This was written before I traveled to Dubai. I have to admit I detested this city, and I returned with more ailments than the ones I went with. Maybe a post on that later, isA.
When God doesn’t answer a prayer of yours, you usually wait for justification. We tend to accuse the human’s weakness, rather than their devilry, when it comes to such foul attitude towards God! In His benevolence, however, He shows us why, sometimes after whole years, but not in subtle signs, rather in full fledged life happenings, with all the reality a happening entails, sadness or felicity. Hardship after the other, I learned why my Friday prayers are taking such a long road. It seems that not only had I needed certain phases of roughing, but that it wasn’t entirely about me.
The cashmere scarf watched silently as my country fell apart and when I had to endure some of the darkest moments in my life, wrestling back humongous amounts of emotional and sometimes physical pain. It never smirked when after a short repose the tide lowed again, with the death of my young cousin, the illness of my grandma, her eventual decease, the death of my step mother’s mom, then the catastrophic events surrounding my sister’s safety. It enjoyed the quiet company of its fellow diamond ring, when at the end, my own father’s heart failed him, and I had to exert my literal existence, for it pass to safely with it still beating that warm rhythm of it.
I’m now lying in a semi-agitated pond of emotional, physical and financial convalescence, and asking myself: why? But I then retort against this boring denial and tell myself that, this is why. I imagine all those difficult moments of concern, fear and panic as two rows of people, between whom I’d passed through, somewhat safely, and then them looking at me, puzzled with my frustration with them! You have passed this gauntlet unperturbed, and instead of being thankful, you have the audacity to question our existence, not knowing that it was all for you, they said with their eyes.
This kind of preparatory purgatory (excuse the unintended, cliched rhyme), accumulative, infinitely significant in its subtle design, like a ladder that goes up, or through, doesn’t matter, is especially made for me, by Him. However, that is not so I could feel all elated and lofty, quite the contrary, for I had also learned that with rounds and rounds of cause and effect, of why and because, it could all boil down to this: it is all for you, but along with you it is all for someone else. That someone is my father.
This is a very intricate web only a deity is capable of protecting, and it is simpler than my mind with its alleged, stupid power could ever grasp. So I’m taming my heart to take my mind’s disappointed place, and teaching it to believe in all of it. I am still afraid more people will extend that gauntlet, but at least I should start and acknowledge some of the wisdom behind them.
I stand by the cashmere now, sad.
Because still, after all of my practical philosophy, I yearn her. Am I mistaking a temporary, flustered pond of peace for being finally ready? Have I mistaken those hardships, very humble compared to some others’ troubles, as a proud rite of passage? Or am I just an exhausted tumbling existence in need of graceful company?
I think, with all the meekness this verb could grasp, that I just.. might.. be ready?
Ah, where art thou, my weary friend? I’m done with cashmere and diamond. I’m now a sad, wrung wad of losses, yet a considerable piece of experience, and I just need your unconditional existence.
You caught my last Friday’s prayer.
Did it catch you?
Are you praying for me?