The Road Downhill Posted 15/12/09 -Revised.

 The Road Downhill

Posted 15/12/09

Yesterday, while at the Registration Department getting my Identity Card (MyKad) redone—it had split into two, a common flaw I’ve seen happen to many—I took advantage of being a Warga Emas, a golden ager, one over the age of sixty. It earned me faster service, to my surprise, though the young lady at the counter asked me my age just to be sure.

I brought my two kids along to apply for their ICs as well. After the necessary documents and photos were taken, they were told it would take four months before they’d hear about their status. Four months? Oh well—they’ve already waited almost ten years. What’s another four? At least now, they have papers saying they’re no longer “illegal aliens” in this country.

I tip my hat to the Minister of Interior for walking the talk, for keeping his word to clear the backlog of PR and citizenship applications. I feel like a heavy weight has been lifted off my back after all these years, second only to the burden I carried after my wife’s passing. Still, I don’t feel peace in my heart. Something is missing. Something’s not quite right. There’s a nagging inside me, something trying to surface, demanding attention—but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Whatever it is, I hope it’s something positive. I hope it will benefit my children and me in the long run. I hope it happens soon. Because I feel the aches and pains of age creeping in, along with the slow erosion of enthusiasm for the creative and energetic things I once loved.

I need a change. A break. A reset from this routine of caring for two teenagers who’ve just finished high school. I need to revitalize myself, recharge, and prepare for whatever lies ahead. Right now, I feel like a bird in limbo, without a song.

Lately, I’ve been focusing all my mental and spiritual energy on Ibn Arabi and his philosophy, while physically stirring massive pots of chicken and beef curry in the catering business. Cooking for three to four thousand people. Cleaning, lifting, running. If God works this hard, what’s the point of being God?

Am I God? According to Ibn Arabi, in a nutshell—I am. I am His manifestation, His mirror image, His eyes, His ears, His senses. I am that. I am. What else can I be, if not that which created me in His image, to see, feel, touch, and taste Himself through His creation?

I am no Insan Kamil, no perfect man. Far from it. But neither am I ordinary. I was created special, above all creation. Only somewhere along the way, I took a wrong turn. I wandered from the path. But I’m still salvageable. I still regret. I still repent. I can still return. I’m still shedding my veils and false identities, stripping away what I am not.

I have many rivers to cross. But I can’t seem to find the bridge. There are karmic weights—old, twisted, deep-rooted—that still pin my feet to the floor.

But I intend to break free before the angel of death comes for me.

This, I swear—as a man who has spent his years seeking that which he does not understand, asking questions in every corner of the world, through every situation, every experience, through indulgence and abstinence alike. I have tested right and wrong. I’ve experimented with life to arrive at the Truth before I die.

I am a believer. But what I believe in is still beyond my ability to envision. And when that vision comes—when I finally see—I hope to be erased from this phenomenal world and its illusions.

In the meantime, I will keep writing this so-called nonsense, for as long as I live or as long as I have access to a keyboard. I’ll keep recording every boring, tedious, minuscule detail of my days—just to purge the demons of monotony and restlessness.

The mind needs to express itself. So let it.

Out of suffering is born the urge to seek Truth. In suffering lies the root of inquiry. And yet, when we suffer—as all of us do—we immediately seek comfort. We reach for a painkiller at the first sign of physical discomfort. We do the same with mental and emotional anguish—seeking consolation and calling that the “search for truth.”

But it’s not truth we’re after—it’s relief. A distraction. Compensation for our pain.

In doing so, we miss the deeper cause of our suffering. We live an illusory life. And we keep walking downhill.

Certainly! Here are the hashtags in horizontal format for easy copying and sharing:

#TheRoadDownhill #SpiritualJourney #IbnArabiWisdom #WargaEmasReflections #SeekingTruth #IdentityAndBelonging #MalaysianStories #LifeOfAnArtist #AgingGracefully #InnerStruggles #RedemptionPath #PersonalGrowth #MysticRealism #WritingToHeal #LegacyOfWords