What is it that you truly long for, at this moment?

That question paid me a visit earlier today—upon asking myself what question I had at that moment. I posted the very same question on social media. The response I had from friends were: coffee, quietude, their bed, their apartment, water (it was still a Ramadhan fasting period), relief of headache, their mom and dad, nature, mom’s cooking, and peaceful mind.

Despite being deceivingly mundane, I appreciate my friends’ responses as honest expressions of longing. Basic, simple, light, and immediate; nothing long term, heavy, or complex. There was a need for relief and relaxation; a deeper wish than one might care to admit.

To me, that question was the kind that came with its answer. The kind that pointed me to the response. Perhaps, it was the response that had caused the question to rise in the first place. It turned me to face my answer, to my facing. It carried me to my true response. Exactly the kind of straightforwardness and clarity that I needed at that point.

I was taken to a space within. Using the past tense to tell this story does not feel right. As the aforementioned space is very present. It is here, not there or somewhere else. It is now, not then, nor later.

The internal space feels vast. There is quietude. It is full of potency. It feels peaceful. It is peace. In that space, there is no movement, yet there is an understanding that all movements arise from it. In that space, nothing matters. No thing matters. One cannot move, only be moved, and gladly so.

I like this place. It feels home. How do I arrive at that?
You arrive through relaxation. You relax into it. Like a child melting into their mother’s embrace. There is no (other) thing to do. Any (other) effort would be too much. Let go of control. Rest your whole existence and enjoy the show. See now, feel now, the love that is in and around you. Can you feel yourself smiling?

How do I remain?
You may or may not. But you can certainly return to it again and again. Re-turn. Every time you catch yourself looking somewhere else, you turn to face it again, you re-turn. You return.

How do I return?
How, how, how.

I paused. In that pause, there was realisation. There was not really a how. For neither concept nor word could sufficiently explain it. There was just space and being taken to that place. There was a cleaner understanding of what “one moment of meditation” meant. How that one moment of meditation could carry us through the rest of our days. A familiar taste of arriving home, where we belong, where we in reality always are.

There are so many unlearning to be done. Are we willing? Do we trust?

Let me simplify it further. As if that realisation was a cue to continue.
All you have to do is remember (God). Zikr(ullah). There is no other how.

Because what we truly long for at this moment, at any moment, is always God. Always Hu. To be home.

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