flowers dancing happily in the fresh breeze. One of my oldest dreams. And there I am, a little child, running and running without getting tired, feeling so cheerful with that pure smile drawn on his innocent face. A scene so pleasant to the beholder.

Suddenly it gets dark, and there are a couple of surgeons performing a surgery to somebody. And the closer I get, the more amazed I become, for that 'somebody' is no one else but myself! Is this a dream? Or maybe a nightmare! and if so, will I ever wake up from it?? I can see the patient shaking, but so am I. I can feel the patient is semi-conscious, but so am I too. A trembling image of some kind of spectrum, longing to return to its flesh and blood form. Then a voice comes from nowhere: "Hang tough, it is almost over." It looks like the voice of salvation, and upon following it, the darkness gradually fades. The surgery is over.

Deliverance. I do not know what time it is. I am not sure where I am. I am sure of only one thing: it feels so cold in this place! So there I go, or I am helped to go, to the same operating reception room, and here I am, standing tall, taking careful steps towards the door of deliverance. The shiver is withering, the lights are glowing, warmth is finding its way inside my heart. Strangely enough, I see a picture of that same green vast meadow on my way outside. More strangely enough, I feel like that little boy, so happy and willing to run and run without getting wearied. The spectrum is liberated to join its fellow sun beams. I am free.

That First Love...

Have you ever had a first love? That first instance of a feeling towards a person of affection or passion so great, that it makes you just paralyzed: unable to control your senses for they are totally occupied with the pleasant picture of such lover. Well, I had one.

People believe that the first love is the most sincere, yet the most reckless, especially when you encounter it at such a young age, like a child in a primary school. It is the kind of love that might not be defined as love, seen from the eyes of a youngster, but it just remains deep inside as long as one lives!

That girl from the other class, it is difficult to recognize why, or how, I still remember her. Why am I even having these thoughts now?! I hope there is some good reason behind this! I still remember the way I kept looking at her, totally love-struck, totally infatuated, like someone who drank an excessive dose of a love potion to the extent that he got totally captivated to the enchanting impact of her enjoyable presence. I still remember her innocent face, her neat long hair and elegant way of dress, and, most importantly, her performance as a student. It is so strange that the first thing that made me so attracted to her was her cleverness: so hard to imagine that a child could think like this! She was the top of her class (3/A) and I was the top of mine (3/B). She was not the most beautiful girl at my year, yet tell that to little cupid! 

I still remember those very few times when I collected my whole grains of courage to go and talk to her, yet that could not prevent myself to stumble even at the minutest rock and to fumble even at the smallest talk. And when she sees that she just gives me that tender smile that makes me just fly above the ground, feeling the strength of the mighty Hercules or receiving the enthusiasm and energy of a hundred boys of my age. And that was enough for me.
Such 'Platonic love story' continued till the end of the primary stage, when we had to take different roads and go to different schools for the preparatory stage. It is funny that like 10 or 15 years later, I came across her by chance. The odd thing is that I directly realized her; she did not change much, but just became taller and veiled, a grown-up. However, the bizarre thing is that at this time my feeling was not love; it was like a shock, a fear from a ghost withdrawn a long time ago, an incarnation of some kind of memory kept deep inside that came back to the surface out of the blue. And like the old days, I stood watching her from a distance, but this time mainly surprise-struck. And like the old days, I just went away without saying a single word, for such memory belongs to the deeps and got no place on the surface. People are true to say that first love is like an ever-green tree with its deep roots planted inside us, but it just stays inside .. where it belongs ...

A Difficult Talk

     "Because I'm afraid of you!" he says with a trembling voice, leaving her shocked from such an unexpected answer. "Yes .. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid about you. I'm afraid for you ... I'm just afraid that you'd love me!" Then silence roams the place...... 

     He thinks again about what he has just said. How could he say that to her? He has never been that open to anybody to say what he really feels. He has always liked that sense of mystery that people felt in him. A man of few words, a man of integrity. He respects everybody and expects everybody to respect him in return. He does not like to hurt anybody so that nobody would hurt him. He never gave importance about what people would say about his extreme calmness and his many times of solitude: some would say he is so intelligent, so innocent and kind, while others would think he is arrogant, complicated, not social, tight minded, or even a psychopath!

