The Monsoon Wedding

 

The Monsoon Wedding

My son Karim and I left for Kuala Terengganu on Christmas Eve, boarding the bus at nine at night and arriving sometime around six in the morning. No matter how often I’ve taken that route, the long bus ride has never been comfortable for me—especially in the cold.

We were there to attend the wedding of one of my grandnieces. I quietly named it The Monsoon Wedding, as we were nearly caught in floods on the journey home, and the rain never really let up while we were there. The food was good, and the crowd was mostly a mix of Indian Muslims and Malays. Still, I wasn’t entirely at ease and chose to leave early.

What became the true blessing of the trip—for both Karim and me—was a chance meeting with my eldest brother’s family. His three children and their own children had come from KL, Kerteh, and even Holland. It was especially meaningful for Karim, who last met them nearly twenty years ago, when they were children themselves.

My eldest brother is ten years older than me. He is now 87.

The only moment that threatened to cast a shadow over the trip was my daughter’s decision to cancel her journey after a small incident involving the kittens that somehow grew out of proportion. In hindsight, it feels very much like a blessing in disguise. With the constant rain, delays, and detours, she would not have enjoyed the trip anyway.

All in all, the journey was a success.

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Closing Reflection (optional ending paragraph)

Perhaps rain is not always an inconvenience. Sometimes it narrows the path so that only what truly matters remains. In the end, there was family, a shared table, familiar faces resurfacing after decades, and a quiet sense that what did not happen was as much a mercy as what did.

Wallahu a‘lam.

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Hashtags (horizontal format, blog-ready)

#TheMonsoonWedding #FamilyReunion #RainAndMercy #JourneyNotes #UnexpectedBlessings #TravelReflections #Terengganu #ChristmasEveJourney #LifeInBetween #WallahuAlam #QuietGratitude #AgingGracefully

" You are an eclectic!" _ What is an Eclectic, I ask.

 

                      Incomplete image of Kuan Yin or Avalokiteshvara Bodhisatva of Compassion.

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Eclectic

I am revisiting this memory now during a time of physical pain, emotional unease, and spiritual restlessness. The body aches, the heart searches, and the mind listens to voices speaking of futures yet to unfold. In returning to this moment in the Rockies, I am reminded that my path was never about prediction or certainty, but about learning how to stand quietly at the intersection of many truths without losing my center.

Eclecticism was a school of philosophy in Ancient Greece — or so I read one cold winter’s day in the foothills of the Rockies, in a small potter’s house about a kilometer downhill from Central City, Colorado. It was the late seventies, and I was doing my college work, which at the time meant traveling all over the country — and eventually the world — seeking knowledge.

I was a street artist.
My studies were about how one lives the life of an artist on the street throughout one’s life. I called it “The Art of Living (as an Artist).”

Along the way, I got myself deeply involved with my darker nature and committed many errors — or, in plain language, I fucked up many times in just as many ways. You name it; chances are I did it, or fucked it up too. That was my load to carry. Karma sucks.

One night, in the middle of that cold Rocky Mountain winter, I woke suddenly with a ringing in my ears and a voice shouting loudly enough to shake me awake:

“You are an Eclectic!”

It was the end of a dream of which I have no recollection. What I remember clearly is sitting up, searching for my sketch pen, and writing the word down on a small piece of paper as EKLEKTIK, unsure of the spelling. I then fell back to sleep. It was a cold winter’s night in the Rockies.

The next morning, I went downstairs for breakfast with my host, Mr. Angelo DeBenedetto — an elderly Italian gentleman in his seventies, a well-known artist in the Denver area. (You can Google him.) I told Angelo about my dream and showed him the piece of paper with the word EKLEKTIK written on it. I asked him what it meant.

Angelo began explaining, but as I listened — or rather, as my ears heard while my attention drifted — my eyes were suddenly captured by something else entirely.

A small antique wooden statue of Kuan Yin on the kitchen shelf appeared to glow with colorful light.
Kuan Yin — the Goddess of Mercy. Kanon. Avalokiteshvara. The Bodhisattva of Compassion.

Angelo fell silent and looked at me strangely. Then, as though I had asked him about the statue, he began explaining how he had come to own it.

