The morning had withheld its sunlight and left only a gray hue to open its doors when the man turned aside to his wife facing him, her Cantu-scented curls waving in his face. The sunlight compliments her already perfect face even though the gray brings gloom to others, but not him. The sounds of breakfast cooking brew an ambience that acts as lenses onto her beauty while her eyes secure her innocence. The appreciation of sunlight comes natural for those who don’t have it, but alternatives are the only option with no availability. As a result, he finds the sunlight captured in her beauty while her eyes take the picture.

“Want some eggs,” she asks, her words softly layered.

“With syrup please,” he replies as his words stick to his mouth.

Her response echoes through the whole house, her laughter bounces off the walls. Her eyes close when she laughs and he wonders what she sees. The sight she sees contains an expression of her love with him at the center of her photograph. In the meanwhile, a whole dictionary was consumed in the process of describing what she feels towards what she sees.

The day passes them by in a swirl of heartfelt emotions. A haze of old music lingers in the house as she takes two steps back while he takes two steps forward.

She asks, “Where did the day go?”                                                                                      

“With you in my arms,” he responds.

“Ha-Ha-Ha,” she says sarcastically.

Her laugh gets softer and softer as he feels the heat escape her body. Her eyes flash red not with pain but with a warning. “Low Battery! Charge Now!” but a recharge isn’t possible, at least not in an electrical sense. With this he holds her memory tightly, tighter than the grip of death itself. He carries her soul in his heart as he steps to the cellar. Her brown hair now twisted with curls, rooted in the insecurities of others. The door creaks open to deliver a gust of contempt for death and a sense of resurrection. Human sized tubes litter the wall. The same face stares back at him at least a dozen times, providing twelve instances of relief. A transaction is made with his heart and mind, and one of the tubes opens. He feels elated but the air still chills around him, and an aura steps out followed by a hand reaching for him.

The morning withholds its sunlight and leaves only the gray to open its doors when the man turns aside to his wife facing him, her strawberry scented hair waving in his face.

Question: Among things Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, sought refuge from were “knowledge, hearts, prayers, and eyes” according to one specific tradition? Why did he do so? Are there types of knowledge and prayers we need to be cautious of?

It is related that the noble Messenger of God would often repeat the following prayer: “My Lord! I seek refuge in You from knowledge that is of no benefit, a heart that does not tremble in respect, from a carnal soul that is never satisfied, and from prayer that is not answered.” It is also related in another tradition that he sought refuge from calamities, diseases, and “eyes that do not well up with tears.”    

Knowledge that is of no benefit

The Qur’an says, “Is that of a donkey carrying a load of books (it transports what it does not understand)” (Al-Jumu’ah, 62:5). There are some people who wrote books, completed doctorate upon doctorate, and became “wise” men. Yet, in the words of Sadi, this newfound knowledge is largely useless and non-beneficial if they do not incorporate it into their nature and practice what they have learned.      

Nowadays, there are plenty of ignorant people with degrees. Their mouths are filled with tar and darkness from the lies, deceit, slander and misinterpretations that they spew. All of the knowledge they have learned and all of the books they have written (even if they have written about the heart and spirit of Islam) are of no use if this knowledge is not going to bring them closer to God, be their route into Paradise, and allow them to experience Divine grace.

It is important to read abundantly and to look at a wide variety of books in order to broaden our perspectives, however it is even more important to incorporate that knowledge into our daily lives. Sadi says, “If you do not believe with your knowledge, then you are the epitome of ignorance.” Such people are not only ignorant, but also are ignorant of their ignorance. All the while, some among them arrogantly assume that they are aware of everything. This is described as “triple ignorance.”

A heart that does not tremble

Secondly, the noble Prophet says, “I seek refuge from a heart that does not tremble.”

The word used in the original text is “yahsha,” which refers to a sense of reverence or awe that manifests itself in one’s actions. It is a measure that shows the depth of one’s position before God. It is acting with the consciousness of ihsan, the conviction that we are being seen by God all the time.

The Prophet says that the reverence in one’s heart manifests in that person’s outward form. If one is truly reverent to God then, it will pour out through their iris, facial expressions, hand gestures, tone of voice, and even in the ideas they put forth. Bediuzzaman Said Nursi (d. 1960) was a scholar who had the utmost reverence to God and His creation. When he used to retreat to his wooden rack on top of a tree for prayers and contemplation, he would say:

Listen to the stars, to their delightful sermon,

Listen to their message of luminous wisdom

And see what is written in their declaration

“Of all His servants, only those who possess true knowledge stand in awe of God” (Al-Fatir 35:28).             

People with deep understanding have a unique perspective. They are the ones who have engraved their knowledge into their neurons, and this tends to be reflected in all of their actions in such a way that anyone who saw them would notice the deep effects of their faith. When an observer saw such people in prostration he or she would see them in full humility for they pray in a state of “being seen by God.” Little, if any, doubt would be left unresolved with such a representation and state of being.

