I think I’m sorry

sometimes there is an absolute pleasure in the balance of sin and worship.

being so open, and grateful, and present in the moment for Allah, while being so stoned you think you might actually see God Themself, in the ethereal flesh of the Most Eternal, His Eminence, The Utmost Compassionate, Designer of All…

Alhamdulilah, you know?

The vape twirling in your fingers, the linen pants hiding your hand and your other hand lovingly fingering the spine of your switch blade…

The cool night air on your elbows, your bicep tattoos having long since been hidden, arms free, for the nights brick façades and shadows, the utter fucking whimsy in the balance, you know?

I wish I could capture my brain and the melodic and utterly catastrophically beautiful way it thinks while absolutely elevated on whatever strain was in the vape, that I handle fondly, whispering Bismillah Bismillah Bismillah Bismillah over and over… the dhikr no less in its worship for the fond way I smile at literally everything, and think of God.

Sometimes worship is like that. I don’t make the rules.

Like do you ever think about just HOW bright a star has to be, to be visible in a light polluted city sky?

Alhamdulilah, you know!?!

The stunning way that old buildings in the neighborhood, hold so much story, the play of lights becoming a momentary fairytale… I mean, come on… if you don’t see the fairytale shit in this, get your eyes adjusted.

There’s a song or two on repeat in your ear, both aimed at different pleasure receptors, the first an easy song from nearly 20 years ago, a voice that’s like a friend… Rob Thomas sings about Someday, and you actually believe it, for more than a moment.

But the other song, is one written to break your heart, but misses entirely and shatters something even deeper, and you wonder if Noah Kahan could ever have a glass of OJ with you, smoke a joint, and talk about God in the Muslim way…

Inshallah, you know?

You wonder at the odd way you think you should be more scared of the eerie sound the little girl swinging back and forth is making on the rusty swing-set. it should freak you the. fuck. out.

But instead you somehow realize it’s crisp A, and G notes and it’s kind of beautiful and you get overwhelmed thinking about the trees, and the sounds of the streets and the way you worry about your neighbors seeing you, so you head back…

And capture a glimpse of the evidence of why these nights are not nearly so wasted as merely identifying guilt or joy and black and white nature of halal or haram…

Because if I hadn’t allowed myself the failure of willpower, I wouldn’t have gone for a night time stroll, seeing the evening whimsy of the world on a crisp April Chicago night.

I wouldn’t have seen this gorgeous cloud tree, and thoughts Subhanallah, in just that way…

I’ll likely regret this, but I’m not perfect. I’m just human. And I am so so so very human sometimes.

Thank God for that.

and as i get home, and try to capture my memories, my thoughts, the elusive revelations i had while strolling about, an unknown number of miles tread on my soul…

The very best friend of yours sends you a video of the Athan in a city you dream of being in…

And it looks a bit Wes Andersen and you feel even that much more Muslim, for thinking Wes Andersen and The Middle East are easy concepts to mix together, and you eat your halal nuggs, and drink oat milk because you’re 34, and you smile with the sounds of the night out of the open window…

And you almost forget the drone, all of the police vehicles both marked and unmarked, all the surveillance you notice, every camera, every single thing recording your every movement…

You almost forget the state of the world, because for just a few fucking minutes, you chose getting high and worshipping God, a cloudy April Chicago night.

Alhamdulilah… you know?

x o x o , Jacks