Mona Alhmood

“لا تحكم على الطريقة التي يتواصل بها الناس مع الله, فلكل امرئ طريقته وصلاته الخاصة. إن الله لا يأخذنا بكلمتنا, بل ينظر في أعماق قلوبنا. وليست المناسك أو الطقوس هي التي تجعلنا مؤمنين بل إن كانت قلوبنا صافية أم لا.”
― Elif Shafak, The Forty Rules of Love

“Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. But it would ha’ been a good deal easier if you’d only been a witch.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

“BOWLS OF FOOD
Moon and evening star do their
slow tambourine dance to praise
this universe. The purpose of
every gathering is discovered:
to recognize beauty and love
what’s beautiful. “Once it was
like that, now it’s like this,”
the saying goes around town, and
serious consequences too. Men
and women turn their faces to the
wall in grief. They lose appetite.
Then they start eating the fire of
pleasure, as camels chew pungent
grass for the sake of their souls.
Winter blocks the road. Flowers
are taken prisoner underground.
Then green justice tenders a spear.
Go outside to the orchard. These
visitors came a long way, past all
the houses of the zodiac, learning
Something new at each stop. And
they’re here for such a short time,
sitting at these tables set on the
prow of the wind. Bowls of food
are brought out as answers, but
still no one knows the answer.

Food for the soul stays secret.
Body food gets put out in the open

like us. Those who work at a bakery
don’t know the taste of bread like

the hungry beggars do. Because the
beloved wants to know, unseen things

become manifest. Hiding is the
hidden purpose of creation: bury

your seed and wait. After you die,
All the thoughts you had will throng

around like children. The heart
is the secret inside the secret.

Call the secret language, and never
be sure what you conceal. It’s

unsure people who get the blessing.
Climbing cypress, opening rose,

Nightingale song, fruit, these are
inside the chill November wind.

They are its secret. We climb and
fall so often. Plants have an inner
Being, and separate ways of talking
and feeling. An ear of corn bends

in thought. Tulip, so embarrassed.
Pink rose deciding to open a

competing store. A bunch of grapes
sits with its feet stuck out.

Narcissus gossiping about iris.
Willow, what do you learn from running

water? Humility. Red apple, what has
the Friend taught you? To be sour.

Peach tree, why so low? To let you
reach. Look at the poplar, tall but

without fruit or flower. Yes, if
I had those, I’d be self-absorbed

like you. I gave up self to watch
the enlightened ones. Pomegranate

questions quince, Why so pale? For
the pearl you hid inside me. How did

you discover my secret? Your laugh.
The core of the seen and unseen

universes smiles, but remember,
smiles come best from those who weep.

Lightning, then the rain-laughter.
Dark earth receives that clear and
grows a trunk. Melon and cucumber
come dragging along on pilgrimage.

You have to be to be blessed!
Pumpkin begins climbing a rope!

Where did he learn that? Grass,
thorns, a hundred thousand ants and

snakes, everything is looking for
food. Don’t you hear the noise?

Every herb cures some illness.
Camels delight to eat thorns. We

prefer the inside of a walnut, not
the shell. The inside of an egg,

the outside of a date. What about
your inside and outside? The same

way a branch draws water up many
feet, God is pulling your soul

along. Wind carries pollen from
blossom to ground. Wings and

Arabian stallions gallop toward
the warmth of spring. They visit;

they sing and tell what they think
they know: so-and-so will travel

to such-and-such. The hoopoe
carries a letter to Solomon. The

wise stork says lek-lek. Please
translate. It’s time to go to

the high plain, to leave the winter
house. Be your own watchman as

birds are. Let the remembering
beads encircle you. I make promises

to myself and break them. Words are
coins: the vein of ore and the

mine shaft, what they speak of. Now
consider the sun. It’s neither

oriental nor occidental. Only the
soul knows what love is. This

moment in time and space is an
eggshell with an embryo crumpled

inside, soaked in belief-yolk,
under the wing of grace, until it

breaks free of mind to become the
song of an actual bird, and God.”
― Rumi, The Soul of Rumi: A New Collection of Ecstatic Poems – Coleman Barks's Sublime Renderings of the 13th-Century Sufi Mystic's Insights into Divine Love and the Human Heart

“لم يكن الإسلام لا دين مذاهب ولا نظريات في دولة النبي.”
― إبراهيم عيسى, مولانا