For a friend.
No, I get it. You are tired. Of feeling like you must exert yourself, to explain yourself, somehow. Sort of like an accusation, and then, an entire novel written in defence, response. Burned at the stake, eaten up in mere seconds. You wonder if… ‘your people’ are really even there. Listening. Inches away, somewhere, in some distant place, maybe. And time. Elsewhere? Some different sky, perhaps. Some… other-than-this-one.
But maybe, and for the longest time: you had been wrong, about some things. You just so wonder: how long might it take, for it all to grow into feeling right?
My friend, for all the time you have been given, upon this Earth: there is always some tomorrow. There is all that darkness – which, in actual fact, are intentional spaces in which lanterns of light reveal themselves most bright. And fire, fire, fire. Molten ores, thrown away, with good grace. The pure gold that shall surely remain in the end.
Do you not just love when, after Winter, for example, we get to see the first day of sun? Or, when it has not rained in so long, and then, one day: tap-tap-tap upon your window. It is true, I think: the good times are realised, augmented, by the facts of the bad times’ existence. The things that matter most, in this way or that, are hard. To thank Allah for what the harder times have taught us. And for the parts of life that, for this or that time at least, taste distinctively nectar-like.
Hey… you need not explain yourself so: you will overspend, exhaust, yourself through most such efforts. How comforting an idea, though, that the right ones will listen. Maybe tomorrow; maybe this week. Maybe through hardship; and certainly, too, through ease. All you must do, my friend, is trust, do, and be.
فَإِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا