Repentance

The beads slipped between her thumb and index finger, smoothly hesitant. Cool, perfectly rounded, they looked exactly like grains of corn from a fresh cob - except that they were a bright, light blue.

Her eyes were closed and her lips kept moving, silently whispering chosen words, choice words that held power. She frequently cracked open an eyelid to peer at the string that marked her progress; sometimes it was involuntarily to see when her fingers couldn't quite slip the next bead over the bridge that her index finger created. It was mildly frustrating, and she wondered at the distracting quality of it, and perhaps her own focus was then brought into question.

One rotation over, she began the next, with cautious care and a slower pace. This time, her mind was being brought under control by the words she whispered, and it tried to cringe away. Instead, she reeled it back in, and made it shift into recall mode, pulling out memory of sin after sin. Her eyes were sometimes screwed tight now, and sometimes they would pop open and stare blankly, wide-eyed, at nothing; it was her mind's eye which saw and wished to recoil.

The beads continued to roll over her fingers, slowly, rhythmically. Sometimes her fingers faltered, losing the strength to push one after the other, for she had brought to trial a heavy sin and it weighed upon her mind. She was only halfway done, but was trembling all over and gasping slightly through her breaths.

A hundred counts done, and she unclenched her hand from around the tasbih, slipping it next to her pillow, and herself slumped back into bed. The weight was gone, and she quickly drifted into even breathing and relaxed muscles; she had fallen asleep.

Her fingers were unmoving, her tongue silent, but her heart continued to sing "Astagfirullah, Astagfirullah, Astagfirullah..."

On Losing Battles and Picking Up The Pieces

I am imperfect. For a human, that isn't an astonishing statement at all. In this world, as long as we are living these lives, until the Trumpet does not blow and the mountains do not become like carded wool, we will be imperfect. Once the dead have risen again and all have been assembled in a congregation of shame and remorse, and enlightenment, then shall the purification start - with fire and nails and iron weights; purified until Man reaches his most pure state, each taking his own time to get there.
The irony? Humans will still never be Perfect.

That was a little off topic.

Being confused about things should be something that I readily accept about myself, but too often I will find myself beating up my own self over this incapacity. It took a long time for me to realize that not knowing every single pebble in my path was okay.That it wasn't the end of the world if I didn't know what I was doing or whether my way of looking at things was right or wrong. I had to tell myself that despite feeling down in the dumps over things people said concerning my life, it didn't mean I was completely clueless, but it also didn't mean that I have everything figured out.

It's quite a familiar scenario: you are telling someone - or just quietly thinking away - about certain ideas of yours that are diametrically opposite to what they were just a short while ago, or about some life-changing decisions you made, and they just happen to say something - or that nag of a voice in your head speaks - and the words take your mind in for some heavy duty bashing. Yikes.
Self-doubt, confusion and stress are quick to follow until you actually start questioning your own decisions and wondering if you aren't just making a huge mistake.

For someone who gets easily influenced and affected by things people say, this is an ugly state of mind indeed. I mean, it took a lot of pondering and pluck on your part to just pick up and flip over pieces of your life, and you don't want to be second-guessing it all while you are still trying to figure things out for yourself.

One thing you have to remind yourself is that what is good for one person can perhaps not be the best thing for someone else. It makes it easier to deal with the doubt that you are doing things the wrong way. There is no wrong way. Everyone has their own paths to follow, even if the destination is eventually the same.

Sure. Easy peasy. With that kind of clear-headed thinking, I should be back to my normal, assured, sprightly self.

Nope. It wasn't enough. Fear had taken over - fears about losing time, being left behind, being ill-equipped to handle the hard knocks of life when they come - I felt inadequate, small, and terribly foolish. I may be on the right path, but it seemed like I was making all the wrong decisions and choosing things that weren't good for me after all. Strong conviction became wispy air-castles, and cheerful optimism became a Shiekh Chilli persona that horrified me more than anything else. I thought to myself, "I still think exactly like a child as if there is no hardship in the world and my dreams and reality are composed only of bunny rabbits and cotton candy and peach desserts."

It wasn't until many painful hours later that I realized the answer. I had known it all along but had just lacked the capability to articulate it.

