meaning to life

Life on the seesaw

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Seesaw

Credit: diabetessa.org.za (2019)

When I started this blog, I had a very different idea of the direction it would take. It was going to be very cushitic, very chic, very now, very me, or so I thought. And my definition of all of these things was distinctly African, very black, very woke…very me, ahem. And when I really got into it, it became very conservative, very tawakkal, very surrenderish, … is that me? I’d constantly question myself. And yet here I am with one more post, errr noticeably similar to my previous posts, one could say. A deep dive into those touchy feely uncomfortable things. Urrgghhh. You know, I have never considered myself to be soul searchy.  And always looked askance at any stranger who tried to get too deep with me. I’ve always thought that that stuff is meant to be private. So I don’t understand why I’m obsessed with blasting these things out into the world wide web. Life truly is an oxymoron.

The thing is, I can’t promise that every subsequent post wouldn’t be a stir fry of an overthinking mess. Or weird. Or my favourite, soul searchy – that’s the thing. I’m realising that it’s the filter to my life. My marking scheme, so to speak. No matter the vibrations of life, it’s always – I’m okay if my Lord is okay with that. And I’m in pieces if He’s displeased, no matter how very okay it all looks like from the outside. And it’s funny that I’m writing this down, because I’m sat here feeling absolutely urgghhh after closing an equivocal deal for a good client. It’s especially hard when it concerns people you genuinely like. Because you want to do everything in your power to see them succeed in life. But surely not at the cost of the pleasure of The Sublime. For what then would be my definition of success?

A reprieve. It’s been cancelled, I’m informed, as I write this. You simply can’t script life subhanallah. I’m humbled with gratitude. Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed for my client, but I don’t want to be a part of that train. My Lord, put it all in rice. Ahem. I’ve probably said this several times, and have gotten some recoil regarding its authenticity and relationship with adverse mental health. Life honestly has no meaning for me, without His grace, and His hope, and His promise. Seeing unjust people live amazing lives, and the kindest people struggle in life – none of it makes sense to me without the lens of religion. The fact that this is literally a test. That we must account for everything. Resources, relationships, time, all of it. And a true life beckons. It’s the one thing that keeps me going, the fact that His promise is certain. Because I’m weak and I flounder, and I sometimes exceed my limits. And I hate myself. And I sometimes inordinately love myself. And I’m inconstant, but what I know for sure is that He isn’t. It really is the only thing that gives me hope. That no matter what I perceive, I know my Lord has got it figured out for me.  That I only have to worry that I’ve put in my call, because He will be there to lift my chin up, keep me sane and alive. It’s the last thing I want sometimes. But we’re here, and I’m grateful, my Lord.

I’ll be the first to admit that I fall on the other side of the seesaw. When I think of the blessings in my life, between you and me, I don’t deserve it. No matter what I tell myself, I’m worthy, anything your therapist and Michelle Obama would say, I honest to God do not deserve anything I have. And it’s a lot. I think back and wonder sometimes..my Lord, you know me, the real me, and still…this? What do you give the people that you love? To the people who worship you without measure? And this is coming from an innate competitor. No matter how hard I try, I fail and fall countless times. But my Lord, you know I can’t stand accounts. Literally and figuratively. So keep me amongst those you won’t take to account, I beg of you.

I’ve never really got the answer to a recurrent question. How is it no matter how strong I consider our bond, nothing about it seems enough? There isn’t any satisfied aspect when it comes to this side of my life. It translates to an insatiable thirst for me. It’s always no no, no matter how much I take my fill, there’s always more, more prayer, more fasting, more charity, more goodness that I’ve still got to do. It’s incredible. I’m constantly in the space of…help me, move me, rectify me. It’s always my Lord this, my Lord that, when I’m lax in my obligations towards Him. I’m always, I want more, oh I need this, I want more. The need to get closer and closer to Him. The need to surrender and place all my trust, my hopes and my dreams there. To abandon my mind, my soul, my heart and body to His cause. Because he’s the Causer of causes, Disposer of all affairs, The Expediter and The Delayer, The Subtle One, The Supreme Giver. 

There are no answers to the fact that I’d be up in the clouds at 8 a.m and in the pitts by 8 p.m. None of course other than the ones You provide. For better tomorrows, there’s no one else to turn to but you my Lord. And until we meet again, always make it so.  

