Posts tagged “god

this is not about you

Posted on October 26, 2018

When I think of the great artists of old, I lower my hat to them in respect. In their musings, sculptures, paintings, and art — there was a craft. What made the Greats great was their desire to create at the upper threshold of their ability, despite knowing that such an endeavor would require time, perseverance, discipline, and accuracy. Create exquisitely, or do not create at all, was the mantra. This art is not about you – it is about something bigger. These days, however, the desire to dedicate oneself to a single skill, to work on it in seclusion, day by day, slowly, precisely, carving, cutting – hammering away at marble from twilight to dusk until a visible form begins to emerge –…

whispered lessons from the dust of Najaf

Posted on August 24, 2016

is there any heartache for which i can lay out my heart that you do not already know, my Lord? is there any grief for which i can weep that you do not already know, my Lord? is there any separation wrought wound for which i can cry out in pain that you do not already know, my Lord?   (so then, how can any of these remain, when i know that you know, O Lord?)

navigating grief

Posted on August 8, 2014

Between losing and loss, what pieces of ourselves do we discover? What pieces do we leave behind? It’s a hard process, navigating this road. Mostly because no matter how much you read about it, no one can really teach you how to deal with grief. It is a solitary sea. And no one can show your hands how to reach into empty places to create ships from air. Navigating. Learning what faith is, hanging it on the balance, and finding in comparison the worth of your own. Looking into the shadows of yourself that had been too easy to ignore before. Battling yourself in arenas of your soul that, until now, you never knew existed. There are some days you see clearly, and others…

fragrance of the found

Posted on July 16, 2013

“O God, what did find who lost you? And what did he lose who found you?” -Hussain ibn Ali (a)   I’ve heard whispered tales of a flower in a slumbering wood Whose tears did fall when the world’s weight it understood Drowning in the haze of fairytales, countless once upon a times Of knights bright in shining armor, women with beauty refined   Too weakened by shadows, roots shaken by each passerby So it learned to prick hands that either crushed, or at its beauty did sigh Its strength tested, soon took its bent stem as a sign of defeat Was told once its petals would fall, would turn man into beast   Lost and confused, turned for answers to a wise, olden…