A carnal soul that is never satisfied

The third thing God’s Messenger sought refuge from was “a carnal soul that is never satisfied.” The Qur’an narrates the story of Korah, who serves as a primary example of a person with such a soul:

“We gave him treasures, the keys alone to which were a heavy weight for a party of strong men” (Al-Qasas, 28:76).

Korah had amassed so much wealth that even the keys to his treasure chests required ten strong men to carry them. The Prophet considered such a greedy soul to be so dangerous that he listed it after useless knowledge and a heart that does not tremble in fear.  

Prayers that are not answered

The Messenger of God, peace and blessings be upon him, says, “God does not accept the prayer of the heart which does not know what it wants and desires.” We really need to consider how we recite prayers and supplications from memory: are we doing praying with sincerity or without deeply reflecting upon what we are asking? A person could pray for something good such as, “O God, keep us far away from Hellfire, save us, protect us.” In regards to such a prayer, one should spend a few extra minutes pondering about our lives, try to close their eyes and imagine being in the presence of God, consider the consequences of an irresponsible life. One can even imagine themselves walking on the bridge above the fire. The All-Merciful God will not leave such a vivid seeker of protection in vain.

While praying, “Take us to Paradise along with those righteous people” one should imagine the gardens, trees, and flowers of Paradise to the extent that is humanly possible.        

Prayers are best when they come sincerely from the heart, not subconsciously and without meaning. It is as if something is raining into the hands of the people who sincerely turn to God when they pray to Him.

This is a personal experience that can be achieved through deep reflection and sincerity. There are some steps that can be followed in order to reach such a pious state.

First, God Almighty will accept your prayers and supplications when you are standing in the presence of your Lord with deep concentration, knowing that you are being seen by God and aiming to be in a state as if you are seeing God, too.

Secondly, it is important to make supplications over and over. God Almighty wants to hear the supplications of His servants and wants their prayers to be in their book of good deeds. Consequently, God gives whatever His servant desires depending on how insistent they are in their supplications.

In another tradition, the Prophet says that prayers are answered and advises believers to be patient and not say things such as, “I kept offering my supplications and prayers, but they were not accepted” out of desperation and impatience.

Surely believers will be rewarded with mercy should they remain at God’s doorstep in deep loyalty. He does not leave us completely deprived either, even if He does not give us exactly what we want when we want it.

When the Messenger of God takes refuge in God from supplications that are not accepted, he is referring to those who get weary of making prayers and supplicate with little to no sincerity. God knows best.

Bediuzzaman said the following about the severe pains he felt in his body: “I have supplicated for thirty years to be healed; my prayers have not been accepted externally, yet it has never occurred to me to abandon my prayers. Because illness is the occasion or time for prayer; to be cured is not the result of the prayer.”

Persecuted by oppressive regime, Bediuzzaman was poisoned twenty-one times when he was behind bars. It has not been recorded, or known, that Bediuzzaman ever once made prayers of revenge in his life despite all of the hardship that he endured. He was an emblem of forgiveness and grace, and this character fits monumental personages like him.

This is what we must strive to do as well. Prepare yourself to forgive those who are persecuting you. This is surely a heroic thing to do that takes much strength. Do not respond to evil with evil.

“If you have to respond to any wrong, respond (only) to the measure of the wrong done to you,             

but if you endure patiently, it is indeed better for the patient” (An-Nahl 16:126).

Jesus, peace be upon him, said that excellence in faith is not acting in kindness to those who act kindly to you; excellence in faith is to respond with kindness to those who treat you with evil.             

Be kind to the person who harms you. At least give the alms of a smile, if just a smile. Others may act like monsters, as would be expected from monsters. God has created us as humans, what befits us is to act with humanity. It is impermissible for a true believer to abandon this demeanor.

Eyes that don’t water with tears of sincerity

May God bless us with eyes filled with tears. If there is one antidote to put out the flames of Hell, it would be tears. If there is one thing to take our prayers straight to God, it is the tears we pour for God’s sake.

God’s Messenger, peace and blessings be upon him, said: “Don’t laugh too much.      It kills the heart.”

Your prayer mats should be soaked so much so that your mats speak back in their tongue of disposition, “That is enough! I have become fully soaked, that is enough.”          In the dark night, when you try to turn on the lights to the Intermediate Realm, your tears, in a way, should be like oxygen or energy. Your tears will provide light and illumination. May God make us like those who have such eyes.