I had been fighting the battle for so long - and losing it more often than I would like to admit - that I had forgotten to fall back for a bit to allow  my troops to rest and to reevaluate my strategy. No, I had gone on charging and fighting until I was bone-weary, pausing only to fall down into a ditch, drink water from the enemy's tainted supply, and loudly wail about my wounds. The wins became less, the misery more, and, well, let's just leave it there. Climbing out of a ditch is not easy, but when you remember to look up at the stars and breathe that air again, you can finally accept that you are done with sparring for a while.
So yes, I haven't slunk away from the battlefield like a thief in the night. I walked out tired, but renewed all the same, ready to heal my wounds and let fate take its course in shaping my trail.
I haven't given up or pushed away everything without reason. I certainly have not let myself be sucked into a vortex where I will hang limply until I am claimed by a quiet death. No, I am merely resting and preparing for the next onslaught of battles. This time, I am promising myself that I will win much more than I lose. Struggling to become a better version of myself, training weaknesses instead of just strengths, and knowing who I am and why I exist; I am still just on the first rung of the ladder, but at least this one is leading up rather than down.
Whether I have to forcibly push myself into the next round or fate will simply pull the carpet out from under my feet to let me fall into it, I am quietly preparing myself before I have to step back in.
Now isn't that something a Warrior of Light would do?


Troops: mental faculties
=p
Sheikh Chilli: Comic character from subcontinental folklore who features prominently in stories for children as a fool, daydreamer and simpleton.

Icebreaker - Chapter 1

I wish I could indulge in distant memories that would take away the cold and the biting hunger. But I cannot. Every minute I spend walking down these icy paths I focus only on the way forward - not because the past would be a dangerous thing to dwell on, but because there is no room in my head to think of anything but each step, each foot I laboriously put forward.

I was a Hunter, but then I tired of the job. I tired of watching ice spill from veins that were sometimes innocent, sometimes evil, and sometimes unaccounted for. I was told that I was ungrateful, that I had limitless opportunities to climb up the ladder and become something that I alone had the potential for. And yet, I chose to waste it? They could never understand, because their whole lives had been carefully mapped out for them, drafted in the form of psychological implants that controlled how they saw things and how they chose to live.

But as for me? I was a rogue as much as I was brilliant. I was ruthless - oh of course, they were, too - but my ruthlessness and my heart of unbreakable ice gave me an edge, a power that many others lacked. I wasn't the best Hunter, only because I chose not to compete, but I was good at what I did.

For all my cold manner and my apparent arrogance I was actually sheltering a sliver of real substance, the antimatter of ice, deep within a locked crevice that even I had no access to. There were days when even I forgot about it; I forgot about those days when the world wasn't a mass of burning icy solids - a wretched time, a blessed time, with real muck and substance and feeling.

For now, the most I could do was place my palm against my chest as if to feel some absent beating, or perhaps to soothe the dull ache inside, but no, those weren't the reasons. My hand would let me connect with the substance, the Kradaf that fueled my being. In an instant, my eyes were blinded to the world around me and I existed in some other place, some other time. Flashes of highly colored scenes played at lightning speed and I was locked in the whirlwind of color and sound that were mine - her memories.

I watched myself lift her up high in the air, releasing my grip on her for a second and then catch her again, her joyful 3-year-old laugh echoing loudly against the blurred edges of the dream. In that moment when I had let go and she seemed to fly, her short dark locks airborne with her, her face a mask of beauty, childish yet beautiful, I felt a pull deep within. At that instant, the dreams faded with a snap and I was again hard, cold IceWarrior.

I took a deep breath, then faltered as I noticed my hands were balled into tight fists. I slowly unclenched them and realized they were shaking, ever so slightly. It was her, the dream-child, who had come and awakened my long-hidden Kradaf, that had changed my life and exposed me as one to be Hunted.

The roles had been reversed - I was no longer the Hunter, but one of the Hunted.

And prophecies said that I would run, for a very long time, until the end of the Hunt. Until she found me, and melted the IceWarrior.


Linked to Carry on Tuesday
*I always escape into poetry with prompts, so thought I'd try something different this time*

iBake.

Things I made when I didn't open Blogger for two good months:

Just, you know, showing off. Why not?

Cheers.

Breaking the silence.

I had intended to be more regular with this, but ended up letting more than a week slip by before I could open the 'new post' page and let it out as I should have. Everyday I thought about coming here but only managed to go through all the blogs I follow that I hadn't read for almost two months. And stayed silent.
And then I had something else to talk about and this post got shelved for a little while longer.