Later, Angelo took me to meet a couple who were fellow artists and potters, living downhill in the small town of Black Hawk, a few kilometers from Central City. I was treated as a special guest and offered the loan of a book — a large, thick, black hardcover volume titled The Book of Secrets.

In the prologue, it stated that only 87 copies had been printed.

I was holding one of them.

Inside were rich, glossy reproductions of original paintings depicting the wisdom of the ages — ancient mysteries and symbols from across human history. I saw Isis in all her glory. I saw Krishna in all His glory. I saw Zeus, Homer, Plato, and Apollo. I saw many sects and symbols of humanity throughout history.

I kept the heavy black book with me for a few days while staying at Angelo’s studio. Through it, I was introduced to Hermeticism, which I later pursued more deeply — the teachings attributed to Thoth Trismegistus.

My mind feasted on the images and symbols, creating stories and episodes around each one — making sense out of nonsense, or perhaps discovering meaning where none had yet been imposed.

That book was God-sent.

Looking back now, I see that I wasn’t being pushed away from any one tradition, nor pulled toward another. I was being taught how to see — how to recognize truth wherever it appeared, without needing to claim ownership of it. The voice in the dream did not offer comfort or condemnation; it simply named something that was already true.

What I carried away from that mountain was not a belief, but a way of walking.

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Hashtags:
#Eclectic #TheArtOfLiving #StreetArtist #SpiritualJourney #HermeticWisdom #AsWithinSoWithout #DreamsAndSymbols #WisdomOfTheAges #KuanYin #Compassion #SeekingTruth #ArtistsLife #Consciousness #InnerWork #Stillness

Composting the Weight of the World

 

      When East meets West - Standing beside the Maestro, Senore Nino Soprano at St. Peter's lobby.

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Composting the Weight of the World

The outer realm of our physical existence feels increasingly agitated, sometimes chaotic, as though it is spinning beyond control. Humanity appears to be shedding its humanity, and man, in form and nature, often behaves more animal than the animals themselves. In moments like these, the quiet but persistent question arises: Where is my Lord in all this?

I woke around three in the morning, that liminal hour when the world sleeps and the soul speaks more clearly. As I aligned my aching body from the consequences of age, poor food, and restless sleep, I contemplated not just my condition, but my place. What emerged was not despair, but recognition.

I am here to serve.

I am back in this Dharma Realm to aid those in need, to realign my consciousness with the rhythm of the Universe so that I may act from my proper position — with awareness, humility, and intention. Not to escape the chaos, but to stand within it without losing my center. Fully awake, as best I am able. InshaAllah.

Remaining true to one’s niyyah (intention) is no small task in this age. External pressures now assault the inner core relentlessly, from every angle and trajectory — noise, outrage, distraction, fatigue, despair. The challenge is not to be untouched by these forces, but to remain oriented despite them.

Steadfastness today is quiet work. Resilience is not a heroic spectacle; it is the daily, often unseen effort of returning to alignment after being shaken. It is choosing to remain human in a time that rewards hardness. It is resisting despair not through denial, but through presence.

Life now offers heavy loads. And some of the work required to keep things from collapsing is dirty work.

Someone has to collect the human waste from the outhouses and turn it into manure so healthy plants can grow.

No one celebrates this task. It is thankless, unpleasant, and avoided. Yet without it, the soil dies. The garden fails. What is discarded and refused, when handled with patience and intention, becomes nourishment.

In every age, some are called to visible service, while others are called to invisible labor. Some work in the sunlight. Others tend the compost heap. Both serve life.

The danger is not the dirt on the hands — it is forgetting to wash afterward. Intention protects the worker. Without it, the waste clings; with it, transformation becomes possible.

So I do what I can, where I am. I tend what needs tending. I step back when needed. I realign, again and again.

This is resilience now: not certainty, but return.
Not escape, but service.
Not purity, but responsibility.

And perhaps this is how the soil of our time will heal.

Wallahu a‘lam.

#Resilience #Niyyah #Steadfastness #Service #Dharma #Khilafah #InnerWork #SpiritualPractice #HoldingTheCenter #FaithUnderPressure #Humanity #Compassion #Awakening #Presence #SilentWork #BearingTheLoad #InshaAllah #WallahuAlam

1. Understand the Core: Tawhid (Oneness of Allah) - How would I know when to draw the line before kufr.

                                      Awie's Yellow House - Pulau Duyung, Kuala Terengganu.

