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.
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