The Better Half

“And the moon is up and the stars are bright
And whatever come is gonna be all right” (Cloud # 9)

Sometimes, I think, we overestimate the value of stars. Quite simply speaking, they just have three very basic functions: of adornment, protection and direction. And the functions are simple enough, and somehow appear to be linked to each other – and rightly so. The vault is rendered beautiful by the presence of stars, and so their function is not merely aesthetical. It’s teleological in a sense: when there as an adornment, they then act as missiles for the rebels who love to disrupt the order of things. And so, finally, they act as tiny compass points for those who are lost. So the starry world begins in the name of Beauty, is made functional by sustaining the Good, and finally culminates in the recognition of Truth. Each function necessitates the other. Each becomes the other to make the perfect Whole, which could be a star, a Sign, or simply speaking, faith itself.

Faith is a tickly, prickly business. Without risk there is no faith. So faith, like risk, presumes trust. It’s simple – you toss a baby into the air and she finds that funny because she is so dead sure that you won’t drop her. That she won’t be dropped, not even carelessly. That she would be caught. And so she laughs because she enjoys the risk, the leap. But as the kid grows up, the grin eventually becomes a grimace – and she begins to panic. Taking risks is riskier than it sounds. And every leap is just suspended between “what if” and “how come”. There are so many delirious directions before you. And each direction appears to be appealing. One is tempted to try all. But only one can be the right way to go.

And then panic is met with paranoia. After all, you keep tracking these directions and all you gather is moonshine. You begin to question the whole logic of the Beauty, Goodness and Truth equation and its quality of being Q.E.D. Maybe it is all a delusion. And then you begin to take charge – and you plot your own plan. And don’t get me wrong here – plotting plans is good. Making graphs, setting reminders, meeting deadlines is all good. I plan for my class, let’s say. I make notes in my head. I read up on stuff. I figure out how I will deliver. I am totally, absolutely, comprehensively prepared. I plan for my life, let’s say. I make notes in my head. I read up on stuff. I figure out how I will deliver. I am totally, absolutely, comprehensively prepared. I feel invincible. But there’s one thing I didn’t factor in: the invisible Hand. And I think Hamlet and Horatio had a pretty cool conversation when Hamlet is trying to explain to him about this idea of ‘readiness.’ Let us know our indiscretion sometimes serves us well when our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us there’s a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will. And to that Horatio says: that is most certain. Rough-hew things as much as you want, and we come up with this elaborate, almost puzzling patchwork of plans. But every plan awaits a masterstroke. And we are too small to understand. That is exactly what I feel when I stare above and I see these perforated stars grinning down at me. I can only look up with this hope that I am being looked down upon. For I am too small too understand.

If without risk there is no faith, and risk presumes trust, it should naturally follow that trust requires faith, and vice-versa. Faith is best when blind as that is faith that needs no proof. And faith that needs proof is insecure, for it holds itself in doubt, wanting some validation. And that makes the slope even more slippery. You stumble. You fall. You blindly wait. And standing and waiting demands patience – that one actor, the coefficient that has been silently added to the equation that enables it to get to Q.E.D.

Not too ago, I was not a very patient person. To a large extent, I used to be a control freak. And control freaks are those maniacs who are terribly scared. That is why they just want stuff to be under control, not necessarily under their control (an erroneous reduction of the poor lot). And in essence then, the need for an Invisible Hand becomes superfluous. You begin to think that you’re invincible just because you think you can be a successful cartographer. You’ve perfected your plans, mapped out the course, done your research. So you’re all wised up. But when you take to the road – even though it might just be straight and smooth, you realize that you’re in it for a ride. And the ride’s not going to be easy. Don’t expect it to be – the Narrower, the Better They Say.

