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 of why 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.

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.