Reflections from across the channel of Pulau Jerejak.

                                                  Jerjak ferry terminal at batu Uban.

 The new apartment we have moved into, the Villa Emas or Golden Villa, is located within sight of Pulau Jerejak, across the channel from Queens Bay. I am reposting some of my past experiences working for the Jerejak Resort and Spa sometime in 2005-2006. These posts are being polished and upgraded in terms of their fluidity. These were the telling years of my move to Penang from Kuala Terengganu after my late wife was sent to Illinois, US, where she was admitted into a hospice for her Alzheimer's treatment. my two children had accompanied her on her trip home to her mother, however, they were sent back as it was too much for my mother-in-law to handle them and their mother. The following posts are related to the times of employment at the Resort and how I dealt with my relocation to Penang with my children.

8/10/2010 – The Morning of Awakening

This morning, around 5 a.m., I was awakened by someone trying to get into the compound to begin cooking for the day’s catering orders—a familiar occurrence. But this time, my cousin beat me to it, and I returned to bed. Instead of falling back asleep, however, I chose to sit in meditation.

As I’ve done countless times over the past thirty years, I settled into a comfortable rhythm of breathing. Once my mind cleared of its usual nagging thoughts, I practiced the art of autosuggestion—a technique I’ve written about several times in the past.

I tell myself:

"I am Whole, Perfect, Strong, and Powerful. Loving, Compassionate, Harmonious and Happy! And I can do what I Will to do... So help me God..."

I usually repeat this several times like a mantra, a reinforcement. The intention is to communicate to my mind what my aspiration is, the ideal I strive to embody every time I sit. If I drift—as I often do—I shift into Zikrullah, repeating the 99 Names of Allah, which in essence mirror the same attributes: The Almighty, The Great, The Compassionate… but in Arabic. This helps bring my attention back to the here and now—sometimes.

But this morning… something shifted.

Out of the blue, a realization struck me—I’ve been going about this all wrong. It came as a jolt, like a voice from within saying:
"Wake up! This technique, this repetition, it is no longer serving you. It’s time to change."

And then, a new mantra emerged—not from memory, but from some deeper place:

"I am empty."
Empty of self.
A hollow reed through which the Divine breath flows.
A stained mirror, dulled by the layers of dust accumulated through countless lifetimes.
I am trapped in this bag of bones as long as breath remains—nothing more.
And I have fallen asleep in this realm of illusion, Maya, unaware...

It is time to wake up to what is.

Even if it takes another lifetime of practice, I must liberate this mind from its bondage—and with it, perhaps, liberate others around me.

I rose, took a cold shower, and drove to the Jerejak Ferry Terminal, where I once worked. It was still dark, and I waited for the sunrise.

There are some experiences too sacred to put into words—but that morning, something long overdue stirred within me.
It moved me, body and mind, inside out.
And for the first time in what felt like ages, I wept as I drove.

Enough said.