"Channels Unseen"

"In this are signs, for those who reflect." How is it that my Da'ud Yasin, teacher and beloved friend, chanced upon me? How did a pearl emerge from the sea and lay herself in my hands? Can it be, oh Friend destiny who by Allah's Grace has come, to steady my course? "The kufi," he said, "it looked familiar." Indeed hearts feed from each other, and communicate through channels unseen.

Like a dream, the faces, the garb, the stoic African women, they are mysteriously beautiful. The hoards of children warm my heart, lovingly running to one's aid, to give you tissues or offer you some drink. The niqabi women draw my curiousity, covered head to toe, to fingertip in the blackest of black, traversing the passages of the Haram, pure, refined.

No, I do not want to leave this beloved soil, it pains me even yet. I long for my return, though I have not left. I long for that tawwaf, with pilgrims to my right, my left, all around calling out to the Divine, and all I hear is a melody of angels searching, seeking, being close to their Lord, circling His earthly throne, calling out to His Majesty.

Oh how blessed is this land! The home of the Prophet, the splendor of its customs, the kindness of its people. Oh, how greatly my heart yearns to stay here, at last resting in comfort, in the home it never had.

Oh Land of Golden Jewels, how I miss you, while I hold you in my hand still.

What use are eyes, that take but sips from the vast ocean that surrounds me.

Feed, my dear heart, absorb that mystical presence, that communion-food that thou mayest never taste again.