The Example of the First Circle around the Prophet and Those Who Followed Them

So much so a source of blessings was the Prophet Muhammad, according to the Islamic tradition, that he always had followers who embodied the same spirit and devotion. Those who had the opportunity to be close to the Prophet and witness his person with their eyes and hearts lived in a constant state of rapture with this delight. They walked in his footsteps with the excitement of being imbued with that state, and they always made sure this path that led to him was filled with travelers. Hundreds of thousands have taken wing towards him, their eyes always eagerly fixed on this first “Circle” around the Prophet, and their hearts willing to behold what lies beyond. Watchful for the furthest horizons, they have taught the manners of this journey to those who staggered on their way.

For those who are on this path, faith in God (iman) is a lively source of excitement in hearts. Knowledge (marifa) and love of God (muhabba) are as a sparkling torch in feelings and thoughts. Their eagerness to meet the real owner of everything sheds light on their way as a projector that brightens up the roads extending to eternity. They have walked without falter to the beyond with eagerness for reunion with God (liqa‘ullah), which is a never-fading source of energy in feelings and thoughts; their hearts always beating with the excitement of beholding the very horizons of those in the Circle. They ran in the direction of this Circle without fatigue, but with an insightful perspective of what they saw, with a resolution for journeying in the realms beyond the horizons by means of their mechanism of conscience, their hearts permeated with the awe of this state and the entirety of their physical and spiritual anatomy in full resonance.

Their faith and spiritual knowledge are of the deepest kind. They are thoroughly equipped in both material and spiritual senses, and they entirely leave behind worldliness and materialism. They disregard dirty urges of the carnal soul and its temptations. Though they soar in heavenly realms, their hearts still keep quivering in fear. They keep groaning as if they were the sinful ones in this world. They question themselves with the deepest concerns day and night, and they always have considerations as expressed in:

If the All-Merciful One weighs my sins as they are,
I fear the scales on the Day of Judgment will break.

They keep sighing night and day out of fear, as if they have committed some wrongdoing despite their already glorious spiritual rank. Humility is at the core of their existence. They feel disgusted by receiving appreciation and applause. They hate glory, prestige, and pomp. They always behave as an ordinary person among other people. Acknowledging that all goodness, achievements, and extraordinary qualities come from their Creator, bowing is no more enough for them to show their gratitude, they go down to prostration in reverence.

I am a slave who is not worth all this grace,
I wonder why I am favored so bountifully. (M. Lutfi)

With these feelings, they continue to be relentless in their self-criticism, and are immersed in expressions of humility and self-effacement. They adopt the following important principle of the Qur’an as a part of their character: “(O human being!) Whatever good happens to you, it is from God; and whatever evil befalls you, it is from yourself” (4:79). They do not forget their single mistake or lapse which weighs so heavily on their shoulders, even after many, many years. They forget or disregard the good things that they made or accomplished which may have helped thousands of people. Even if the thought of crediting themselves for a dazzling accomplishment or triumph crosses their minds, they dismiss such thoughts and acknowledge all success to be from God as a grace for people’s collective work and solidarity. These are the character traits of the devoted souls walking on the path of the All-Truthful One, and such is the constant state of monumental personages whose hearts are completely oriented with the ones in the Circle, seeking God’s approval.

Now, with broken statements of mine, I wish to narrate examples of facing oneself from some loyal servants of God, whose eyes and hearts were with the members of the Circle. My words can only represent a few drops from their immense ocean.

As one of the radiant fruits of the blessed tree of the Prophet’s family, Imam Zayn al-Abidin (659-713) was a prominent person of sublime virtues. His father was Husayn (the Prophet’s grandson), his grandmother was Fatima (the Prophet’s daughter), and his grandfather was Ali, the prince of the chivalrous, and his great grandfather was the noble Prophet, peace be upon him. Zayn al-Abidin was a fortunate person who opened his eyes to the world in such a bright ethos and flourished with heavenly water of life, had his heart and spirit always set on God so much so that his path never ever crossed sins even in his dreams. Wherever he turned his eyes, he was enraptured by a view of the Circle. He kept soaring high towards that source of blessed inspiration with a desire and eagerness of reunion with his noble family.

He was always permeated with such feelings and thoughts; he always desired and aimed to be on that blessed course. Yet, he always committed himself to the Divine, assigned no worth to himself, and constantly engaged in self-effacement, a state of being which Seyyid Nigari describes in his own way as follows:

Can one who seeks the Beloved care about his own soul?
Can one seeking to live be concerned for the Beloved?