     She, on the other hand, does not know what to think about. How could he be afraid of her? What does he mean? Afraid of loving her?! No, it was afraid that she loves him!! She wants to reply to him but she just cannot. Her feminine pride tells her to tell him that she has never loved him, that love has never been a part of the equation. But has love really not been part of the equation?! They have known each other for enough time now that if she lies he would sense it, the same as her sensing it when he even tries to twist the truth about anything. So she remains silent, hoping he would liberate her of such prison of quietness, a prison she cannot bear.
     "Do you think I cannot notice what is happening here? Do you think I cannot see the shine in your eyes that exists for nobody but me? We have known each other for a long time now ... You are a beautiful human being. Everything about you is just perfect: inner beauty and outer beauty, a mind so bright, a heart so pure. God knows that you are someone dear to me, someone I respect so much. But this cannot happen. This is a mistake. That is not the way things should go ... I felt that day would come. I tried to escape from it, but I was deep inside sure that sooner or later we should have this talk, this so difficult talk."

Black and White

Imagine yourself living back at those days of the black and white ..... 

When the people had manners and respected each other, old or young ... When they had this peace of mind, when they honestly smiled (a rare occasion these current days!) ... When everything and everyone got taste: The taste of the fresh food that is not contaminated by some greed or indifference and dishonesty, the taste of the new clothes well woven and sincerely made, the taste of the long-living appliances and devices staying from generation to generation as hard as a rock (not as fragile as a china plate like nowadays'!), the taste of the refreshing clean air and the beautiful view of those distinguished buildings and neat streets and green everywhere, and most importantly the taste of the people, doing everything in their life with taste ... No wonder that the people at those days used to live longer and enjoy superior health and better living no matter how simple or even primitive it was (although they did not witness such advances in technology or medicine which are supposed to have been produced to ensure a safer and longer and more enjoyable life, ironically enough, or maybe sorrowfully enough!).
When the country was a real country, its people feeling the pride of being related to it and the enthusiasm to defend it against any harm and to make it a leading place .. When the corruption was there, but not that evident, not that dominant .. When religion was a true faithful message for the good of humanity, not a means for some personal interest or some cheap trade .. When a man was a real man and a woman was a real woman, every one has a particular role, accepting their differences and even encouraging each other to build a sound society, not exchanging roles and fighting and harassing each other .. When love was grace and not some kind of lust, when emotions were idealistic and  not materialistic .. When schools and universities were real minarets of science and education and illumination, real teachers and real students .. When everything was either black or white, unlike today's multicolor living, with the colors so multiple that we are losing perception!
As life goes on, it is supposed to get better (like the progress from black and white to technicolor). But it seems that, as life goes on, same as humans, the world suffers from aging, experiencing the common symptoms of senility: a tasteless, meaningless, disrupted, weak, and dying life!

The Fallen

He fell .... He fell for her innocent smiles and her inviting looks. For her stunning beauty and attractive charms. For her softness and tenderness and her sweet seductive voice. He likes her long hair and her colored eyes, along with some other physical things, but not worthy to tell. He keeps on thinking of nothing but her. Like an addict to some kind of drug, one day away and he just goes lunatic. All in the name of love.

Women are the best distractors, or so they say. And he got distracted!

It's amazing how a woman's weakness can be the source of her utmost strength. How easy it is a job to manipulate and have full control of even the strongest man. The strongest physically, for sure; the strongest mentally, maybe; the strongest spiritually, never!

He fell and fell and kept on falling, a victim of his ugly lust. "This is the best day of my life. I'm on top of the world!" or so he thinks. But from the highest top to the lowest bottom, a faraway distance, and there he lies. So far below.

She .... She fell for his handsomeness and his smiling face. For his manly calm voice and strength. She likes his sweet words, his care and gentleness, and also other things, not worthy to tell. She keeps on thinking of him, her knight in shining armor and savior. Willing to give him anything he asks for .. anything .. all in the name of love!

Women are easily blinded by sweet words and thoughtless emotions, or so it's said. And she got blinded!

It's striking how a woman's weakest part could be both her ears and her heart. A sensitive string to play upon, to juggle with even the most immune woman. Physically immune, certainly; mentally immune, perhaps; spiritually immune, not a chance!