It is hard, I have discovered, to express the way I once could. It is so much easier now to be silent about what I feel. If anything, I used to hide things within complicated and abstract words and sentences, but the need to express and share was always there. This new me is difficult, difficult to understand.


For a while I intend to go completely the other way in an effort to reverse the effect. Be more open that I was ever before, just so I can find the way back to my hidden-meanings-yet-saying-everything kind of ways.
Yup.

I kind of have started it already, in several minor ways. Opening up privacy settings and seeing how it makes me feel (NOT Facebook; never Facebook!). Trying to say things aloud instead of being the quiet observer who talks too much in her mind. Speaking through several media: photos, text and small gestures.

I have never cared before about letting people know anything about me, but now I am making efforts to put forward my interests and talk about them as much as I want. Religion. Loves. Hobbies. Opinionated stuff. It's a start.


I removed my 'About me' page from this blog for a little while so I can write up something that reflects more of what I am trying to do. Who knows, maybe I'll eventually open this blog up to search engines too.


The important thing is that we constantly strive for change. Always the change that will lead you to be a better person. Sometimes I am also unsure of my path, about which road I should take, but I know it is only a matter of time before that will be clear to me too. So I stumble on, just keeping sure that the path I am taking is not the one that would lead me to something worse, just keeping to the one that shows a better 'me' at the end.

Islam in America...who thinks what?

I don't normally find myself talking about 'real world' issues in this blog at all. There is more dreamy, abstract, poetry/prosy stuff or words that I just need to siphon from my mind to make room for more. However, there was an article showing up all over my twitter feed and email so I went ahead and read it. And got just a little upset. And angry. And confused.

To quote the article, "A Washington Post/ABC News poll taken in October 2001 found that 39 percent of Americans held unfavorable opinions of Islam. After dipping for a few years, the number rose to 46 percent in 2006 and reached 49 percent—basically half the population—in 2010, the last year the question was asked. (Other recent polls show similar results.)"

 And from another part of it:
“A mistrust of American Muslims by other Americans seems misplaced,” it concluded. This year, an analysis by the Triangle Center on Terrorism and Homeland Security also described the number of American Muslims involved in domestic terrorism since 2001 as “tiny.” “This study’s findings challenge Americans to be vigilant against the threat of homegrown terrorism while maintaining a responsible sense of proportion,” it said. And a 2011 Gallup survey found that American Muslims were the least likely of any major US religious group to consider attacks on civilians justified."

Yet, apparently, sizing up every man with a beard and a topi, and every woman with hijab as a potential terrorist or 'terrorist sympathizer' is quite common. To the extent that people consider Islam synonymous with violence and extremism; they consider Islam an abnormality, despite so many Muslims leading perfectly normal lives around them. Of course, the article does say that, according to a study, 62% of Americans have never met a Muslim, and this increases their hostility with Muslims in general; people who personally knew Muslims were less likely to think of them as part of a wholly 'evil' entity.

The article also talks about how, when a TV show called All-American Muslim was aired that showed 'normal' Muslim families living in the West, it was boycotted by some influential people with the notion:
“The show profiles only Muslims that appear to be ordinary folks while excluding many Islamic believers whose agenda poses a clear and present danger to liberties and traditional values that the majority of Americans cherish.”

Yes, that makes perfect sense. Because you should definitely JUDGE an entire community of people by the few troublemakers, not the 'ordinary folks', because Muslims clearly cannot live ordinary lives. They must have hidden motives that are all posed to destroying peace and freedom and whatever else the country stands for that they are living in. Do you ever blame the entire religious community when a person of that faith murders someone, and say this is because all people who follow the same religious beliefs must be potential murderers too? Which religion in the world promotes murder and terror over love and peace?! I don't know of any.


The article ends on a hopeful note, but I can't help feeling sick to my stomach. It seems like newspapers and televisions and easy streams of information like Facebook and Twitter have started limiting people's visions a lot. They consume tidbits of information non-stop throughout the day and don't even bother to go out and gain some knowledge themselves. Is it right to blindly believe what the media tells you without questioning it at all? Without considering that one could learn a bit about the issue themselves to figure out what the truth is and what isn't? I am just..surprised...how some people lap it all up without getting a dent in their conscience. Maybe try finding out even a tiny bit what Islam actually is? Or is it easier to just hop onto the hate-wagon because people are telling you that there is only hatred here, no compassion or sincerity? Easier than trying to reach out to people instead of constantly alienating them based on sheer ignorance.

