Glory

         Allâhumma innî 'tanaffasu la-ka wa 'muddu nafasî ilay-k…

         I am a servant of Allah.

         My life, such as it is, begins with the Almighty, and I am prepared to go to Him, to become one with His Glory again. Until then, I float aimlessly, a bit of flotsam or jetsam in the primordial nothing. My soul yearns for the Lord as the tiniest grain of sand yearns for the endless dunes of the desert. I want to belong.

         …allâhumma innî 'shtâqu ilà mawlânâ wasîlat-an ilay-ka wa 'shtâqu…

         I spin.

         Everything becomes one, blending and twisting until my body is indistinguishable from the world around it, and I imagine that I am one with God again. I have never left Him. It is the happiest, the purest I have ever felt.

         …ilà `âfiyat-in wasîlat-an ilay-ka Hatà usabbiHa-ka kathîr-an wa…

         And as the music floats, in my delirium I see the notes twisting above me. I see sound as surely as I taste God’s love, as keenly as I hear the soul of the Universe singing a chorus of Hallelujahs. I dare not make a sound for fear that I might lose that euphoria; that it might spill away from God and I will be broken from His love again. A thought that wrenches at the heart pounding in my human chest.

         …'Zkura-ka kathîr-â. allâhumma lâ taj`al lî maraZ-an yunsîn-î…

         I am not ready yet to join the Lord. Buh-bump, my heart reminds me. Buh-bump. As long as it beats, as long as the hot viscous life water pours through me, as long as I need it to sustain me, I must remain apart. Broken. A shell of my being.

         I slow, watching God disappear from my fingers. The notes vanish from view and I see only my brothers on flute and drum, a sound that has before now been only the thrumming of God’s love.

         …Zikra-ka wa yukhabbiTu `alayya shawqa-ka wa yaqTa`u `ann-î…

         It is as if the Universe has been stolen from me. I am just Abdullah once more and God is a radiating heat, like the sun. I can feel it against my soul, but to touch it is as destruction to me. The music stills and all is silence. If I strain, I can hear the Universe humming a prayer of mourning like the women who keen at a dear loss. It, too, is less without our oneness; it loses everything as I lose everything.

         God watches me and He sees the black hole. Oh Lord, fill me. Let me become one with you and your Glory. Let me lose myself within you. Let me find my whole within you. Let me be more than your servant.

         …laZZata tasbîHi-ka wa lâ tu`Tîn-î SiHHat-an yuTghîni-î wa…

         I smile as I hear the music start again. The drum is the heart of the galaxy, the flute is its voice. The song floats through the air, calling to the Universe, to the Lord, humming Hallelujah. Everything crystallizes and I see the door to God before my eyes, and I raise my arms toward it.

         I spin.

         My life, such as it is, ends with the Almighty, and I am prepared to go to Him, to become one with His Glory again. Until then, I float aimlessly, a bit of flotsam or jetsam in the primordial nothing. My soul yearns for the Lord as the tiniest grain of sand yearns for the endless dunes of the desert. I want to belong.

         I am a Servant of Allah.

         …yazîdun-î baTar-an wa 'shar-â. bi-raHmat-ika yâ 'rHama 'r-râHimîn


Word Count: 594



*Based on Sufi mysticism and their teachings of becoming one with Allah, shucking all notions of the self. Rather similar to the teachings of Buddhism, really. The prayer is the second of Mawlânâ's prayers and I think it fits well. Here is a translation:

"O God, truly I breathe in only for You and I exhale my breath only for You. O God, I truly yearn for Mawlânâ to be a means for me to reach You. And I wish for a prosperity to be a means to reach You-- so that I may glorify You often and remember You frequently. O God, do not make for me an illness which will cause me to forget Your remembrance, ruin the yearning for You, or cut off from me the delight of praising Your Glory. And do not give me a health which will make me rebellious or will increase me in being smugly insolent and proud-- by Your Infinite Compassion, O Most Merciful of those who are merciful!"

The character in this story is a Dervish. Look up the Whirling Dervishes and you will know exactly what I mean.*