Polish of the Heart
Polish of the Heart
"There is a polish for everything that takes away rust; and the polish for the heart is the remembrance of Allah."
Against the blue, the clouds in their crisp white float as though they have somewhere to go. Maybe a party. They are awful slow. Against the green grass a pink flower with white edges sways in the breeze the clouds are running with. Lazy flower. Flowing along as though it was deciding on what shoes to wear. Oh but these colours, so crisp and real. Forget about where they are going let's see how they are.
The contrast is perfect, everything is just right.
As I lie here staring up I know there's someone watching over. And though I am using my memories to remember these sights from yesterday, I know that today I got a beautiful moment of clarity.
Today while I prayed Isha, I tried so hard to let the first day of Ramadan be fresh and full of understanding. I stood in the lines at the musjid listening to the Quran, Arabic words I have yet to understand. I wanted to have some meaning so I took to repeating the words in my mind. I tried so hard to follow along, my mind stumbling and stuttering to keep up with the imaam. He probably had the Quran memorized at a young age, and his beautiful voice swept through the verses like a breeze, like he could breathe in and the words would always flow just as smooth.
I so desperately wanted to be able to follow along. Some understanding that would be just for me. The first hour was going by faster than ever before and I knew I had been consciously trying to practice the sounds of the Arabic on my tongue, yet I felt that knowing those words would bring me true love for Allah. True understanding of what comes after this world. So I continued on. Then, I heard the familiar words of Iyatul Kursi, the words of the prayer that I whisper to myself every day and night so Allah protects my entire family. The words whispered along with the imaam from my smiling lips, and I wondered if my cousin beside me saw my grin? This moment of clarity was perfect, I know now that I have to practice, that the words of Arabic are not so hidden. As the imaan kept going, I realized I knew some words, I heard the mention of the Prophet Moses and in the final prayer when my favourite imaam came up, a joker with a beautiful heart and family, I heard the words of his specific prayer in his native tongue Arabic. Although not the Quran, he was using Arabic, and I could understand some words. I understood that he prayed we would not be among the hypocrites, and the disbelievers would be guided, and that we would be blessed with Janatal Firdous, the highest level of heaven.
And as I stood there, among the three hundred others, I felt that I was being heard. I never spoke, I tried my best to follow and I yearned for a path to understanding and I was simply given my own specific practice. I guessed at the Arabic meanings from the words I knew and my focus through the rest of my prayer brought me to focus on that last dua, by my favourite imaam no less. I was finally, I am finally, seeing how easy it is to understand.
Against the blue, the clouds in their crisp white float as though they have somewhere to go. Maybe a party. They are awful slow. Against the green grass a pink flower with white edges sways in the breeze the clouds are running with. Lazy flower. Flowing along as though it was deciding on what shoes to wear. Oh but these colours, so crisp and real. Forget about where they are going let's see how they are.
The contrast is perfect, everything is just right.
As I lie here staring up I know there's someone watching over. And though I am using my memories to remember these sights from yesterday, I know that today I got a beautiful moment of clarity.
Today while I prayed Isha, I tried so hard to let the first day of Ramadan be fresh and full of understanding. I stood in the lines at the musjid listening to the Quran, Arabic words I have yet to understand. I wanted to have some meaning so I took to repeating the words in my mind. I tried so hard to follow along, my mind stumbling and stuttering to keep up with the imaam. He probably had the Quran memorized at a young age, and his beautiful voice swept through the verses like a breeze, like he could breathe in and the words would always flow just as smooth.
I so desperately wanted to be able to follow along. Some understanding that would be just for me. The first hour was going by faster than ever before and I knew I had been consciously trying to practice the sounds of the Arabic on my tongue, yet I felt that knowing those words would bring me true love for Allah. True understanding of what comes after this world. So I continued on. Then, I heard the familiar words of Iyatul Kursi, the words of the prayer that I whisper to myself every day and night so Allah protects my entire family. The words whispered along with the imaam from my smiling lips, and I wondered if my cousin beside me saw my grin? This moment of clarity was perfect, I know now that I have to practice, that the words of Arabic are not so hidden. As the imaan kept going, I realized I knew some words, I heard the mention of the Prophet Moses and in the final prayer when my favourite imaam came up, a joker with a beautiful heart and family, I heard the words of his specific prayer in his native tongue Arabic. Although not the Quran, he was using Arabic, and I could understand some words. I understood that he prayed we would not be among the hypocrites, and the disbelievers would be guided, and that we would be blessed with Janatal Firdous, the highest level of heaven.
And as I stood there, among the three hundred others, I felt that I was being heard. I never spoke, I tried my best to follow and I yearned for a path to understanding and I was simply given my own specific practice. I guessed at the Arabic meanings from the words I knew and my focus through the rest of my prayer brought me to focus on that last dua, by my favourite imaam no less. I was finally, I am finally, seeing how easy it is to understand.