My Lady, Khadija

Sat in the library, in the middle of the night, attempting to write a paper about depression and acupuncture (please go ahead and raise an eyebrow), meanwhile gobbling chocolate biscuits, the silence is impressive despite the constant electric buzz of the overhead lamps. Being very little motivated, and much otherwise distracted, here I am.

Something that has been with me for a while is the yearning to be with sayyeda Khadija. May Allah be pleased with her, fill her resting place with light and beauty, and keep her in the company of her blessed family! An embrace. An embrace from that beautiful lady who so encompassingly embraced her husband (endless peace upon him!) on that fateful night he descended from Hira. Just imagine. What an embrace. I could dream of it for ever ...

I imagine it would cure all griefs, remove all worries, calm all fears. I even imagine it'd mend a broken heart.

And my hope is for this world, not just the next. And why not? Surely she has a spirit that can fly through the seven heavens, and throughout the earth. But where is my spirit at? Below my passions, hopes, and preoccupations; below my desire for this world; below chocolate biscuits, and medical degrees. It's not that her spirit cannot visit me, but rather mine is unable to greet hers.

O Allah: do not make this world my main aim, nor the extent of my knowledge.
O Allah: grant us the company of those whom we seek.