It’s well after midnight and burning candles
flicker in my dimly lit living room. Music hums quietly in the background, a
love song carried through the vibrating cry of the reed flute. My head gently
sways right to left to Oruç Güvenç’s sweet notes and we sit, me and my Beloved,
at the table overlooking the night sky as London fades into a deep sleep.
There’s a stillness outside and within.
No words are
spoken as I gaze at my Beloved with longing, seeing and thinking of no one but
Him. His Names are all around me, in the light of the candle, Ya Nur, the Essence of
Luminosity. In the delicious scent of the yellow and pink roses in the vase
next to me, Ya Latif,
the Subtle One. In the love exploding in my heart, Ya Wadud, the Most Loving One.
After eating
my suhour meal — a boiled egg and a small bowl greek yogurt with acacia honey
and chia seeds — we move to the sofa. Not for a moment do I let go of his
Handhold, so strong it will never give way.*
Unable to
find words to express the depths of my yearning, I open at random pages of
poetry drawn from the wells of masters. Who better than them can express the
urgings of my heart.
First, from Mevlana Rumi, comes:
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end
When you find that one,
you’ll no longer want anything else
(Masnavi III, 1418-19, translated by Camille
and Kabir Helminski)
Then Yunus Emre chimes in:
You fall in love with Truth and begin to cry,
You become holy light inside and out,
Singing Allah Allah
(The Drop that Became the Sea, p. 72)
And Sheikh Abol-Hasan of Kharaqan offers:
Nothing pleases the Lord more than finding himself in the Lover’s heart
every time He looks there.
(The Soul and A Loaf of Bread, p. 61)
I read each verse, aloud or silently, to You, Ya Sami, the One Who Hears All. The goosebumps on my skin and underneath a visceral reminder that You are, as the Quran says, closer to me than my jugular vein.