And thus Zayn al-Abidin kept seeking God and completely closed his eyes to all else, because he was in a state of constant exposure to the Circle, with the sight of both his eyes and heart. His heart would beat with the excitement of being under the same light with them, and he would live with a zest for servanthood to God. Among his prayers constantly offered are the following supplications, which I do my best to convey here, but do so by focusing more on the meaning rather than the exact wording; I do not constrain myself to vocabulary limitations. Instead of rendering all of his supplications here in full, what follow are his heartbreaking cries which I occasionally interpolate with short phrases to offer my personal take on some of his words, so hoping that his inner groans are better internalized first by myself and others like me:

“My God! The wrongs and sins I have been committing have put a mantle of abasement on my soul. By remaining apart from You (O Imam, have your ever been apart? FG) I have found myself in a state of poverty. The gigantic wrongs that I have committed (no way, a hundred thousand times no! FG) have darkened my heart. I seek refuge in You, God Almighty, my only Besought and Beloved! Please accept me as I turn to Your door with serious repentance, and bless me with a fresh revival as if I have been revived after death (if you are not alive, then how should those unfortunate “walking dead” like myself wail? FG). I swear I never knew anyone but You (O God), and in spite of everything, here I submissively expect to be forgiven in Your presence. If you expel this slave of Yours, which door can I ever turn to and with whom can I ever seek refuge? If I am expelled from that door, I will utterly be in a pitiable and shameful condition!”

O dear Imam Abidin, we have studied you and others like you in the literature of the Prophet’s life, and have come to recognize you with your humble face turned down and with your heartfelt supplications. If the cause of your wailing is the temporary fog that occasionally seeps into your imagination during dreams, if this is the factor that triggers your groans, how fortunate you are. And how pitiable are unfortunate ones of our time such as myself who live their entire lives in that fog and smoke, and the so-called theologians who assume themselves to be religious!

Zayn al-Abidin does not suffice with his above prayers. Below he opens another page in his compositions of wails:

“O the Exalted Lord who even forgives the greatest sins and embraces stricken hearts with compassion! I wish and beg You to pardon my disgracing sins and hide away my shameful wrongs and forgive this slave of Yours, in the warm atmosphere of Your forgiveness, along with those whom You saved with Your clemency and mercy.”

I wish it could be possible to find at least a hundredth of these wailings in the spiritual world of those who spend their life in places of worship, who put on airs in Sufi lodges, who waste their lives in nests of heedlessness appearing to be religious schools, and those so-called believers whose faith does not pass beyond imitation and who spend their lives in self-glorification saying “I did this, I did that.”

Zayn al-Abidin continues to open up to God, his yearnings now reaching a peak:

“If repentance and penitence are titles for a heartfelt remorse, so I swear I repent a thousand times for all I committed! If asking forgiveness from You is a means of being absolved from sins, so I cry with truly heartfelt remorse and wish You to forgive this poor servant of Yours!”

With my full respect to him, I skip some of his expressions of sigh and wailing and jump to the following one:

“O God! You are the One who has opened wide the gates of sincere repentance for Your servants and informed us with this glad tidings. You decree “O you who believe! Turn to God in sincere and reforming repentance” (Qur’an 66:8) and thus summon us to the chamber of Your oneness. Those who turn to this door You have opened will hopefully find what they expect, as a result of Your grace. Sins and wrongs certainly are not becoming for servants, but there is no doubt that You are so magnanimous at forgiveness and clemency.

Let us add the following to that:

Bestow on us, O my Sovereign, do not deprive the poor of your bestowals
Is it becoming for the Munificent Bestower to stop bestowing on His slaves? (M. Lutfi)

Yearning souls always presented their petition with this gist of imploring. If it will not be disrespect against the Almighty, I also share these considerations.

His exalted name, “Light,” touches the darkness
and everywhere is filled with light.
The letters written from a brilliant world
are revealed to the hearts;
Then the Divine command,
“Read in the name of your Lord!”
descends and becomes our intentions.

We look around the Earth and believe that we start to sail into the dark upon reaching the depths of the skies, the land, and the oceans. But if we look with care, we may notice that the inhabitants of those places often inform us of the beauties they are created with.

The depths of the oceans, especially, are where what we see leave us amazed. From microscopic bacteria to giant squids, and from tiny lighted jellyfish to spiny skin, many creatures, from ascidians to some sharks and stingrays, turn on their lights, literally, illuminating the darkness of the deep sea. This biological light-producing process in the body of some animals is called bioluminescence. It is astounding that these creatures can emit biological light with no change in their body temperature. Normally, light is formed by emitting heat. This basic principle applies to some of the most common sources of light that we know of, such as campfires and electrical lightbulbs.

A mechanism that produces light without heat has been created in some insects living under the sea as well as those on land. The basis of biological light production is generally the oxidation of luciferin, i.e. its conversion to oxyluciferin. The enzyme necessary for this chemical reaction to occur is luciferase.

Most living creatures that can produce bioluminescence live in deep, dark areas of the world’s various seas and oceans. Some of the inhabitants of these depths emit strong blue (secondarily green) light at an average wavelength of 475 nm. An interesting note is that underwater life forms are often created with sensitivity to the wavelengths of blue-green lights mentioned above. In rare cases, there are also sea creatures that emit light in the yellow-red wavelength range.