She fell and fell and kept on falling, a casualty of her deficient commonsense. "You're my king and I'm your queen. Happily ever after!" or so she thinks. King and queen on the throne of sin, and there they lie damned evermore.

They both fell .... They fell for their weaknesses, for their ignorance and vanity. For their full indulgence in worldly indecent matters and full oblivion of most decent ones. But like all dark times, soon a ray of light appears. Repentance is the word, with true honest regret. Hope always exists, and His Mercy covers all. Rise up and fall no more, and have sincere faith, for darkness is only in the mind and in the heart. And soon you'll be asked, so are you ready to answer?

Cross Thy Ruins

Lost in the ruins of an old dream
Trying to cope with the running stream
Escaping from the reality of a present life
Trying to endure such a daily strife!

Looking everywhere like a runaway thief
Running hastily without a moment of relief
Carrying a fancy crime on his bare shoulders
The panic of crossing the ugly truth's borders

Lost in the ruins of an ancient world
Roaming through its memories as freely as a bird
Waiting for a time to come but in vain
Waiting for the Guidance to a world more humane

A soldier in his shining armor, all by his own
Fight after fight, not a single groan
Miles and miles from home, yet still walking ahead
Faith pumping the heart, and prudence nourishing the head.

سائح في بلاد التصوف

     مررت البارحة بتجربة؛ هي ليست بالجديدة بالنسبة لي، حيث إن هذه ليست المرة الأولى التي أذهب بها إلى ذلك المكان أو أرى ما رأيت أو حتى أفعل ما فعلت، ولكنها المرة الأولى التي أرغب حقا في الكتابة عنها لتدوين بعض الملاحظات التي بدت جلية لي ولقليل من المتواجدين بالتأكيد. 

     اليوم كله عمةً مضى على طريق غير مخطط له. فبدأ اليوم باستيقاظي في الصباح الباكر ليوم الجمعة قبل ساعات من التوقيت الذي كنت قد حددته سلفاً على المنبه مساء الليلة الفائتة لذلك اليوم لإيقاظي بوقت كافي قبل الصلاة للإفطار و الاستعداد للذهاب للمسجد الملاصق للبيت تقريبا. وعلى غير المخطط لم أكمل نوم تلك الساعات الباقية و ظللت مستيقظاً، فتمت دعوتي للذهاب إلى ذلك المكان فرفضت اولاً ثم وافقت على الذهاب. وعلى الرغم من أني (كسائر مرشحي الرئاسة في بلدي تلك الأيام) "لم أكن أنتوي" الترشح ... أقصد الذهاب، ولكني وافقت كتغيير للجو و كسر لرتابة الروتين اليومي من عمل معظم الوقت و بقاء في المنزل لبقية الوقت. 

     فتحضرت سريعا للذهاب و ركبت حتى مكان تجمع الباصات السياحية المخصصة لرواد و مريدين ذلك المكان ثم انطلقنا. أخذ الطريق حوالي الساعتين حتى وصلنا إلى تلك المزرعة الواسعة مقر إحدى الطرق الصوفية التي يتبعها بعض من أهلي. وهناك سكنا إلى البيت الخاص لأحد أقاربي لبقية اليوم لحضور مراسم مولد صاحب الطريقة (أو هذا ما علمت و سمعت من الناس الجالسين حولي في الباص) والتي ستبدأ بعد صلاة المغرب. فقضيت يومي هنالك و لاحظت بعض النقاط السلبية والبعض الإيجابية.

