Naeem's Blog

Riyadh is a very dusty city; sandy would be a better word if only it didn't sound so feminine. Being situated in the middle of a desert might explain this oh-so-special trait of Riyadh. Sandstorms sweep through on a weekly, sometimes nightly basis. Makes for a funtime if you like the grit of sand between your teeth. The geographical location of this oasis city results in a very trying time for those who are allergically sensitive to dust. And I am allergically sensitive to dust.

Recently its gotten too much, especially in the early mornings. I'm waking up with a tissue in my hand, eyes watering and nose dripping. Its hard enough waking for Fajr at 3:30 in the morning, but its even harder with these allergies beckoning me back to sleep.

I can tough it out I think to myself. It'll go away. It always goes away. But never without a fight.

But man, this time its tough. My allergy attacks never lasted more than a couple days and here I am going on day four with no sign of relief. If I'm not blowing my nose, I'm sneezing.

Don't get me wrong, sneezing isn't always a bad thing. The body always benefits from this indiscriminate system reboot. After all, when Allah(swt) blew the spirit into Adam, he sneezed followed by a hearty 'Praise be to Allah'. So I like the occasional sneeze. Just not when I'm trying to snuggle into my inviting bed of dhikr wearing my cozy pajamas of taqwa waiting to savor every sip of my hot cup of Divine Love.

Go away, you unwelcome vagabond! This is supposed to me my personal quiet time. I’ve been making excuses for the past several months that I’ll get my spiritual mojo back come summer. I just need some silence and stillness I convinced myself, and I’ll be back dancing with the angels, cloud hopping in the presence of my beloved (saw), drunk with the dhikr of Allah.

Oh how I yearn for those days of intense inner tranquility when I found my soul in sync with my surroundings – all peace all the time. I want back my early morning Tahajjud prayers but these allergies are mockingly denying me, ‘Thank your Lord you’re catching Fajr.’ I want to revisit the sweet silence of sajdah (prostration), but my throbbing sinuses are screaming, ‘Get up you moron or I’m going to implode your head!’ I want my free-flowing tears back, but all my puffy eyes have to offer are annoying watery bubbles. I’ve foolishly planned all year for this moment, *my* moment, naively thinking spiritual ecstasy can be summoned like a genie from the lamp.

And here some stupid specks of sand are sullying my immature aspirations. Ah, the justice of it all.

Day four and I’m getting desperate.

I finally turn to Him. How sad that I only knock on His door when I’m desperate, when all else has failed but that’s the least of my worries right now.

"Ya Allah, please help me. Please help me for no other reason but to allow me to begin my journey back to You."

Blank. I stammer and stutter only to append some hollow prayers that I memorized in Sunday School.

Huh? Is that all I can conjure up?! Is my inside so dry, parched from the heat of my lowly passions that I can’t even muster a respectable appeal? How pathetic!

Confident that they’ve found an ideal incubator, my allergies snicker at my paltry plea with a loud sneeze.

I have got to kickstart my heart after my embarrassingly long existential hibernation just so I can *begin* to put together some coherent thoughts in the presence of my Creator. I can’t even make the simplest prayer. Fitting I suppose. Can’t waltz right into the King’s court in your jammies with crusty eyes and nasty morning breath expecting His audience.

You fool! You get what you deserve.

For too long my desires have sucked my heart dry of its vitality. I have fueled my anger, overfed my stomach, allowed free reign to my tongue, and harbored thoughts unthinkable.

Woe am I! How I wish atonement for my heedlessness could be achieved by a hundred lashes to my heart. If it were just that simple.

Ya Allah, but why complicate my endeavor with such an unnecessary impediment? At least play fair. Remove the allergies and give me a fighting chance.

But then it hits me in the midst of my blasphemous tirade. Who am I to decide when and where and how I can approach the court of His Majesty? How arrogant of me to think that I can schedule my purification!

'Silly child, My door is always open to those in search of My Mercy, but those who wish to run in and out will find Me not so welcoming of the tracks made by their muddy shoes on the carpet of My Love'

These allergies are a gentle, loving rebuke by the Most Compassionate. It is His way of letting me know that this journey is not to be taken lightly as an amusement or a sport.

'Wipe your shoes at the door and don't go back out again.'

Day five and I wake up with nothing. I barely even noticed until I went down into sajdah and realized I could breath.

With tears I refused to hold back in a sajdah I refused to arise from, I cried 'You are so beautiful to me and I am so ugly to You. You give and You give while I take and I take. What has this despicable slave ever done to deserve Your attention? When will I ever be able to give back to You? How will I ever be able to give back to You?'

This is the story of my Divine Intervention.