I follow many bloggers who are not Muslims, many based in America. I have never felt the slightest bit uncomfortable interacting with any of them. I want to ask them, is this how it really is over there? Do they know any Muslims? Do they have any idea what Islam is actually about?


The article: Fear and Loathing of Islam

Windstorms: Generic

The wind buffeted her with indescribable force but she cheerfully plodded on. This time, she had promised herself determination. She wouldn't crumble, or let herself become weak-kneed. There had to be some promises that would just hold, for once.

Sights and sounds assaulted her, tugging at corners of her mind, trying to pull it out of shape. But there would be no distortion this time. No, she was riding the wind with reins firmly in hand. She laughed delightedly at the lightness she felt, the feeling of being wispy and yet substantial. She sobered at the crashing thunder the next instant but picked up the scent of rain just lingering on the horizon.

Her legs didn't feel leaden, nor did her heart. There was birdsong in it, even though the sky was the murky-gray-twilight of artificial light intruding in darkness and clouds trying to blot out the almost-full moon.

From deep within, the swan let out a cry that was carried far and wide with the grace of swan wings. It could ruffle its feathers and still look pretty.
The wind kept swirling dust in heavy circles and tiny tornadoes that rose and fell instantly. Warm and heavy, yet soothing. Prickling the senses and clogging the breath-force, yet refreshing. It was then. It was there. Nothing could bring her down save His will.



It's good to be back.

Robert Louis Stevenson - childhood revisited

I need no mirror to scout it out,
I'm beginning to think
Now,
I know myself more than yesterday,
And the day before.

I have a little shadow,
A little dark patch on my heart,
I can see it whether I look or not
'Tis felt
Within and without.

I try to pinch it hard, between my fingers
I try to snuff it out,
I've left it to fester too long,
I let it grow and spread all about.

The dark patch,
Oh so clever it is,
It knows its ways around my heart,
It knows me better than I know me,
It cons her again and again, 
So 'tis its art.

Erasing, no, it works not a bit,
Frantic, frenzy, it stays put.
This little shadow, this little me,
Disown it? I know not how.

To burn, cherish light and fire,
Set ablaze corridors of wealth,
Scrimp the scrimpers, toggle the hate,
Gear to gentleness,
Let goodness be might;
Watch, watch how it trembles itself
Out of existence.


Linked to Carry On Tuesday - 'I have a little shadow'

Express.

Hold breath, let words flow
Into days of memories;
Life's like poetry.


Linked to Carry On Tuesday - 'Life's like poetry'

Now

It seems like things start moving too fast, and that erratic motion is causing objects to drift further and further apart. Crashing into each other, then drifting apart.  You cannot tie threads and loop their ends around your fingers like you used to as a child; they won't hold anymore. Such bonds are no longer held. Jerky movements are what define your moods, and burrowing into the warmth of a bed to feel some shred of comfort. You burrow. Waking and sleeping are indistinguishable. Such restlessness: your mind is not at peace. Thoughts are swirly and hard and dispersed. Thoughts battle it out, axes uplifted, war cries aloud. How do you keep the rest calm when on top there's fire and lightning? Twist fingers, bite lips, and your stomach will never seem to unclench. Deep breaths, all will be well. Rinse, lather, repeat.

The deep of the sleep

There are certain states of the human mind that can be both amusing and alarming in the way they function. For instance, a brain afflicted by fever will pour itself into delirium, and speak the speak of deliriousness. Strange words will be uttered when the mind prods the tongue, and the tongue may become loosened and function on its own constantly, having broken contact with its controller, the brain. Vocabulary and words normally not used may be heard floating around after having come out of the mouth of the delirious. Another such state is when one is so incredibly ready to be submerged under the coverings of one's bed. Such sleepiness may or may not be the product (no, the cause) of what is being tip-tapped off a keyboard at this very moment. Admission can be dangerous. There will be entire strings of words expressed with the eloquence of a half-wit and sentences that are just left in the middle without being

Gajray

Bittersweet, to see them go,
Once fresh, once dew-laden,
Still alive with life,
Adorning wrists, to symbolize happiness,
Beauty, and happiness,
Flowing circular, love and friend.