     كنت قد ذهبت إلى هذا المكان عدة مرات من قبل ولكنها كانت المرة الأولى التي أشهد ذلك الزحام. تلك الجموع من الناس من شتى المحافظات و من سائر المستويات الاجتماعية و حتى من بعض الأجناس و الجنسيات غير المصرية. ولكن هذه هي طبيعة الموالد فلم أكن مندهشاً. كانت صلاة الجمعة مختلفة، أو هكذا بدت لي دائما في المرات القليلة التي حضرتها هناك. فغالباً ما تتناول الخطبة الصوفية وكيف أن تلك الطريقة أرشدت الناس إلى الطريق الصحيح لعبادة الله و مدى سوء بعض التيارات الدينية والطرق الأخرى المتشددة و مدى علم و أخلاق و سماحة و بركة صاحب الطريقة، أو وليها كما يسمونه أيضا، و الدعاء له والتبشر به والتوسل به، و ليس إليه (على الرغم من أن البعض يتوسل إليه ويتمسحون به فعلا!)، كي يقودهم ويدلهم على الطريق الصحيح للقرآن والسنة، فهو "فخر الدين والدنيا" و القرآن والسنة هما "درعه وسيفه" كصاحب دعوة وطريقة.
     وتمر تلك الخطبة كما تمر دائما، وألاحظ وجوه الناس من حولي وأجدهم كما أجدهم دائما، يودون انتهاء الخطبة و أداء الصلاة سريعاً حتى يستمعوا إلى "درس سيدنا الشيخ" الذي يعقب الصلاة مباشرة. وهو ما حدث. فتمر الصلاة على نمط أسرع قليلا من أي نمط صليت به الجمعة قبلا، ثم يتوجه الجميع إلى الاتجاه المعاكس ليجدوا ذلك الشيخ جالساً على مقصورته وهم جميعاً في حالة من التأهب لسماع ما سيقوله الشيخ وما سيعلمهم وحتى البعض يدون ما يقوله الشيخ كمحاضرات الجامعة (مع الفرق طبعاً).
    ويتحدث الشيخ، مرتديا بدلته الأنيقة ومتحدثا بالعامية البسيطة، وهما شيئان يتباهى بهما الشيخ ومريدينه أو مريدين الطريقة كاختلاف عن الصورة النمطية للشيوخ أو الصوفية. ثم يلقي بعض الدعابات للتقرب أكثر من المستمعين ويبدأ الحديث في موضوع ما. يكون الحديث في بعض نقاطه مفيدا حقا، ولكن بما أنه مولد صاحب الطريقة ووليها الأصلي الذي توفي من فترة ما (وذلك طبعاً قبل تغيير اسم الطريقة أو انشقاقها كطريقة جديدة لتصبح على اسم شيخها الجديد) فكان الدرس عنه في بعض الوقت ثم عن من يتحدثون عن حرمانية الموالد وفهمهم الخاطيء للدين ثم التهكم على بعض شيوخ الأزهر وضعفهم وفهمهم الخاطيء بالدين ثم الرجوع لصاحب المولد و في النهاية تلقي بعض الأسئلة، إن وجدت، و الاستجابة لطلبات البعض للدعاء لهم ولأولادهم وبناتهم والتي ترسل إليه في ورق عن طريق بعض المنظمين والمساعدين. ولكني استفدت من بعض النقاط على الرغم من كون أغلبها لا علاقة لها بموضوع الخطبة الأصلي. ثم ينتهي الدرس بعد هالات من التصفيق الحماسي الحاد على روعة ما يقوله الشيخ و موجات من الضحكات العالية رداً على قفشات الشيخ. ثم يتسارع عدد كبير ناحية الشيخ للسلام عليه وتقبيل يده والتبرك ببركة "أحد أولياء الله الصالحين" و لكن تلك المرة، تقريبا لكثرة العدد، اكتفي الشيخ بالإشارة عن بعد و السلام و الناس جميعهم تقريبا رافعي أيديهم عاليا للسلام عليه وذلك مقرونا بابتسامة غالبا معناها الفوز ببركة السلام على الشيخ.
     ثم كانت العودة للبيت، بعد تخبط وعناء من كثرة الزحام أولاً عند الخروج من المسجد ثم ثانياً لصعوبة إيجاد حذاءك الذي عند وجوده كان في حالة يرثى لها لكثرة الأقدام التي دهسته ثم أخيراً لمحاولة جلب شيء من ذلك السوبرماركت و كثرة الناس المنتظرين خارجه و طول الطوابير الواقفه داخله (ولكننا نعيش في زحام وعشوائية وفوضى منذ فترة طويلة فلم التذمر؟!). و في النهاية حمدا لله عدنا لتناول الغداء وللراحة قليلا قبل موعد صلاة المغرب المنتظرة للاحتفال بعدها بالمولد.
     أذن المغرب. فذهبت إلى تلك الساحة الكبيرة بأضوائها المعدة للاحتفال وعدد كبير من الشباب كمنظمين للمرور وللحفل. وبعد صلاة المغرب مباشرة كان الاحتفال. الشيخ كالعادة جالسا على تلك المقصورة وشاشات العرض معدة لمن يجلس بعيدا عنها و بجانبه مقصورة صغيرة معدة لبعض الضيوف لإلقاء بعض الكلمات. بدأ الشيخ كعادته ببعض القفشات والناس كعادتهم في حالة من الحماسة الزائدة من ضحكات عالية وتصفيق حار. شعرت كسائح في بلد غريب لعدم وجود تلك الحماسة داخلي على عكس الغالبية العظمى من المتواجدين. كنت فقط أتابع ما يحدث باهتمام كشيء لا أراه دائماً. ثم أنهى الشيخ كلمته القصيرة ومرر الكلمة لابنه، والذي يبدو أنه يعده ليقود الطريقة من بعده ويعد مريدي الطريقة على قبول ذلك فهو في الأول أو الآخر "من نسله الشريف". تناول ابنه تعريف الطريقة ومنهجها وسموها عن الطرق الأخرى، ولكن في كلمات مملة أشعرتني أني أقف أمام مندوب مبيعات يريد اقناعي بشراء سلعة ما ولي طبعا في النهاية حرية الاختيار (مع الاختلاف الكبير بالتأكيد). بعد ذلك تناول بعض من سيرة صاحب المولد ولكني أيضا لم أشعر بانجذاب لما يقوله. فعلى الرغم من نظرات والده الجالس وحيدا على المقصورة الكبيرة من فخر بابنه واقتناع بما يقوله، يبدو أنه ليست لديه بعد الكاريزما التي يتمتع بها والده. أنهى الابن كلمته فكان دور مسؤول الطريقة في بلاد الخليج ثم مسؤولها في بلاد الهند. كلها كلمات مدح كثيرة في الطريقة و نموها وانتشارها و تمدح كثير بالشيخ الجالس صاحب البركات ثم مديح بصاحب المولد في كلمة أو اثنتين. وبالطبع قبل إلقاء الكل لكلمته و بعدها كان يذهب للسلام بحرارة على الشيخ وتقبيل "يديه الشريفتين". وبالطبع لم يشعر أحد أن وقت صلاة العشاء قد أتى ومر دون حتى أن يرفع الأذان، بل ظلت الكلمات تتوالى.

     و بعد تلك الكلمات التي وجدتها مضجرة لدرجة الرغبة في النوم، أتى وقت "الحضرة" و هو ما يعني قيامي من وسط الحشود و الاكتفاء بالوقوف بالخارج والمشاهدة لعدم اعتيادي على أداء مراسم حضرة صوفية من قبل. وبالطبع لم أسلم من بعض تلك النظرات التي عادة ما يلقيها البعض على السياح لاختلافهم الواضح عن ما حولهم في الشكل أو التصرفات. ظننت في نفسي أن أرد على تلك العيون أني مسلم أيضا و أني الحمد لله أحافظ على فروضي وأحاول أن اجتهد لأكون شخصا أفضل ديناً و أخلاقاً و لكني  اكتفيت بتجاهل تلك العيون. ثم بدأت الحضرة بشخص ينشد بعض الأناشيد الخاصة بالطريقة وشيخ الطريقة والنبي محمد (صلوات الله عليه وسلامه تسليما) والناس تردد "الله" و تفعل بعض الحركات بأجسادهم وأيديهم (حركات لا أفهم سببها أو مصدرها ولكنها يبدو أنها سمة من سمات مريدي التصوف) فالحضرة في حد ذاتها عند الطرق الصوفية هي طريقة من طرق ذكر الله. و عموما في النهاية كل يذكر ربه ويصلي على نبيه بطريقته (المهم إنه يذكرهم).

     وكانت الحضرة هي الحدث الختامي لذلك المولد والاحتفال الصوفي والذي تم بعده توزيع "النفحة" على الموجودين (وهي تكون عادة أرز و لحم أو أرز باللبن) لتناولها والتحلي ببركتها قبل الاستعداد للرحيل و العودة كل لبيته.

