By Huda Nouman
my heart isn’t feeling much. it seems to only mourn its nothingness, its lack of presence, its emptiness. the disconnect has been long and i’ve forgotten how to go back. this feeling of loss is consuming me whole and i don’t know how to run away. i miss talking silently during the day and having long, hefty conversations through the night. i miss the eagerness to turn away from sin, and i miss the repetitive questioning of my intentions. i miss the connection we had, i miss Allah!
but how do i go back? i’ve come too far down and the way back up seems long. i wish i could run away, to somewhere remote yet safe, somewhere magical, like a cave, hah! The Cave!
i pick up the book and turn to roughly the middle, flip two pages back and there we go. my heart feels a thousand feels at once; the ayah from Al-Kahf reads, “All praise is due to Allah, who has sent down upon His Servant the Book and has not made therein any ‘iwaja”
tap. tap. tap.
Oh i remember, deviation.
Alright let’s continue, wait a minute, no deviation, had i held onto it firmly , i wouldn’t have deviated so far down .
Oh Allah what have i done? how do i go back? i ask my heart and it whispers gently, ‘by staying in the Cave’.
a few verses down and there is a mention of all the beauties of the world, and their desperation, they will all turn into “barren ground”, oh Allah all that made me forget you is nothing but nothing?
i don’t like this feeling, i know i’m a case of terrible mistakes but i don’t know how not to be, i’ll…i’ll just continue
“Or have you thought that the companions of the cave and the inscription were, among Our signs, a wonder?”
snap and it clicks,
that’s what happened,
i forgot the greatest sign, the greatest miracle, the Quran!
my heart is heavy, as if it’s been burdened by a million burdens. but it’s simultaneously light. the heart is weird that way. The angels spread their wings, the birds sing songs of praise, and I fly over soft cotton; peace has descended all over; my heart knows how to go back!
and I do nothing but whisper, silently, underneath my breath, ‘All praise is due to Allah, who has sent down upon His Servant the Book and has not made therein any deviance‘.