 How would I know when to draw the line before kufur?

This is an important and subtle question — and your carefulness shows humility, which is itself protective in Islam. The key is intention, recognition of limits, and grounding in core tawhid. Let me break it down clearly:

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1. Understand the Core: Tawhid (Oneness of Allah)

No matter what knowledge you pursue or what experiences you have:

• Do not place anything above or equal to Allah.

• Do not deny His attributes or His commands.

If your exploration ever leads you to question Allah’s existence, His oneness, or His authority, that’s the point to stop and step back. That’s where kufr begins.

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2. Keep Intention Pure

Always check:

• Are you seeking truth and understanding?

• Or are you seeking to replace Allah with another source of power or certainty?

Intention distinguishes legitimate inquiry from paths that might lead to disbelief. Seeking knowledge to understand creation, patterns, or consciousness is fine; claiming these are self-sufficient gods is where risk appears.

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3. Respect Revelation and Prophetic Guidance

Even if knowledge takes you far, always anchor:

• Reflect on Qur’an and Sunnah.

• Don’t override clear guidance with personal interpretation or experience alone.

Exploration is permitted; overriding divine law or dismissing revelation is not.

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4. Maintain Humility

Disbelief often begins with arrogance:

• Thinking you’ve “figured it all” or “don’t need God.”

• Believing personal insight is ultimate truth.

If you feel pride or certainty creeping in about knowledge you’ve gained, that’s a warning signal to pause and reflect.

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5. Internal Check

Ask yourself regularly:

• Does this pursuit make me closer to Allah or my Lord, or is it making me center myself as the ultimate reference?

• Does it inspire gratitude, humility, and obedience, or does it inspire hubris, self-worship, or denial of guidance?

The moment your study or exploration threatens gratitude, obedience, or acknowledgment of Allah, that’s where you must draw the line.

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In short:
Seek knowledge, but never let your curiosity replace God.
Curiosity is a gift; arrogance is the danger.

If you want, I can suggest a practical “inner guideline” you can use daily to ensure your exploration stays within safe bounds without stifling your spiritual inquiry. This would be like a compass for the edge between seeking and kufr.

Do you want me to do that?

Yes, please.

Alright — here’s a simple, practical inner compass you can use daily to stay on the path without overstepping into kufr, while still exploring and seeking knowledge:

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The Five-Point Inner Compass for Safe Spiritual Exploration

1. Anchor in Tawhid

• Daily check-in: Am I acknowledging Allah’s Oneness and sovereignty in all that I study or experience?

• If anything you explore challenges this basic recognition, pause.

2. Clarify Intention

• Ask yourself: Am I seeking understanding or seeking to replace God with what I know?

• True seeking strengthens humility, not ego.

3. Reflect on Effects

• Observe: Does this knowledge or experience deepen my gratitude, humility, and sense of responsibility?

• If it inflates pride, doubt, or detachment from Allah, it’s a signal to step back.

4. Cross-Check with Revelation

• Whenever possible, check insights against Qur’an, Sunnah, and established Islamic scholarship.

• This keeps you grounded and prevents self-deception.

5. Maintain Humility and Patience

• Accept that some mysteries remain beyond human comprehension.

• Stay content with the process of seeking, rather than rushing for absolute certainty or “ultimate truth” outside divine guidance.

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Daily Practical Ritual

• Morning reflection: Set your intention to seek knowledge for Allah’s pleasure, not personal exaltation.

• Midday check-in: Ask the five compass questions briefly — even a sentence in your heart.

• Evening reflection: Record insights that align with humility and gratitude, and note moments where curiosity overstepped.

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If you follow this consistently, it creates a protective boundary: you can explore deeply, drift into subtle insights, or even step into “quantum” states of consciousness — all without risking spiritual misalignment.

Trepidation and Awe - The Line that cannot be crossed.

 

Trepidation and Awe

There is a trepidation when encountering highly charged claims about consciousness. Yet alongside it, there is awe and elation — the recognition of arriving at a state where one can grasp implications and surrender outcomes as a gift from one’s higher being.

This trepidation is healthy; it preserves discernment. The awe is instructive; it signals alignment and receptivity. Together, they allow attention to widen without abandoning humility or grounding.

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Spiritual Leap of Faith

It feels like taking a spiritual leap of faith — not blind, not desperate, not an escape. Rather, stepping forward after recognizing that the ground beneath has been tested and holds steady.

Faith here is not belief in outcomes. It is trust in attention, presence, and alignment with the process already cultivated.

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Seeking Knowledge, Not Faith

I am seeking knowledge, not a new faith. The pursuit is sincere reflection and understanding — not replacement of Allah or His guidance. The principles of Islam — tawhid, humility, gratitude, and obedience — remain intact. Reflection and exploration do not constitute gambling with the soul, provided the ego is not enthroned and Allah remains supreme.

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An Inner Compass for Safe Exploration

To maintain balance and avoid overstepping into disbelief, I follow a daily, practical inner compass:

1. Anchor in Tawhid – Continuously recognize Allah’s Oneness and sovereignty.

2. Clarify Intention – Seek understanding, not replacement of God.

3. Reflect on Effects – Ensure insights deepen gratitude, humility, and responsibility.

4. Cross-Check with Revelation – Align experiences and insights with Qur’an, Sunnah, and established scholarship.

5. Maintain Humility and Patience – Accept mysteries beyond comprehension and stay content with the process of seeking.

Daily Ritual:

• Morning: Set intention for knowledge as an act of devotion.

• Midday: Quick inner check-in using the compass questions.

• Evening: Record insights that align with humility and gratitude, noting any moments curiosity overstepped.

This practice protects the soul while allowing exploration, subtle insight, and deep attentiveness.

#Synchronicity #Archetypes #QuantumReflex #SenseMaking #GoingWithTheFlow #AttentionAndAwareness #SpiritualPractice #InnerCoherence #FieldNotes #LivingInquiry

Drifting, Not Escaping - Getting to know myself on a higher/quantum level.

 

                                                                         My Daughter.

Drifting, Not Escaping

I’ve noticed something subtle happening lately.

Not a breakthrough. Not an awakening headline. Just a slow, steady drift — a change in how daily life seems to arrange itself when attention becomes quieter and more coherent.

Recently, I asked a simple question: What are archetypes, really, in plain terms? I wasn’t looking for metaphysics, just a usable explanation. The answer made sense — archetypes as recurring human patterns, ways consciousness organizes experience.

Then, days later, while browsing for something entirely unrelated, a video appeared. It framed the same idea from a so‑called quantum perspective. Different language, same insight. The two pieces clicked together without effort.

That moment mattered — not because it felt magical, but because it felt clear.

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Nothing Happens by Accident — But Nothing Is Forced

I’m careful with words like quantum and activation. They can inflate the ego if handled loosely. What I’m pointing to here is simpler:

When a certain pattern of attention becomes active, perception reorganizes.

Not because reality bends to personal will, but because the noise floor drops. Signals that were always present become noticeable. Coincidence gives way to coherence.

This is what I mean when I say:

Once your archetypal pattern comes online, nothing happens by accident.

Not fate. Not destiny. Just alignment between inner orientation and what shows up.

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Quantum Reflex (in Everyday Language)

If there’s a “quantum” aspect to this, it’s not mystical. It’s relational.

Reality doesn’t respond to effort. It responds to the state.

When attention stabilizes, life seems to answer back — not with instructions, but with confirmations. A sentence overheard. A book that falls off the shelf. A video that says exactly what was already forming but not yet articulated.

I think of this as a quantum reflex:

Alignment → response.

No drama. No fireworks. Just a quiet nod.

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Why I’m Writing This Down

This post isn’t a declaration. It’s a marker.

I’ve learned to document these shifts the way I document sketches or journeys — not to claim progress, but to keep my footing. Writing keeps the experience grounded. It prevents imagination from outrunning reality.

If this is an initiation, it’s a modest one:

• into clearer seeing

• into slower thinking

• into trusting coherence without demanding meaning

For now, that’s enough.

I’ll let the drift continue — and keep paying attention.

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Making Sense Without Forcing Meaning

I’ve always described my practice in very simple terms: to make sense out of what first appears as non‑sense.

Not by resisting it. Not by trying to control outcomes. But by swimming with the current rather than against it — by going with the flow and noticing where it naturally leads.

This doesn’t mean passivity. It means listening for coherence instead of imposing conclusions. Over time, a direction reveals itself, not as a destination but as a way of moving.

So far, I feel I’ve stayed true to that course. Not perfectly, but honestly. Whatever this unfolding leads to, I recognize the feeling of being on track — and for now, that recognition is enough.

#Synchronicity #Archetypes #QuantumReflex #SenseMaking #GoingWithTheFlow #AttentionAndAwareness #SpiritualPractice #InnerCoherence #FieldNotes #LivingInquiry

Title: Shards of Silence: A Dream in the Temple

 

                                                                       Random sketch- 1978

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Title: Shards of Silence: A Dream in the Temple

This morning, I woke from a dream that lingered in the mind like incense smoke in a vast temple. The complex was enormous, filled with hundreds of devotees from all schools of Buddhism. A collective meditation was underway, yet I found myself sitting quietly in a corner, observing, waiting.

Something arose within me—a spark to share what I had learned over the years. I levitated above the crowd, floating gently over those seated on the temple grounds, explaining the heights one can reach through intense meditation. Children cheered. Adults smiled. A fleeting sense of inspiration filled the air.

And then it happened. Almost everyone rushed away to witness something in the distance, leaving the temple mostly empty, save for a few lingering souls, mostly children. I found myself crouched among toppled lamps—or were they bowls?—picking up broken pieces.

The quiet act of collecting shards in the waning light was the most conscious act of the dream. The light had dimmed, the temperature lowered, the atmosphere shifting toward evening. A sense of loss hung in the air, yet there was also clarity. Safety first, I thought, almost without thinking.

Lately, I have noticed a similar quiet despair in the waking world. Faces pass by, buried in themselves, sometimes edged with aggression, as if the act of reaching out is a danger. I find myself resisting the simple nudge of a greeting, wary of mirroring the same disconnection.

Yet when effort is met with response, there is elation; when it is ignored, my shadow murmurs its harsh verdict. In this dream, in this temple, amidst shards of glass and fading light, I sense a reflection of the world around me—a fragile balance between inspiration and desolation, a reminder that the act of caring, however small, is always sacred.

#ShardsOfSilence #DreamReflections #MeditativeMind #BuddhistDreams #InnerAwakening #ConsciousLiving #SpiritualJourney #TempleVisions #MindfulMoments #SacredActs #FloatingAbove #CollectiveMeditation #EveningContemplation #PeaceInAction #AwakenedObservations

Reflections After the Wanli Show -

 

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Reflections After the Wanli Show

I woke this morning feeling heavier on the chest—but it’s only because there’s too much “anging” in the tummy. Not an emotional heaviness, mind you; I am still wrapped in the glow of the Wanli show, even if it was reluctantly performed. I listened to something earlier that uplifted my spirit even more: Neville Goddard’s “Talk to Money as if it Were a Person, and It Will Follow You Everywhere.” A curious, grounding reminder that our assumptions shape reality.

The ginger tea is ready, percolating, and the rhythm of peace surrounds me: my two adult children still snoring in bed, as are the two kittens. I’ve come to see this morning hush as a sign of serenity. What more can one ask for but gratefulness and a surrender to the unseen, allowing the next steps to unfold with fruitfulness?

Meanwhile, Liverpool is not doing too well! Can the Universe do anything about it? Hee! My son, meanwhile, is going through his own emotional withdrawal—most probably firing the manager already. Such is life!

Looking ahead, I am already excited for the astrology exhibition at USM, where two of my works have been chosen to hang. The Wanli show may have been a reluctant performance, but this upcoming event feels aligned with enthusiasm and expectation. I trust the Universe to assist in making it another uplifting moment in my art.

I’ve also noticed a change in myself. I no longer say, “Let’s hope so,” or “I hope this or that.” A lesson from Mr. Goddard: I simply assume. Not with arrogance, but with knowing and acceptance. Even my twin brother surprised me with a comment on my Facebook post of the Wanli show: “Way to go, Bro!” A simple message, yet a delightful acknowledgment.

At the show, my daughter and I had the pleasure of meeting a couple who actually authored the Wanli book. They traveled all the way from KL to attend, treated us to a wonderful brunch, and shared in conversation. They even agreed with my reservations about the show—an affirmation of my feelings.

