Spiritual High

I remember days that passed when, reading the Quraan over and over again was my biggest hobby, I didn’t care for books or television, just the Quraan.   I’d lose my self in it’s rhythm, revisit tales of life in far off lands times gone by.   I’d lose myself in the company of Prophets (PBUH) and righteous men and women of past.   

I’d dream of Paradise, of wearing green silk, witting back and chilling with friends and family and living in a palace that I couldn’t really visiualise but knew was to be imaginably the most grandiose thing, ever.  In those days, the Quran was like my best friend, on a bad I’d flick through pages at random and every-time, I had the feeling that Allah has guided me to that page, chapter and verses.   they spoke to me about my woes, soothed my mind and inspired me to carry on.   It made me feel special, as if this great book was revealed and written for my purpose.   This was my guide.   In those days, I was the happiest person on earth.   I wasn’t rich and didn’t have much comforts but I had the best friend in a the book of Allah.  

And, then I became neglectful, slowly I drifted away from My friend.  My life was no longer under my control but was run by the dictates of work and uni.   I began to pray less and think of Allah less and as one thing lead to another, Islam was no longer the central feature of my existence.  I was moved by material motivations, I wanted the best and blingiest of things and was surrounded by people who fed this worldly hunger.   a hunger which was never fulfilled, each time I made purchase, I was reminded of all the things that I didn’t have, thing that I must want, though the need was clearly obvious.    

This neither made me happy or made sense.  Who cared?  I didn’t.  I never judge people on the basis of what they wore or had, why   did I assume that others did the same of me?   What’s the point in hoarding all of these things, that wear and I couldn’t take with me anyway?  Things that didn’t even give me lasting happens.    What made me happy, apart from my family?  What was it?  

My mind searches through the files of my past and then, I’m reminded of my old friend, the friend that has never given up on me nor let me down.   The friend that was always ready to calm me down and eased my ailing heart.   That told me the most beautiful stories of some of the greatest people that have ever lived.  A friend that connected me to the One that created me.    I picked up a copy of my Quran, dusted it off and began to read.   

I’m still reaching out.   

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