And still…

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Al-Haram

Al-Haram, Giza (2019)

Seeking. Flawed. We’re still that one grain of sand in a windy desert, however strong we may appear to be. God, we wish! I say that, because just a few weeks ago, it was looking very different coming off of a high of MMA. And we were all about the celebration of a champion. Still undefeated. Undisputed. A lesson in bravery. You know, the lion of Dagestan. And it was turning out to be this seemingly annual Khabib appreciation quarter of the internet. And don’t get me wrong, we do appreciate the guy. But I don’t ever want to be a vessel of opposition to the decrees of my Lord, however contrasting my personal inclinations. And I was struggling with this. Because on the one hand, I’d be the first to stay up and shout myself hoarse at every take down and tussle, braying for blood. And on the other, I’m cognizant of my faith’s ceiling and the implications of my endorsement. I mean, I should be the first to check myself, and others, and turn away. You know, be better. And it looks pretty straightforward on paper. There are so many things I’ve given up for the pleasure of The One. What is one more, I think? And it really is an oxymoron, because however violent my gestures or dreams, I personally abhor violence. And I can’t stand it of others. So it’s crazy that I’m struggling to get off this show. Urggghhhh!

September is of course my darling of a father’s month. Not that everyday isn’t his day. I recently spoke to someone I believed was more learned than I am, and they initially encouraged me to visit his grounds. And of course I went wild about the thought of it for a couple of hours, imagining all of my Saturdays at his abode. And it’s scary to me, that it’s that easy to get swayed by opinions that fit in with your desired wishes. Of course I’d researched and read all about it, and sadly, but patiently stayed away. I’m not hysterical. I wouldn’t say the explanation applies to me. And in the same token, I know of several men whose emotional expressiveness rivals Oprah’s. But the idea that I’d be quick to jump at an opinion that conforms to what I want is scary.  Because it’s what’s been warned of these times. The lifting of knowledge. And the proliferation of charlatans.

One of my dad’s best friends recently passed away. His other best friend wouldn’t step foot in town. And one of his other friends, has been unwell for a while. Visiting him in hospital was bittersweet because it of course reminded me so much of my dad’s last days. But that’s not why I’m raising this. It seems to be the season. Which is something he’d regularly bring up. That his friends had left. And almost insidiously so. And his family had passed. And he was trying to find meaning in being among the last of his generation. And I remember being perplexed by all of this- because of course I’d selfishly want my dad to stay forever.

I was recently speaking to my mum, and probing her plans for this next phase of her life. When a majority of it she’d spent with my dad. And I’d throw strong hints of doing this course, and learning this language or opening up this business. And she’d be adamant about it being her season. Nothing but worship. And her desire to congeal herself to the Quran. And wake up every night, and fast regularly. And I was listening to this incredulously. Like yeah yeah, we could do all that mum. But we could also do this business. And you’d be occupied. And you’d still memorize the Quran. But she wouldn’t hear any of it.

And now of course I could kick myself, as the clarity of her reasoning hits home. And I’m stupefied at the sheer folly in my logic. That to occupy myself is to run after dunya, which is a distraction. And yet here we have my Lord encouraging us to run towards Him, pledging to sort out all our affairs for us. And to refrain from occupying ourselves with the mirage of this life, when there’s something way more permanent. And I’m honestly gobsmacked by the simplicity of such reasoning. It’s the fact that we’re literally promised, you guys. Leave all this, strive for goodness, and I guarantee you peace. A vow. And we’re still no no, let me do both. But there is no both. It’s one or the other. Which fills me with tremendous hope and happiness at its possible attainment. And sadness that my life is far from this reality.

Two friends recently called to ask me what I’m up to, and it was a chiding really, for failing to mention all of the things I’m up to and their consternation that they’d had to hear from others. And at first I was bothered at the fact that they were bothered. Because I never call anyone up to ask them what they’re up to in their personal lives, or business or career, or just about any matter that doesn’t concern me. But when I sat down, I thought to myself. But this is what brought us together. We cultivated our friendships based on worldly goals, not akhera or our well being so of course you’d only catch up on worldly goals. Which I find sad. Because I’m not about that life, and if I ever were my Lord, please guide me back to my pledge to you.

It honestly doesn’t sound like 3 years, when my Saturday is still so fresh, and our hands still so warm, my kisses still so well received, and my love runneth over. I’m really not gassing you (or myself) when I say that I genuinely don’t believe in the idea of separation between my beloved, and all of my lost loved ones. It feels like one of those temporary trips and here I am counting the days to our reunion. But how can I really? When their absence is a chilling reminder of my pending presence in our other life. Which is far more peaceful, and more than we could ever imagine. Imagine that.

So here we are, still accepting, patient, thankful, still subservient my Lord. For our meetings before you, with the highest of honours, I beg of you my Lord. Ever obedient. Eternally hopeful. Still waiting. Still. For you, my Lord. Always for you.