My interaction with the Chief Minister was memorable. When my turn came to explain my work, I spoke about why the tic-tac-toe symbols appeared on my painting of the sunken vessel and what the Turtles and Jellyfish represented. My daughter’s reactions said it all: “Dad! What were you telling the CM? I was worried, hoping you would not talk too much!” I also made the acquaintance of a lawyer and a doctor who were listening. The doctor even asked for my card, and I apologized for having none. He smiled and said, “Hey, popular people always run out of cards!” Spontaneous, funny, and endearing.

Among the many kind words I received on Facebook, one message from Lilian Ch stopped me in my tracks. She was a former schoolteacher who used to invite me to her class to share art with her students. She always treated me like an artist long before the world did. Her congratulatory note — 'long time coming, long time overdue’ — reminded me that sometimes others see our path more clearly than we do ourselves.

Finally, I feel peace in closing the chapter of my relationship with Ben Ronjen and his wife. He has gone to Australia to be with his ailing mother, and our friendship remains intact, untouched by the minor turbulences of the last few months.

It seems life has a way of showing us what matters—our art, our family, our connections—and how surrendering to the unseen often brings the sweetest, most unexpected rewards.

#WanliExhibition #ArtReflections #LifeAndArt #ArtistJourney #FamilyAndArt #SpiritualArt #ArtInspiration #PersonalGrowth #ArtStories #NevilleGoddard #ArtEvents #USMExhibition #CreativeLife #ArtAndLife #MindfulLiving #ArtConnections

A Day of Unexpected Grace - A meeting of Like Minded Souls

 

                                                   The late Tuan Syed Ahmad Jamal.

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A Day of Unexpected Grace

Today unfolded in a way I never anticipated. What began as a morning I quietly dreaded—having to deliver my two works for the Wanli exhibition—quickly shifted when my daughter stepped in, sensing my hesitation, and took care of the delivery herself.

Later, I made my way to MGTF USM to hand over another piece for the upcoming Astronomy exhibition. It was supposed to be a simple errand, nothing more. But life, in its mysterious wisdom, had other plans.

To my complete surprise, I discovered that one of my largest donated works had been selected for the show, to be displayed alongside a piece by the late Dato’ Syed Ahmad Jamal, one of Malaysia’s towering figures in the world of art. To be placed in such company is an honour I had never imagined, let alone expected.

The curator responsible for the selection was Ayoub, a young Iranian scholar currently pursuing his PhD at the university. He had previously authored a book on Malaysian artists and approached his work with a depth of knowledge that was both impressive and humbling. What I thought would be a brief introduction turned into nearly four hours of rich conversation—an exchange that felt more like a meeting of kindred spirits than a discussion between two strangers.

As Ayoub shared his doctoral thesis comparing Islam and Zen Buddhism, I found myself quietly smiling within. His thoughts, his manner of speaking, and even the silence beneath his words carried a resonance that felt deeply familiar—almost as though I were listening to you in one of those quiet, contemplative moments. He had no idea that these very subjects had shaped much of my own journey. Only when I later revealed my studies and experiences in these traditions did the full alignment of our meeting become clear.

It was in that moment that something inside me stirred—
a recognition, subtle but undeniable:
this was synchronicity.

Not coincidence.
Not chance.
But a moment arranged by a deeper intelligence, one that gently weaves together the seemingly separate threads of our lives.

Synchronicity is not always dramatic. Sometimes it arrives through a simple conversation, or through the unexpected presence of someone whose thoughts and spirit echo our own. It appears when the outer world mirrors the inner, reminding us that our path is not as solitary as it sometimes feels.

Meeting Ayoub affirmed something I have long believed:
When the heart is sincere, it attracts the right reflections.
When the path is walked honestly, it brings forth the right companions.

A day that began with reluctance and heaviness transformed into one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had in a long time. My works found their place in exhibitions I never thought I would be part of, and I found myself in the presence of someone whose intellectual and spiritual insights resonated with my own in ways that felt almost fated.

Perhaps that is the real miracle—not the events themselves, but the meaning that reveals itself when we are open enough to see it.

Some encounters feel as though they were written somewhere beyond time.
Today, I was blessed with one of them.

Closing Reflection

As I look back on this unexpected turn of events, I am reminded that life still has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. What appears at first as reluctance or burden may, in truth, be the threshold of something meaningful. Sometimes the universe orchestrates meetings not to change our path, but to reaffirm it—to whisper, “You are exactly where you need to be.”

