and then our exile

It is not audible, the sound bytes are the voice of shaykh mya'qubi at a qasidah session in england various lightyears ago through headphones made of plastic and metal, and beyond that a heavy birmingham accent "it’s famous man everyone knows it", and syrians talking three floors below through the window opening onto the night breeze.

It is not palpable, the touchable home is slightly clammy breathing against the fading heat of a nearsummer day.

It is not fragrant, the olfactory waves are the aftersmell of herbal tea made of cherries and raspberries found in a kitchen cupboard as a treasurefind of the human quest from a drained cup sitting on a table next to a metal spoon and a weary keyboard.

It is a faint roaring as the breakers of the mediterranean rising with the frothing surf past purple rocks in the morning afterdawn behind the spreading horizon
Or the wrenching pullaround of two dozen perspectivemoments captured in train windows
Or the stirring of shadows cast by streetlamps on deserted streets in the early hours
It is hastily constructed

"respect
for the instruments of expression
is useless chivalry"

Three months left. may He forgive me.

--

A long time ago I was pointed at to answer a few bookrelatedquestions thrown about on the internet. I never did, but will now give all of you a gift instead: [Daniel Abdul-Hayy Moore]. He is an amerikkkan artist who embraced islam and has englisch sufi poetry on his website. I am picky about words but like some of his very much.

Have decided too to start making a list of the things I will do once I have time. A nice luxury.

You can criticize ridley scott for not developing emotionalism or for changing history or for the too-blatant humanism / inability to accept straight-up piety or choosing the wrong lead actor, or whatever you want, but the main thing I was annoyed at was the fact he got salawat only halfway-right. Other than that, though, knights and castles and crusades and flashing swords have been a joy to my heart since I was about seven, so as a spectacle the movie is alright. What all this is leading up to, however, is that the ghassan massoud you saw in /kingdom of heaven/ is the same salahuddin who fortified the glorycastle I have posted pictures of, and the krak de chevaliers is the same as in the pictures put up, and so on.

The personal responses I got to t’s quotes below were amusing, because they spanned the entire spectrum of "er um what are you doing? is this how you are pursuing religious knowledge??" to "hah this is a good way to pursue religious knowledge". Something jibril haddad has said, though, is that the reason syrian women are beautiful thusly is because their forefathermothers were awliyaa’; the beauty will pass with the generations as fisq spreads.

Abu sa’eed, one of the forty abdal of shaam, kissed my cheek today and asked me to pray for him, after the qattani’s dhikr session near muhyiddin. I was finishing my barakabread outside, when the absurdity of what he said struck me. Hah, this blacken’d soul.

Hair which curves in front of my eyes. I am selfconscious whenever I push it back but am determined to retain nonexistent Samson strengthimage.

Also, if anyone else wants to say anything about Martin Lings, attributing attributes of kufr and so on? They can go boil their heads in olive oil, because I won’t be liable for the consequences of their compound ignorance. :@

--

"The blood Shams gets on the tip of his sword
is a small price to pay for the alchemical transformation of the
corpse from silver to gold and from
gold to the glory of the Divine Name alone"
--Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore