Ramadan Journal '19 | Week Three
18:15
Only ten days remain of your stay. You have adorned yourself in the fragrance of forgiveness that makes every breath of air a cocoon of solace. There's a stillness to this atmosphere, a strange quiet that penetrates deeper than skin and bone and I wish my body could cling to it for evermore; the knowledge that this serenity is fleeting almost breaks my heart. And is it not bitter-sweet that these are moments I only stumble upon when I find myself with you.
I often wonder, though, why I forget to appreciate that I can embrace these moments at all. That they have been written for me by the writer of this universe. The sheer magnitude of that concept alone blows my mind. Is it not empowering, to know that the DNA of billions upon billions of people created from a speck of dust has been meticulously written and willed into creation, and mine is one that joins the ranks of a certain nation chosen to believe. It is a quiet part of me...a subtle fragment of my genetic make up but were it to alter or not exist at all, my phenotype would be altogether unrecognisable. And I find that I would be lost without this nurtured work of art.
Because were that helix to unwind and those bonds holding it together to break, I too, would break. As it dictates the beating of my heart and the pumping of my blood and the easy flow of air back and forth, so too does it dictate a lifetime of endurance, resilience, faith. It writes into my bones the definition of patience as it buries the pain, forces redemption to drown the self-loathing, tides in the forgiveness to wash out the guilt. It anchors the soles of my feet to the ground on which they walk, sculpting my clay figure into a model of integrity, humility, compassion. I am not yet the finished product - I am the prototype, draft version twenty five, but my sculptor is a visionary and with each orbit of the sun that graces me with your presence, I find the tiniest bit of belief that maybe I am not so far off from fulfilling His vision and transforming into the polished statuette that is the thing of dreams. And is it not the biggest comfort of all that you have been designated to enter my life just to take me that little bit closer.
I often wonder, though, why I forget to appreciate that I can embrace these moments at all. That they have been written for me by the writer of this universe. The sheer magnitude of that concept alone blows my mind. Is it not empowering, to know that the DNA of billions upon billions of people created from a speck of dust has been meticulously written and willed into creation, and mine is one that joins the ranks of a certain nation chosen to believe. It is a quiet part of me...a subtle fragment of my genetic make up but were it to alter or not exist at all, my phenotype would be altogether unrecognisable. And I find that I would be lost without this nurtured work of art.
Because were that helix to unwind and those bonds holding it together to break, I too, would break. As it dictates the beating of my heart and the pumping of my blood and the easy flow of air back and forth, so too does it dictate a lifetime of endurance, resilience, faith. It writes into my bones the definition of patience as it buries the pain, forces redemption to drown the self-loathing, tides in the forgiveness to wash out the guilt. It anchors the soles of my feet to the ground on which they walk, sculpting my clay figure into a model of integrity, humility, compassion. I am not yet the finished product - I am the prototype, draft version twenty five, but my sculptor is a visionary and with each orbit of the sun that graces me with your presence, I find the tiniest bit of belief that maybe I am not so far off from fulfilling His vision and transforming into the polished statuette that is the thing of dreams. And is it not the biggest comfort of all that you have been designated to enter my life just to take me that little bit closer.
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