     كانت تجربة مختلفة و كان يوما غير تقليدي. عالم مختلف و اجتهادات في الدين قد تكون صحيحة و قد تكون خاطئة (الله أعلى و أعلم). أن يكون لك شيخ تثق به و برأيه و ترى أنه عنده من العلم ما يكفي لإرشادك إلى الطريق الصحيح هذا شيئ جيد جدا، ولكن هذا لا يعني أن تلغي عقلك و قلبك و تنساق وراءه بكل جوارحك بمبدأ "الطاعة العمياء" والتي كان من الغريب أن أجد ابن شيخ الطريقة في كلمته يدعو لها. في النهاية ذلك الشيخ بشر كسائر البشر يخطيء ويصيب وفوق كل ذي علم عليم. هو ليس نبي أو رسول، وحتى كونه "ولي من أولياء الله" فهذا شيء الله أعلم به و ليس أنت. أن تشعر بالراحة في مكان ما أو بفعل عمل معين هذا شيء يرنو إليه الجميع، ولكن هذا ليس معناه أن من لا يفعل ما تفعل فهو خاسر أو مضلل. أن تجد من يعلمك في مجالات الدين و الدنيا بشكل مبسط و تلقائي ذلك أمر يحسد الناس عليه، ولكن يجب أن تبحث أنت أيضاً في صحة ما يقال لك و أن تعمل عقلك و قلبك و أن تكون لك مصادر أخرى صحيحة ولا غبار عليها تتلقى منها العلم و المشورة. و نهايةً، الله سميع مجيب، فعلاقتك به لا تحتاج وسيط يوصلك إليه. أعمل عقلك و جاهد نفسك وتعلم من غيرك و تفكر في الخلق حولك و استفتي قلبك و إياك أن تنسى قدرة الله عليك و على غيرك و تحصن بالمعرفة الصحيحة و بمكارم الأخلاق و بعظمة القرآن الكريم و السنة الطاهرة تجد الإيمان والرضا والجنة (بمشيئة الله).

If Only...

Sitting inside her balcony, with her short white red-dyed hair ... Ignoring all the noises of the street ..

The thunderous horns of the cars, the resonant shouts of the sellers, the monotonic humming of people talking, the loud cries of that newborn lying in his mother's lap, the goofy laughs of some young men, the common chaos of the modern hasty way of living ...

Detaching herself from everyone and everything that could blur the clarity of this memory's dreamy image ... Thinking back at the days of her youth, the days of her strength and beauty .. The moments of her glory, the middle pages of her story ... That look on her face, and those teary eyes ... Fairness was one day the source of her pride and pleasure, and now fairness still remains, yet with a very different meaning .. A very 'just' meaning .. The mirror was once her all-day resort, but now it is a forbidden place .. Life was never that ruthless ... Feeling totally deserted, totally forgotten, totally nonexistent!

Totally occupied with only one thought: "The world was mine someday. I had it all in the grips of my hands. But like the granules of soft sand, all sneaked down the palms of my hands and I ended up catching emptiness! If only I can live a little while back then ... If only I can have my shiny black hair and my soft light skin .. If only I can see those looks of admiration from all the beholders .. If only my eyes don't keep on failing me .. If only my bones aren't so fragile .. If only those wrinkles aren't that obvious ... If only aging and loneliness and regret are not eating me alive .. If only I made the right choices when I had the chance ... If only......" 

Enigmas

Do you believe in telepathy, to know what the other is thinking about without the least interaction between one another?

Or look-alikes, where someone who looks the same as you exists but in a different place in the world?

What about deja vu, foreseeing something and experiencing it before it even happens?

And the soulmate, a mostly romantic idea of feeling attracted to, or better being created for, a certain person with complete mental and spiritual affinity?

Reaching the concept of infinity, where ends have no ends and limits are actually limitless?

An enigma of the human mind, and a world never void of its mysteries...

Press Your Keyboard's Keys!

Never "Escape" from your problems or worries, but always take "Control" of yourself and your surroundings .. "Delete" the chains that curb your abilities, and "Insert" faith and hope into your heart .. Before you "Shift" from one decision to another, make sure that you have a good "Alt"ernative ... And when you feel that you reached the "End" of the road, "Enter" through the bushes with all your power, for "Home" lies directly behind them.

