Divide your words amongst your pages the same way that you divide your valuables when you travel – hiding them in different locations so that if some is lost or taken from you, you are not completely robbed.

And why are your words so precious and guarded? What else leads you into inaction or action when you persuade yourself either way. Even in silence, words breathe.

And Adam [a.s.] was taught the names / the words of things. He was taught to conceptualise and communicate. That is how we exist.

You once surmised that philosophy was the identification and articulation of innate knowledge or understanding. But isn’t that the mode of existence? “INNATE” … SubhanAllah. Words are our alchemy.

And how funny that our limited capacities can never saturate a language, words or communication. How funny that when we are gone from here, and this form of communication will be so obsolete [Allahu A'lam], we will not have conquered it – only marveled at it and tried to impress it or do it justice by saying what ought to be said, using it as prescribed.

Our navigation of tongues, striking of pens and whistling thoughts, combined through the ages from the beginning of “time”; from the shrillest speech to the quashed words of silence – it will amount to diddly squat. With the exception … Of the Sublime Statement. 

‘ Men said to them: “A great army is gathering against you”: and frightened them: but it (only) increased their faith. They said:

“For us Allah sufficeth and He is the best disposer of affairs.” ‘

The Holy Qur’ān – Surah Āl  Imrān (3:173)

Transliteration: Hasbun allaahu wa ni’mal wakeel
Translation: Abdullah Yusuf Ali

Exhibit TZ1: A sample cubic hand span, dated 31^st October 2009.

A huggable (panda/ giant canary) sized cube, in exploding vermilion, with smoothly rounded corners and softly bevelled edges sits at a fixed axis atop the desk. Clusters of brightly coloured flowers blossom in patches and cling to it coolly like ivy.

From the left, storms the beautiful horse like a mountain. Powerful and sudden, its reddish brown coat shimmers as it gallops with furious direction – its tail swishing up and splaying as if in disdain to what it leaves in its wake. It makes to leap over the cube.

Pause.

Behind the cube, above it, with its feet lightly resting atop it, is suspended a ladder of black rope and silk cord stretching up with its top merging into mist. There is no thunderstorm but a dramatic pitch to the sky’s shade of slate.

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“Trick or treat? How brave of you to ask for either, given my darkened attire and sombre glare reflected out through the glass, illuminated by the glow of the monitor. Many a teen and other ghoulish creatures have passed by this porch in fear.

Well, I do not have any treats befitting you but I have mastered a small trick. I can measure your brain in cubic hand spans through a series of questions.”

[After ten solar minutes]

“Scratch out your words!”

He shouted sternly, pushing sheathes of virtual paper up around him.

“Au contraire, mon petit filous. Why are you like sour milk? You permitted me to show you a trick and my words, then, exposed nothing but your current state of mind. They cannot interfere with the ability of your Faith to supplant all things and your will to spur you on. And why should you think that they might?”

“It is akin to kihaana*!”

“What? … your current state of mind … not your tomorrow…! “

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kihāna n. the art of divination, soothsaying, fortunetelling.

“My heart is heavy.”  He said. “Could you hold it for me?”

“Here.” I said. “Mine is lighter – let’s swap a while.”

The rule is that you can only hold one at once and you must hold one at all times.

[swap]

Careful not to drop it, I dared not lift my gaze.

It was late when I did look up.

He’d already left with mine.