Animals with the ability to emit light are also usually given excellent control mechanisms so that they can use their equipment as a weapon. They can turn their lights on and off in a flash and can utilize complex chemical and neurological mechanisms that provide functions such as adjusting the intensity, color, and direction of the light. Creatures that produce light underwater sometimes do not need to use the light in order to see where they are going. Instead, they tend to use these marvelous gifts in a variety of strategic ways. Some will try to attract the attention of their prey; others will attempt to ward off predators and aggressors; still others will use their lights to indicate that they are ready for reproduction. It is even possible for some creatures to utilize several of these functions at the same time.

Let us now examine some specific species and how they employ bioluminescence.

Light vomiting shrimp

One of the most interesting examples of bioluminescence in animals is the light-emitting deep-sea shrimp Acanthephyra purpurea. This shrimp will actually vomit light from its mouth as a last-ditch effort to deter predators. The intent is to disorient, confuse, and even temporarily blind other creatures, similar to the effect of a flashbang grenade, so that the shrimp can retreat into the dark. As a result of their research on the shrimps, marine biologist Edith Widder states that the chemical substances sprayed are not blue when they are in the body and that the blue light production occurs when the luciferin substance in the sprayed liquid comes into contact with the oxygen in water.

Loosejaw fish

There are at least 42 recorded families of bony fish that have bioluminescent properties. One of them is the Photostomias guernei, or the “loosejaw fish”. This fish has a remarkable organ that emits light on the sides of its eyes. These lights, which resemble the headlight lamps of our cars, are not constantly lit, in order to avoid waste. When hunting, the fish illuminates the way ahead with the light it produces, and it can turn these lights off when they are no longer needed. A wonderful feature of this organ is that, just like headlights, a highly reflective layer is created behind the main center of the light. The reason that the fish is able to turn the light off may be because its black velvety body is contrasted by the light color of the organ and would thus attract much unwanted attention.

Deep sea hatchetfish

Bioluminescent systems were also given to creatures in order to act as a means of camouflage. They work phenomenally for both hunting and survival in situations where blending in with the environment is paramount for catching prey or evading predators. In the depths of the underwater world, the silhouette of an animal bathing in light is an easily recognizable target. One of the best examples of this phenomenon is the deep-sea hatchetfish. The fish has been created with its eyes on top of its body and its mouth facing upwards, making it easier to hunt. It also emits bioluminescence from its abdomen to provide camouflage against more aggressive, larger fish that swim lower than itself. The color of the light emitted makes it difficult to recognize the fish from below as it perfectly matches the color intensity of the environment. In the meantime, if the sunlight that hits the sea is interrupted in any way, the fish will turn off its lights and the camouflage will continue.

Black dragonfish

Diversity in the light organs of the scaleless black dragonfish (Melanostomias bartonbeani)

This species of black dragonfish (Melanostomias bartonbeani) takes advantage of luminescence in a number of ways. An illuminated area next to the eyes is used to find prey and send signals to its mates. The black dragonfish’s chin also has an illuminated extension that dangles in the waves as bait for naive prey. In addition, a set of small organs of light arranged along its abdomen play a role in concealing its silhouette. Furthermore, light-emitting pocket-like structures surrounded by a gelatinous capsule embedded in the skin are used as alarm systems. The bioluminescent systems within this creature are immensely complex and beautiful, and when observed in detail reveal the dazzling splendor of the world that we live in.

Fish with 3 different types of illumination

The Northern Stoplight Loosejaw (Malacosteus niger) has three different types of light organs, the complex use of which cannot be possible without top engineering skills. The wide, drop-shaped, illuminated organ under its eyes emits a red light at a wavelength of 702 nm as if it knows the laws of optics under the sea. This red light is not visible to most deep-sea creatures, for it is quickly absorbed in water. Yet, with this red light this fish is able to have vision in a close proximity while remaining largely undetected. This is similar to infrared binoculars soldiers use for night vision without giving away their position. The loosejaw is thus a dangerous hunter that has an edge over its prey. There also exists a blue light-emitting oval section, behind the organ, that emits red light and is usually larger in males. A third light organ is round and smaller and is located between the eyes and the red-light organ.

Angler fish

The angler fish is one of the most iconic fish of the deep ocean due to its famous rod and bioluminescence. The angler fish does not actually produce its light on its own: the light is credited to bioluminescent symbiotic bacteria that inhabit the end of the rod on their forehead. This illuminated part, which resembles a worm-like bait, is very attractive to small fish. These fish are thus lured to the angler expecting a quick snack, but instead the angler swallows them whole with its massive mouth. While doing their task of helping the angler hunt small fish, the bacteria maintain a symbiotic relationship with the fish and also find an environment in which to proliferate. In this way, they form a good example of cooperation and solidarity. One may wonder: how can such a mutual agreement come into fruition between a fish and some bacteria which are deprived of a nervous system, mind, and consciousness?

