When the Island Waits: NurulAllah and the Light Within
Pulau Kapas can wait. And I am in no hurry.
1. The Pause
There are moments in life when the path ahead, once so clear and insistent, softens at the edges. I had long set my sights on Pulau Kapas—drawn by vision, longing, and the quiet pull of a place that once called me home. But lately, something in the current has shifted. Not a block, not a storm—just a subtle turning, like a whisper: Not yet.
On the surface, the reasons are plain: timing, finances. But I know better than to stop there. There is more beneath.
2. Beneath the Surface
My children and I are settling into a new home. And I sense the house itself needs us—our attention, our presence, our breath. The unseen elements from those who lived here before still linger, and though it may sound like superstition, I feel the need to anchor us here. It is not about walls or paint. It is about soul.
And slowly, we are weaving a rhythm. Each day flows with more coherence—morning light, shared meals, small tasks handled without command. I’ve offered no instructions, only intention. And they, my grown children, have responded with quiet acceptance, stepping into their roles with grace.
3. Trusting the Flow
This is no detour. This is the practice.
In building harmony at home, I am preparing for harmony elsewhere. If Kapas is to be a retreat for others, it must first live within me—here, now, in this home, in this season of care.
Where I once leapt with fire, I now move with gentleness. It’s not fear. It’s depth. I have learned to trust the quiet as much as the call.
4. The Island Within
Years ago, I would’ve left without warning.
Impulse was my compass. Guts, not patience, made my path. And with that fire, I built a life that defied reason. Make it happen was my mantra. And often, I did.
But now, the fire has cooled into something steadier. I no longer need to chase dreams at the expense of presence. I choose my steps with care, not hesitation, but reverence. My body, no longer young, asks for pacing. My spirit, seasoned by losses and grace, asks for clarity.
Pulau Kapas is still waiting.
And I am still going.
But not today.
And I am in no hurry.
5. Where It All Began
My bond with Kapas began long before this dream of a retreat. It goes back to 1963, when I was a schoolboy at Sultan Sulaiman Secondary School. I used to follow my Gayong teacher and mentor, the late Dato’ Ariffin Zakaria, then the District Officer of Marang. He loved fishing and hunting, and every weekend, he and my Silat instructor, Tengku Azmel bin Tengku Myzzafar Shah, would bring a group of us, including my twin brother, along for island trips.
Back then, the islands were wild, untouched, and ours. Kapas, Gemia, Redang—they were our playgrounds. We didn’t visit them for leisure. We lived them. We learned silence, strength, discipline, and respect for the land.
Those men—Dato’ Ariffin and Tengku Azmel—shaped us. Their intelligence, presence, and guidance left marks that remain today. And in ways I’m only now understanding, they planted the first seeds of this journey. Kapas isn’t just a destination. It is part of my story. And my story is not done unfolding.
6. Before Dawn: On the Light of God
3:00 AM. Not a call from angels, just a need to pee. And yet, something stirred.
I woke not from a dream, not from revelation, just the body’s quiet nudge. I emptied myself. Perhaps symbolic.
I did not return to bed.
Instead, I sat.
I sat in stillness. Breath and silence. The world outside was folded in sleep. Inside, something slowly opened. I whispered the Name. I let the Name whisper me.
Allah… Allah Hu…
No thunder. No light cracking the sky.
Only the slow rhythm of a Presence that had always been here.
I followed with a massage—scalp, temples, roots of hair. Every pore, every follicle, a doorway. Then I got up, still in silence, and put away the dishes, quietly so as not to disturb my children’s sleep.
And in that moment, a question arose:
“What is NurulAllah? How does one gather the Light of God?”
It Was Already There
Not in the zikr alone.
Not in the scalp massage.
Not even in the neatness of the dishes.
But in the fact that each act was done with presence.
Each small gesture held a thread of sacred intention.
And that thread led inward.
The Light Is Not Sought—It Sees
NurulAllah is not a lightning bolt for the chosen.
It is the light that sees you while you move in the dark.
It is the quiet witness to your hidden prayers,
the compassion behind your unnoticed acts.
It is not the fire that blinds—it is the hush that remains when the ego bows.
To Gather the Light, Be Empty
-
I emptied my bladder.
-
I emptied my mind.
-
I emptied the sink.
-
I emptied my need to be seen.
And in this cascade of small surrenders,
I was full of something I could not name.
So This Is How the Light Comes
Not by summoning.
Not by deserving.
But by becoming a space through which it can flow.
Like breath.
Like water.
Like the dawn that was beginning even then, beyond my window.
"Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth..."
Surah An-Nur, 24:35
“When My servant draws near to Me through what I love... I become his hearing with which he hears, his sight with which he sees, his hand with which he strikes, and his foot with which he walks...”
—Hadith Qudsi (Sahih Bukhari)
✦ Pull-Quote
“NurulAllah is not something you find in the sky—it’s what watches you doing dishes at 3 a.m. and smiles.”
#PulauKapas #SacredTiming #IslandWithin #SilatLegacy #LivingPresence #FromRootsToWings #GentleLeadership #InnerRetreat #MemoryAndPlace #WalkingTheWay
(Poetic/Instagram set)
#WhenTheIslandWaits #EchoesOfSilence #RootsAndSalt #TimeUnfolds #HeartsInHarbour #WisdomInStillness #FlowNotForce #ElderFire #BreathOfPlace #SeashellMemory
(For Malaysian readers)
#PulauKapas #TerengganuNostalgia #AnakPantaiTimur #SilatGayong #KenanganLama #SantaiDiPantai #WarisanGuru #AlamDanAnak #TenangDuluBaruBergerak #CeritaTanahAir
No comments:
Post a Comment