Imprisonment

Have you ever felt imprisoned, in a cage made of thin air
The cage does not exist, yet you are still entrapped in there
Feeling too much pressure, more than you can ever bear
Surrounded by the people, but unheard and unseen, no one can dare!
A disease of the modern age, only opposed by those who might care!

All Sorts of Beauty

Beauty .. That permanently sought sense of pleasure and deep satisfaction that overwhelms one's perception. That encouraging quest for excellence in a world suffering from mediocrity. That hopeful search for perfection to cover one's inescapable imperfection. That charming reaction that happens between a human being and something .. or someone .. real or imaginary .. abstract or concrete.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, a well-known saying. Some times relative, other times absolute. But at all times, it depends on you: the beholder.

Beauty of the body or beauty of the mind or beauty of the soul?? A difficult choice, isn't it?!

Beauty of the body is the first your eyes could fall upon. It's natural, for the human being always gives the lead to his sensual dependence. Always trusts his senses (though are deceiving most of the time!). However, despite the fact that such physical beauty could be the favorite to the majority, it is the most distracting and the least lasting sort of beauty. It takes its temporal time and then disappears behind hills of wrinkles and fragility. 

Beauty of the mind is the next on the list. After the human being removes that sensual dust away from his eyes, he sees a higher sort of beauty: mental beauty. Unlike physical beauty, this one lasts with you for a lifetime. Yet, it's changeable. As one goes on living, he keeps on being struck with the violent waves of the angry sea of life. So to keep such beauty alive, you need to be strong enough, clinging hard to properly based foundations, or it will face the ugly fate of corrosion.

Finally comes the beauty of the soul. The highest sort of all beauty. This one is just eternal. It follows you through all your life and then stays even after your life time halts. Unfortunately, not everyone can see it. Not everyone can reach it. And if you have such spiritual beauty, if you can see it in the people around you, and if the people around you can see it in you, then there is nothing else to seek.

So just look around and you'll see all sorts of beauty. Fortunately, you will not have to choose from them, for they are all present in everything in your way. They are all present in everything ..  including you.

The House of Mirrors

A young man, with a wearied heart and a troubled mind, walking across the emptiness. Living in a virtual world. He is trying to break through those imaginary chains. Trying to make his way out to the real world. "I seem to be lost in a house of mirrors!" Imprisoned in a matrix of his own thoughts. An endless maze of inner feelings.

Lots of self-reflections. Lots of doors. Lots of keys. Though all are one!

"I know the path out like the back of my hand." Or that is what he thinks. So he tries to step forward. But he crashes into a wall. Painful it is, depressing as well. "Like I came in, there must be a way out .. This can't be a dead end!" So he tries again. He keeps on trying and trying. It became his only dream, his only vision. It became his only goal, or maybe his only choice.

However, he starts to feel weak and tired. Unintentionally, he looks at a mirror in front of him. Strangely enough, he realizes that he never really focused on his facial features before. He has this dazzled look of someone who seems to be seeing himself for the first time. The brilliant fabric of his countenance. The minute details of his face that are so accurately and masterfully crafted. "Is it myself? Or maybe someone else!"

They say that one's eyes are the gates to his inner soul. They reflect  not only what's in front of you, but what's inside you as well. Gates to the castle of one's face. "How didn't I notice that before?!" He just needed one attentive closer look to realize that there are no mirrors. The mirrors are inside him. There is only one door, only one key, only one way, and only one self. He found he has been living in a world of his dreams! Running away from the miserable and fallen cage of reality to imprison himself in another cage woven from the fine threads of the cheerful and idealistic illusions of the unreal!

So he raises his hand ahead of him like someone who senses his way through darkness. And what darkness! The sunbeams are starting to appear in the horizon ... The clouds are moving aside, the fogs are torn apart. And finally, the gates are open.

Let It Rain

Let the rain pour hard, let its blessing be carried in the gust
Let the beauty of the world appear, sweeping away all the dust
Let the fake shine disappear, showing its reality of nothing but rust
Let the droplets chant Your Name, every fine granule in the earth's crust