One of the reasons that marine biologists are interested in light-emitting bacteria is the wide-lit regions called the “Milky Seas.” These can be observed in satellite images of Earth. Recently, satellites helped detect a bioluminescent area of roughly 5,946 sq. mi in the Indian Ocean; scientists wondered if some bioluminescent bacteria or Dinoflagellate-type flame-colored algae may be the cause of the phenomenon.

Alarming jellyfish

The luminescence of some marine life serves as an alarm or distress siren. A remarkable example of this is the Atolla jellyfish (Atolla wyvillei), an elegant inhabitant of deep waters. This jellyfish produces blue lights that are spread in circles in the water when it is attacked. Thanks to these lights, it tries to draw the attention of larger and stronger animals than the initial attacker in order to escape from harm’s way.

As can be observed in some species that we are familiar with, such as fireflies, the bioluminescence feature that is full of wisdom granted to some living beings is a thought-provoking biological miracle which does not only make us ponder where they got these abilities from but also reveals how so many intricate patterns are found in nature.

References

• Steven H.D. Haddock, Mark A. Moline and James F. Case. 2010. Bioluminescence in the Sea, Article in Annual Review of Marine Science, DOI:10.1146/annurev-marine-120308-081028 Source: PubMed.
• Edith A. Widder. 2001. Harbor Branch Oceanographic Institution, Fort Pierce, Florida, Marine Bioluminescence, Bioscience Explained, vol 1, no 1, pp. 1-9.
• Edith A. Widder. 2010. “Bioluminescence in the Ocean: Origins of Biological, Chemical, and Ecological Diversity,” Science, vol. 328, pp. 704-708.
• www.wired.com/2012/01/glow-little-spewing-shrimp-glow/ March 28, 2018.
• en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malacosteus_niger / April 1, 2018.
• Harold, A. 2015. Malacosteus niger. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species 2015: e.T190149A21909439. http://dx.doi.org/10.2305/IUCN.UK.2015-4.RLTS.T190149A21909439.en.
• https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/190149/21909439

She stood at the edge of the abyss, the blinding darkness engulfing her, enticing her. It would be easy to let go, to wither away and join him. Her arms felt numb, and her powerful legs were weak. Violent tremors traveled up and down her body. A small compelling hand, wet with tears, tugged on her arm. “What will we do now?” a quavering voice whispered. She opened her eyes. The sky was a cerulean blue, and the blazing sun was beating on her torn straw hat, casting a slender shadow on the spring green rice fields. Her rapid heart was calmed by a wind that caressed her cheek. To her dead husband, to her children, to Vietnam, she dropped the condolence letter, and with her feet firmly planted on the ground, said, “We will live.”

To say it was easy is an understatement. Raising five kids as a single mother, in a country where women are expected to be docile, seemed infeasible. “I was taught at a young age that men were the head of the household, they were the heroes of the family,” Diep Ngo, aged 80, recalls sadly, her eyes distant. “I felt helpless. My brothers were charting new paths, while I was still, unable to move.” With a suppressed sob, Ngo recounts that at the twilight hour, she would drown with dark thoughts, but every morning when the sun rose, they would be vanquished. The roosters were the reveille that awakened her slumber, her empty stomach was the battle cry, and the last words of hope from her departed beloved, the mantra that carried her on. 

The war took its toll on the civilians of Vietnam; it was a disease that plagued families with deaths and injuries. Young girls were jailbirds, kept busy looking after their younger siblings, torn rags their striped attire and restrictions the bars of their prison. Dreams were locked away, replaced by the basic needs crucial to survival. Even so, when asked if she would take part in the war that claimed her husband, Ngo, her mouth in a straight line and her eyes ablaze, adamantly nodded. Raising both arms until her fists were level with her head, she mustered a grimace. Her nose crinkled and teeth bared, but her eyes sparkled with humor. “Do you think anyone would’ve thought twice about taking me on?”

Scraping bits and pieces of broken memories from her childhood, Ngo recalls that the only freedom she truly had was that from the pressures of education. “I never did well in school. Women were not expected to accomplish anything, so it was highly unusual for a women to achieve higher education.” Now, it seems clear that this supposed freedom transformed itself into another burden upon her shoulders, for she had to take on menial tasks when drafted into the position of “man.” For the first time in her life, she left the cage built by the patriarchal society and refused wealthy suitors. “They were bloated with pride… I would never submit to any man like that.” Ngo was ridiculed by her neighbors as a result, but she felt a strange sensation, absent from her life ever since the fateful, disappointed sigh that accompanied the doctor declaring her gender 80 years ago: the jewel of independence.

