The Golden Ax

It was Him.

Negligent and mindless, she insanely continued to attempt to break the stone with her breath. She exhaled from the deepest part of her body, with the intention to destroy this insurmountable impediment. She blew. And nothing.

She blew it.

And nothing happened. And of course nothing happened. But she pursued, and tactlessly strategized to ignore all her needs, to ignore the Golden Ax on the ground behind her, the one she dropped because it was too heavy, and to focus on using her breath on the 100-foot high stone.

Logically, it would never happen. But logic is a luxury for the insane. For the disconnected, for the voluntarily deadened at heart.

The stone only grew. And with it her destructive despair. Losing hope. While no hope can be found in her own breath.

She even tried to get the advice of others. They all gave her tips on how to purse her lips and how to belt it out. No one pointed to the Ax. In fact, some of these others stood with her to blow on the rock. And the rock grew. And it started to shake, to move, slowly rolling towards her, promising a devastating doom.

The rock rolled. Her immobile state remained. And just when the rock began to roll over her outstretched legs, The Help came.

Without a call, without asking, He reminded her of His existence. It was a simple reminder. The Ax lifted itself from the ground and hovered near her hand. The rock stopped. For those who have no connection to Him, it might appear to be too late for her. That she had already lost two limbs. But for those that know, and for her, it was her Awakening.

With broken limbs and a shattered soul, she began to swing ever so slightly at the rock. And her muscles began to kick in. And she made contact. And she tried again, and this time harder. And then she began to hack at the rock. The Ax growing as her faith.

He helped her, despite her negligence.

He answered, without her even asking.

He came close to her, despite her distance.

And she vowed to revive, to replant, to flourish in His love. A love given when undeserved. Given when all else fails. Given when all else is perfect. Given. Given. Given.

There is no "Why me, God?" There is "You chose me, God. Thank you."

الْحَمْدُ لِلَّهِ الَّذِي هَدَانَا لِهَذَا وَمَا كُنَّا لِنَهْتَدِيَ لَوْلا أَنْ هَدَانَا اللَّهُ 
| All praise to Allah, Who has guided us to this. We could not truly have been led aright if Allah had not guided us|

[Al-Araf: 43]

Unstoppable

The insistent tide lifts and drowns
Me higher and lower into unknown suffering
I feel the gravity longing for food
As if starved for all of eternity

Heaved and pushed and pulled and scratched
I flail in the wind like a piece of soaked paper

Wretched, lost, alone, and searching
For some clarity in the tensioned fog

I know not what comes after this war
Ease? Danger? Love? Regret?

But what I need above all else
is the serenity that accompanies the legendary hearts of brave women and men who undertake mountainous burdens to uplift and survive. The drive they have is deprived of weakness, meekness and gloom. Soon, I will, soon, I’ll kill, the pain and gain all that was lost. For once, again, the first time, and always, I will be clawing at the surface of the concrete around me, to dig myself out of the cave I am captured in.

And then

I will stop my clawing, and I will rest with the wind, and await its settlement on soft sands that brush against my skin. I will wait for time to bring me my answer, and make me, once again, an unstoppable dancer.

Dear Earth,

You have taught me that you will give me nothing, no matter how much I siphon from your oceans.

You have taught me that love can be removed from a heart like I can remove a weed from the ground.

You have taught me that despite my preparation, I have no control over the tides of calamity.

You have taught me that as much as I can do to counter injustice, the roots of truth can always be soiled.

You have taught me that betrayal is more real than your greenery.

You have taught me that the love of those who are closest to me is as certain as political stability.

You have taught me that living a life disconnected from my Lord is like searching for water in a famined dessert.

You have taught me so much, but I know I have much more to grow.

With Love,
Made From You

Diamount

Gather my diamonds
And build me a mountain
High enough to kiss the sun
And let its brilliance rain

Elevate

Some people are living a lie.
Some people are living a truth.
It's really hard to tell
The difference and who is who.

Some smile in your face
While their soul is shattering inside
Some have an expression solemn
But are accustomed to a heart that flies.

Some put up a front
To appear to be in control.
Some cry their eyes out
Trying to grasp what has been torn.

The underlying theme of being human
Should never adjust to your emotional state.
No matter how insecure, weak or hurt
You should always move and elevate.

I Took Off My Hijab

By adding more layers. A knit hat and scarf around my neck to be exact.

I didn't understand what was happening at first. People started talking to me more. Women would speak to me like I knew them since forever. Men looked at me like I was actually approachable. And I was made to feel like I was actually from this planet.

Maybe I was finally fitting in? Maybe I was no longer self conscious about my unique dress code and a face lacking makeup?

But then it became fishy. The Muslim taxi drivers who would almost always say "Assalamu Alaikum," ask me where I'm from or if I'm single, or not allow me to pay for the fare became cold and dry. I would simply give the address, and the only dialog thereafter was at time of payment. It was puzzling.

I started to reevaluate my character. Have I become unfriendly? Arrogant? But other people had become even nicer. I couldn't figure it out.

Until I started passing by hijabis on my walk to work who wouldn't acknowledge my existence. Here is the unspoken code: one stares until the other notices and then they exchange Salams. But it's as if I was just another passer by, with no significance to the wrap around my head.

The wrap around my head. Then it hit me. My knit hat and winter scarf covered my hijab (the head scarf part) entirely and all that was visible were my eyes behind my wannabe hipster glasses while my skinny jeans tucked themselves into my boots. They didn't even *know* I was Muslim.

I found this realization absolutely hilarious. And entertaining. I started paying more attention to the difference in the way people treated me. It was fun feeling like everyone around me believed I belonged in their culture by default, and not as part of the begrudgingly adopted diversity piece of the pie. It was a good feeling. I secretly started looking forward to venturing out into the cold to further explore what it meant to be "normal."

I became even more confident walking in my city. My city. All the stares were not racially related anymore. I was addressed as "lady" and "little lady," something I had never heard before. Men would hold doors for me. Women would crack jokes with me. I became respectable, lovable, and accepted.

But did that mean that *with* hijab I am not as respectable? I am not as lovable? I cannot be accepted? I immediately began to despise the inequality, and it dawned on me that I acted like someone who was bullied for years, and finally was accepted by the mean girls, having been alluded that the mean girls became nice to everyone. I was duped. When in fact nothing had changed, and I had simply crossed over to another world for one season.

The power of this experience lies in the fact that it was not an intentional experiment. It happened simply because of the Chiberian weather which required me to cover as much of by body with warm pieces of cloth. Apparently, the type of cloth you place or wrap around your head defines how you will be treated.

I never questioned that I was being given less respect and love, or that I was not as accepted. I always thought that the type of treatment I was exposed to was just how the world was. I didn't know people could be nicer.

Thank you winter. Thank you subzero temperatures.

I pray one day, and soon, that people will be familiar enough with all other cultures and beliefs that they are not afraid or have reservations, and that the thing that stands out to them is not the wrap around my head, but the smile on my face.