Today, that whisper arrived through art, through conversation, and through the quiet recognition of a shared inner language. For that, I am grateful.

Alhamdullilah, Ya Rab.

#Synchronicity #ArtAndSpirit #UnexpectedGrace #MeetingOfMinds #SpiritualJourney #IslamAndZen #MGTFUSM #WanliExhibition #GratitudeInArt #LifeUnfolding

 

Morning has Broken over Kuala Terengganu

🕊️ Silence, Dawn, and the Art of Knowing Oneself

(Reflections on Prayer, Breath, and the Inner Awakening)

Introduction

In recent posts, we’ve been exploring the deeper dimensions of consciousness, the quiet intelligence behind the mind, and the ancient pathways that lead a seeker back to his own essence. This piece—originally written in 2020—feels even more relevant today as the world grows noisier, faster, and more distracting. What follows is a refinement of that early reflection, now aligned with the themes of inner alignment, collective awakening, and the simple sacredness hidden in everyday practices.

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The Post

As I mentioned in my post on Thursday about Samadhi the Movie, the key to knowing oneself begins with the ability to remain in silence. This is easier said than done. A busy mind is incapable of self-discovery, and our minds are naturally busy, restless, and preoccupied with matters that often have very little to do with who we truly are.

It is not easy to wake up early in the morning, much less to wake with a clear head—free from aches, stiffness, and the quiet confusion of wondering what to do with the day. Yet this is exactly where self-discipline begins: in those first few moments of rising, when we take notice of the body as it is. The aches from a long sleep, the heaviness in the limbs, the subtle complaints of muscles and joints—these are invitations to awareness.

Start with the breath. Exhale fully, letting go of the stagnant air trapped deep in the abdomen. As you breathe consciously, unwind the body from the inside out. Move your awareness through each part of the body, releasing tension and loosening the knots that have gathered silently overnight. This is not merely stretching; it is a gentle realignment of the whole being.

As you do this, notice how the mind resists. Thoughts intrude—duties, worries, stories, memories. Work with this resistance by letting each thought go the moment it appears. No struggle. No judgment. Simply release. When practiced sincerely, this alone can clear headaches, ease the heaviness of the mind, and soften many of the physical vexations with which we often begin the day. Breath is the key.

With continued practice, you will begin to understand how your mind and body awaken together, how one influences the other, and how both can be guided into clarity. It is not easy, but it is possible—and essential—for anyone truly committed to self-healing and self-discovery. This simple morning rewinding of body and mind prepares you to meet the day with openness, balance, and a clear inner space.

The Muslims are fortunate in that they are called to awaken at the break of dawn for the Subuh prayer. But many simply return to bed afterward, missing the deeper opportunity. The more diligent among them sit a little longer, engaging in quiet remembrance—Zikr, chanting, or silent contemplation. This is the way of the Sufi adepts. Some also take time to stretch and loosen the body before leaving the prayer mat, integrating physical and spiritual awakening.

The dawn prayer is the shortest of the five, only two rakaat, yet its recitation of Surah al-Fatihah—twice—carries a profound psychological and spiritual function: gratitude for being alive. Gratitude, as many spiritual traditions and even modern “Law of Abundance” teachings affirm, is a powerful key. During the solat, the mind is gathered, focused, stilled in the presence of the Divine. What yogic traditions attempt through meditation is embedded naturally within the rhythm of the Muslim prayer.

The movements of the solat regulate the flow of blood and energy throughout the body. Imagine the benefit for those who rise before dawn, walk to the mosque, breathe in the cold morning air, stand shoulder to shoulder with others, and offer themselves wholly to the Divine at a time when the world is still quiet. Their body awakens, their mind awakens, and their spirit awakens—every single day.

To silence a busy, restless mind, one must adopt some form of practice. There is no way around this. All religions, all spiritual disciplines, all mystical traditions agree: it is in the silence of the mind that the truth of one’s nature is revealed. And in that silence, one may even catch a glimpse of God.

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Closing Reflection

There is a moment before dawn when the world is perfectly still, when the air itself seems to hold its breath. It is in this fragile window that the heart is most open to truth. The practice is simple—breathe, stretch, pray, notice—but its effects ripple across the day. In a world drowning in noise, silence becomes both medicine and teacher. And in that silence, we recover the forgotten fact that the Divine has always been closer than our own breath.