“As their father was gone, I had to step into the role of the provider. Oh, what a burden it was, but the power and purpose it gave me fueled the sleepless nights.”

Before the age of 30, her long, black hair turned a platinum gray, and impending wrinkles scarred her face as the war robbed her of youth. A moment to weep or reconcile with memories of loved ones was lost in the present.

“Losing my husband was truly hard, but myself, and other women of Vietnam, had to choke back grief and look to the future,” she remarked. Leaving the house militarily before the sun rose and coming back well after the crescent moon silently loomed in the sky, the only thing Ngo regrets is not spending as much time with her children. But, what she had to do was necessary, as every day was a battle. Even so, how could she explain to them the rough calluses on her hands, which toiled tirelessly, tending the infested wounds left after the hungry bullets pierced the heart of Vietnam? How could she explain yet another outline of a large palm on her red cheek, this time from an angry customer, unsatisfied by the knee-length trousers she had spent all night mending?

Through it all, she remained an eternal warrior, whose struggles rivaled those of men fighting raging wars. Diep Ngo battled gender inequality and injustice, all while leading her family through desperate times. An old poem by Xuân Diệu filled her thoughts as America, the land of rebirth and opportunities, slowly emerged on the horizon: “Your feet have hardly tread round this way… Open your arms to clasp the spring, then from your hand let there be light” (translated by Thomas D. Le). And for the first time since her husband’s death, she welcomed the moist tears, for the valiant soldier’s burden had been lifted. Her dauntless mission was complete. 

I’m forever grateful for her valiant decision to bypass social stereotypes and become a sort-of soldier, leading her family to survival, to new opportunities, to an education, to happiness, to America. It’s a natural, humane feeling that is respectful of the wisdom, the strength, and the sacrifices of the old. Every evening, after the tiring cycle of school, I retreat back into my place of comfort: my grandmother’s arms, and for the past 17 years, her past life was but a false, beautiful painting, rid of pain and hardships and suffering. That one night, under a blanket of softly twinkling stars, I retraced her hands, touching them, caressing them, tracing her old, calloused, scarred fingers and her bulging veins, to finally realize the truth: that there was so much I didn’t know about my hero.

We woke at the thud, panicked.

My wife and I had been dozing in bed, squeezing the last seconds of sleep out of our pillows before the inevitable onslaught of little people. It’s something of a delicious defeat when you hear the door creak open and steps on the carpet. You know you’re trading something so precious to you (sleep) for someone so precious, who you just wish would be precious elsewhere. But then they’re all warm and soft and tousle-headed and snuggly and saying things like “daddy, can we have special cereal?” and poking their knees into your side and sitting on your face with a full diaper and sticking cold toes into your armpits.

This morning they didn’t get to do all those precious, horrible things to us because we woke up to the sound of something thwacking against our window. After shaking off the confusion (no, it’s not a child on the roof; they can’t reach the window), I recalled why I knew the sound. It was a bird. And from the sound, a pretty sizable one.

I said as much to my wife, as I tried to open my eyes but managed only a half-squint. She half-muttered sympathy, as if she cared deeply inside but couldn’t get past the early morning fog. I added that since it was a big bird, it probably got away a little dazed, no harm done. I tried to find her to give her a reassuring pat, but I was too drowsy and missed completely. I also couldn’t pry my eyelids open still; they ached a little, as if I hadn’t used them for a week instead of approximately six hours.

I’ve read that birds, reptiles, and some mammals have something called a nictitating membrane, a third eyelid that acts as a translucent shield when they are diving or flying. They can draw it horizontally across each eye to moisten and protect it. For instance, many birds use it when they are regurgitating food for their kids so they don’t get their eyes poked out by little beaks.

I think of things like this when I’m abruptly disturbed from sleep. Things like this, and demonic children’s songs that will not be exorcised for hours.

We turned over and buried ourselves in the blankets for three more minutes before the precious, horrible people came and got us.

Nadia was playing hopscotch out on the sidewalk later in the morning when she found the bird. Robins are always the first birds my children encounter and remember. It was easy for her to name the body she stumbled upon, one story below our window, and quite dead. We had a little flurry of don’t-touch-that’s and daddy-is-it-going-to-be-okay’s, and I managed to deposit it into a small terrarium for them to look at. Animals can die of diseases communicable to humans, but this one died upon impact, and it was still warm. So the kids and I examined it carefully.

It was larger than any bird I’d seen this close. The wings were tucked in beside its impossibly light body. Many of its bones were hollow, for ease of flight. The neck was at a weird angle, a wrong angle. The death in front of me was at a wrong angle. It always has been, but it just felt much more wrong suddenly, because it was also in front of my children. Blood speckled its beak, a dark decoration above the warm red tinges on its chest.

