Numerous people have told me to use time well because at this point I have more time to myself than I ever will again. I usually nod and say inshaAllah and make du’a for me, but internally by now I am incredulous in the sense of they do not know what they are talking about. Today was the first day I did not have a single external obligation--my first day in weeks and weeks. I used most of it to sleep and type, but that is not the point--half the time it is almost as though I am working a day job, and I get home exhausted and wanting only to relax and wind down, cool off. I have lots of complaints in this regard, in the sense of not catching up with things I need to catch up on, but they are all directed at myself: I still hold that anyone can really do anything if they really mean to do so, so it is only the lack of iron in one’s (mine) metaphorical blood that holds one (me) back (far back). I was reading some of Farooq’s posts from Egypt, and wondering how I relate to them.
But enough about me. Zacharia’s here. A and Kh and I waiting at the airport, watching the arrivals screen still show his flight as "on time" when it was late, and then Syrian adab not respecting the barricades, streaming forward and backwards as guards got impatient. He saw us and raised his hands and called out Allahu Akbar!, and then he’d arrived. "I heard you were only a thousand la ilaha illaLllah's away from reaching the maqam of not having to pray anymore" and "you’re too busy spinning in circles to have time for your friends". And that night we talked for hours, and soon inshaAllah we'll move back to RuknedDin, to a little bayt franji up the mountain from Rukniyyah. And watching him live a testament.
This is a picture of Jami' Rukniyyah. All these mosque-pictures...soon I will ask Z to take pictures of other things we can post. And [this] is a picture of Muhyiddin, where i used to go every day to meet K2.
The heavy heat of days, Damascus is almost in summer. The fruits of this world--cherries and watermelons and akliddunya and pineapple and apricots. I was in Halbouni to buy a commentary on the 'aqeedah book I am almost finished reading with J, and walked back to the bus stop eating an ice cream cone and carrying a bag with a kilo and a half of fresh juicy and intensely red strawberries, bought off a cart on the streetcorner. "The MKB could follow me home by the trail of strawberry-stems," I told myself. "Hansel and Gretel, only there is no Gretel." On the miekro the girl who passed me her five liras to give the driver had a strange expression when she noticed my fingers were stained red. Strawberries, in and of themselves a proud proclamation of the glory of the Lord.
me: so you know how the 'ulema like doing jami' diddayn, right? (As for example there are two ahadith which outwardly seem to conflict but there is internal coherence.)
t: you mean like reconciliation.
me: yes, reconciliation. So today I started my way to being a great ‘alim in that sense.
t: oh really?
me: well, first I went barakah surfing at Jami'ah Dimashq, and then I went barakah surfing at the Kattani dhikr session.
t: no, you don't understand. That is not jami' diddayn, what you do is you first barakah surf at JD and then make tawbah by barakah surfing with the Kattanis. That way you break even, the tarteeb (order) is important.
me: oh.
And roommates, last night trying to reconstruct the rhythms of the Kattani dhikr, and the way Shaikh Abu Sa’eed says "Ahlan Sidi". My fourth hadara, and such times serving to underline spiritual poverty but the flashes of light. And lemon ice cream, and what I meant by the world being made of colour in that I used to complain about the greyness of the city, but now even that has passed and Damascus is simply...home, and wanting to impress everything on my eyes.
We won't be able to go for 'umrah from here, the Saudi gov't has these inane regulations.
Have written no poetry for weeks. The lonely spurts of genius.
Du'a for me, i'll try to post substantially more often, but no promises.
