Updated: Jan 27
I grew up in an Islamic household, was told Allah is always watching, keeping notes. Must be a busy guy, I thought, writing down what everyone is doing all the time. Does he ever sleep? Rest? Dance among the stars? If I were God - which I am pleased to tell you, I am, and equally pleased to tell you, you are too - I’d dance among the stars, swim upside down in between Jupiter’s rings, maybe even sleep in one of the moon’s craters admiring my most prized creation, or perhaps weeping at it’s inevitable destruction. All things come to new beginnings. I was told Allah will have a book of me when I die, rather, at my new beginning. He’ll present me my past, and judge me accordingly, weighing my sins against my good deeds, tallying up my worth. I admit, I believed them, carried the shame of queerness racking up sin points, carried the guilt of being me. I held fear in my pocket, judged myself before anyone ever could.
Tell me, do you believe in the goodness of heart? In the blessing of each life?
They told me Allah is writing my book, and I denied it later, but I came around. Each day, I wake and open my journal. I’m collecting experiences on the page to take with me to God, in case she dozed off in a stream of light, or found another lover, one more thrilling for the moment. I want her to know everything. How I was angry and afraid, how I worried, slowly undid the knots in my heart, surrendered myself to myself, then discovered how to live gracefully. I reject confining my love to a temple built of shame. Let's build one with love. This radical idea that we are each other, that what makes tree tree, is what makes me me, is what makes you you. This wild idea that truth is not relegated to one definition, one path, one way. That every thing, every where - past, present, and future - are happening now. Because, you are happening now, in this moment, and the world hasn’t stopped. Because sometimes, when everything seems hard, you still are, and you still must, happen. That the only prayer needed is the inhale of gratitude, the exhale of praise. The complete abundance of crumbs left by God’s love feasting on light, like a lonely traveler in the night sky. I don’t know what else to say. They told me Allah is watching. What I wanted to tell them is that I am watching, too, writing down how God is behaving today - this riot of a life.