Jan 02 2008
Touched
The strength and joy of this man amazes me. He looks tired. I see his exhaustion, how he pushes himself, how he holds the cheeks of my brothers’ soft skin like he would to sons and how he tells them of the exciting video games at his house. He expertly hides his hard breathing.
All this despite the fact he just came out of the hospital… again.
I pause and speak. And then simply listen. Taking in the undercurrent of love happening within this conversation.
“You look different.”
I blink. “Really?” I give him a split second inquiry with my face that you can read like a book.
I realize he’s taking me in. I, inside myself note that maybe he’s referring to my loss in weight?… But instead … a moment passes as he leans back.
A certain stillness, a mood revealing how I feel inside… takes over.
I didn’t expect him to continue.
“You look thoughtful.”
I look at him.
My brother pipes up: “It the flashdrive,” pointing to my covered neck.
piece of advice:
ballu: sometimes people worry so much because they unconsciously percieve themselves as a vital part of the family
and indeed, they are a vital part of the family
but the rizq is always with Allah
I’ve seen it in my own family
when one source or stream of income is reduced or taken away, then Allah automatically opens another door
at first I would worry
now … I don’t, not at all
genocide, civil war, civil strive within a country? within borders man made classifications and boxes we put ourselves and dehumanize–we scrutinize for no reason, blood flows, hearts pump, love’s arts gives us all a lump, a strange feeling, , a hindrance, an ability–a security. But it’s nemesis: they call it genocide the wiping out, the distance relative of your mother– nay it’s between brother and brother there’s no such thing as a murder to no other.