And during this road-trip you make stopovers. You go through your master map. You peruse it. You blink, twice. And the road stretches before you, straight, narrow, blank. And you’re super scared. And you say, “Hmmm, let me fix this. I can so fix this. ” You look at the map again. You’re lost. Now either you can look at the map, be wise enough to see its flaws, and hit the road. Or you can keep staring at the map, staring hard, with this hope that it might just begin to speak to you. But then you blink again. The road stretches and becomes a speck at the horizon. And you realize how small you are. How pathetic your plan was.

I tried both strategies. But I never let go of the map. Because I kept believing – falsely so – that I was a brilliant cartographer. I kept thinking that the map was all that I needed to keep me on the road. I am all that I need to keep me on the road. But then I couldn’t keep up. Being your own shepherd is hard, even though it feels great. You make your own rules, follow them when you want, occasionally defer them to some Higher authority for some incidental, and sometimes coincidental, and even accidental grace. But that’s about it. Deference implies admitting to one’s own paltriness - that you are smaller than a speck. And why make that confession? It’s too hard. It’s too insulting. I remember I found the whole idea of stoicism pretty interesting. Wo har ik baat pe kehna, ke youn hota tau kya hota? Ghalib poor thing is really misunderstood sometimes. Stoicism - or at least the abstract discussion of it - was perfectly in line with the idea of submission, to that which is Bigger and Better than you. And your silly little map. But I just saw it as an idea, and nothing more. It looked good on paper. That is all.

And then I was tested, and tested real bad. Sometimes I would question whether I am on the right road or not. And I tried to understand, slowly, that maps like mine cheapen the mystery of the masterstroke just as astrology cheapens the mystery of the cosmos. Stars do not reveal the future. They never did. We follow a lie, and base and raise all our truths from it and then stubbornly decide to live by them. Slowly, painfully slowly, I began to understand how small I really was. And that I didn’t really have much faith in me. I just wanted things done my way, and understood that to be the only way. And somehow I convinced myself into believing that my map must lead me to the beautiful goodness of truth. There can be no other way.

But I was proved wrong. And it first happened in a room. A checkpoint. I resisted and clutched my map harder. Like I said, I was super scared. And so I drove on, too arrogant to pause even though I wasn’t even asked to. And so it happened again in a corridor. And this time around, I stopped. And I was forced to tear the map. And I decided to follow the narrow, yellow brick road. I stopped setting risks based on my own assumptive resolutions. I decided to give faith a shot, and see what happens, where the road will go. I watched. And I waited as the road unraveled on its own. And I simply followed, wherever it went. Till now, I did not have the better, other half: I had no patience. So I deserved no faith. And so, in short, I was afraid.

And then I realized how simple it was. How simple it really is. One single, simple leap of faith, one plunge of trust and you’re pretty much there. And for once, I effaced all my plots and plans and sat with a blank canvas – a whiter, yet brighter shade of pale, awaiting that masterstroke.

Where it leads, what it beckons
Has to be what I have already known.
But I am deliberately blindfolded.

This mirror I clutch is baptized;
I am to see, with anticipation,
A spectrum of sought wonders

Framed in its round corners,
Perhaps locked for me to own,
And timelessly behold.

I turn to a white light to take my hand at this colorless stage.

And so I do. I have never traveled on this road like this before. It has never been this smooth. It has never been this speedy. It has never been this serene. But I now must fasten my seatbelt as I am told to – as it’s only safe I agree – and I must follow that out of love that I have found through submitting to this white light. Sometimes the light gets so bright and white that I savor the blindness of my newly found faith. I believe in Love now – totally. But only One Love that can be like the stars that only adorn, plus protect and so, direct. There is only One Way to get there. I still refuse to believe that it was written in the stars, for stars don’t have that silly, cheap function that cheapens the need to have an Unseen. I still refuse to believe that Love with the unseen for the Unseen is not possible. Once the grey rain-curtain is lifted, and beyond the silver glass, you see it, clearly. And you don’t need to blink twice. For the Unseen is enough for you to see.

Hasbiih Allahu wa Na‘imal Wakiil…