Dear God
i guess You created me in a time where writing on a computer would be the way that I speak to You so often
it would be so much more romantic if i had a quill and inkwell, sitting by candlelight, as i wrote my munājāt in beautiful calligraphy
would You like me more if i sat cross legged on the floor as i do this?
would it be more authentic?
or is it okay that i am sitting on the couch?
i have to believe that You are more interested in the substance than the form
all i have to give You is my faqr
that raw, sheer need for You
that aching desperation that only You know
and i am nothing
i hate being responsible for myself
i hate having to be the one who has to decide
i just want You to lay it out for me
“write your dissertation about this topic!”
ok, if You say so
“follow this historical intellectual tradition!”
sure, good to know that is the one You prefer
“raise your children this way!”
allright, let’s do it
but instead it is me, with my books, and my blog posts, and my searching out critical discourse
listening to other fuqarāʾ like me
hoping for an insight
seeking the way
but how can i actually complain to You
how can i not feel like You have answered my prayers
that seems like the height of ingratitude
but am i never not in desperate need of You
no
there will never come a time
no matter how learned my mind becomes
no matter how pious my body can be
no matter how sincere my heart is
where i am still not a beggar after Your Mercy
You are my mother
no
You are so much my refuge
that i seek refuge in You for the wellbeing of my own mother
the one who nursed me
the one who has shown me love my whole life
only You i beseech to give her eternal happiness
and only You can grant it
there is no god but You, transcendent You are, surely i am from the oppressors
there is no where to turn, except You are there
and so i turn once again
seeking everything i have always sought
willing to change for You
over and over again
i know i can change for You
i have left that which i have loved
i have left those whom i have loved
i have come to Your doorstep because
how can i do otherwise
the one who has caught a glimpse of You
tasted one drop of the nectar of Your ḥamd
reached the mental point of ḥayra
and understood a bit of You as al-Ghanī al-Mughnī
how can there be any going back
but there is one thing i do ask of You
i ask what your Prophet reportedly asked
do not leave me to myself
for i know i am not the authority
You are
and i cannot find my way
if You do not guide me to You
yā Ḥayyu yā Qayyūm
bi raḥmatika astaghīth
wa min ʿadhābika astajīr
aṣliḥnī shaʾnī kullah
wa lā takilnī ilā nafsī wa lā ilā aḥadin min khalqika
tarfata ʿayn
A Mercy Case 