I realized that it was a young one, probably a teenager in robin years. Its feathers were perfect, straight and sleek, pinions just slightly larger and smaller on each side, forming beautiful strong wings. And the roses on the sides under the wings were just barely forming up into a speckled breast. It was about the size of an adult but without the experience, which is why it probably hit our window.

One eye was slightly open and looking like black jelly, like it would spill out of the socket as liquid if you tipped the bird over slightly. The other eye was closed. This teenage robin had eyelashes on the under-lid. It had whiskers. Its feet were curled and delicate.

It was too beautiful. It was too sad.

Nadia was watching me. She told me she was sorry that it died because she could see the sadness in my eyes; but I wasn’t really mourning after the bird. We touched its wings, feeling its perfect form beneath our fingers: the surreal softness, the preciousness of a young fleeting life snuffed out. Not a sparrow falls but that He sees it. God saw this.

Woodpeckers will close their nictitating membrane, then tighten it a millisecond before they hit the tree so that their eyeballs don’t fall out on impact. Perhaps we need similar shields.

Only a few days earlier we had discovered a young robin hopping around the pine tree down in the yard. We took pictures. The kids enjoyed watching it hop around. There was a hawk above, circling around, and I like to think we saved that little robin’s life. There was a little one then, alive and bouncing, and then a bigger one, dead and stiff.

God saw this.

What is it about seeing that is comforting? Wouldn’t catching the sparrow be more comforting? Wouldn’t solving the problem, ending the great horror – death – wouldn’t this be a more lasting comfort? You see me, God. You see my children. But if you were to let them fall…

Sharks close their third eyelid when they attack. This way they can see their victims without getting blood in their eyes.

Kai got out of the house when he was only one year old. We noticed when it was too quiet. He had slipped out the screen door moments after I arrived home from work, and neither Linnea nor I had seen him. I locked the door. It was five minutes before we noticed he was gone, and in those five minutes he was down the outer stairs of the apartment building and toddling along the street.

The terror in my heart: I was running down the sidewalk in my dress slacks, socks, and undershirt, desperately looking for my son, expecting to see him lying in the street, expecting to be one of those parents we pray for, expecting to live with the knowledge that we didn’t see him, we didn’t see him, and then it was too late to see him…

He liked stairs, so he had kept to the house side of the sidewalk, and a kind and observant couple had pulled over and were with him four houses down when I ran up. The man was on the phone with the police, and I heard him say, “Oh never mind, it’s okay. The father’s here.” I thanked them, breathless, and held my son, and held him walking back, and held him up the stairs, and held him for another hour until he didn’t want to be held anymore, promising him I would see him, always, I would see him.

God saw this. How can I say it differently, to ease the pain? God sees… me?

If we mourn this way, how must God mourn at all He sees, at all the flickering lights snuffed out, the bruised reeds broken, the sheep silent before the shearer? Death is nothing new to Him, and in fact, He knows it as an old friend, an old foe, better than us all.

Today, this day, my children are alive and real, perfect in form and surreally soft. They are the preciousness of young life, fleeting, and my God sees them. Lest you think me morbid, think on why this is precious, why as a parent, as a child, as a human I am determined to cherish this thing we call life, why I must defend it for those I love, why death is such an aberration and a destiny and a defeated foe. The thought of death is morbid, maybe, but so is the thought of life without the thought of death. For now, we need both. And God sees us, in both.

God sees us.

Peregrine falcons see too, because as they dive at over 200 miles per hour, they blink their nictitating membranes repeatedly to clear away the debris and clean each eye.

In the midst of holding onto my family’s break-neck life, I find that I am unable to bring myself to accept such a thing as death, and yet… I know that it’s what I must do, for we will all encounter it, sooner or later. This dark thing I wish to dismiss by forgetting, or fighting, or examining on the operating table of a small terrarium: Death will come for us all.  I know, in my spirit, it is good – a gift given so that our difficult, fallen lives will not last forever, but it will never lose its dread, even when it has lost its sting. And perhaps I will embrace it as a friend when more years have passed beneath my feet, or perhaps I will embrace my Savior, and He will carry me through it into the place where it cannot enter.

And my heart holds its breath for all the times I must try to prepare my children for that moment – the one I feel certain I will never be fully prepared for, the one that God sees. I know I am actually only trying to prepare myself. I know it is not up to me, and I wish I could take more comfort in that. Perhaps someday I will. Every day is another reminder that I am not in control, and death is the great Out-of-My-Control.

But I know this. Each day that I walk in the sight of God, He will train my eyes, and my sight can be strengthened by seeing life and knowing it itself is but a shadow of the life to come.

Nadia, my little avian maven, knows that birds need nests. So she settles herself in a patch of fragrant clover and picks flowers as a pillow for the bird. She is kneeling in her pink flowered dress, a lily ringed with gingham, examining the ground and plucking appropriate stems carefully, precisely, preparing for burial. Perhaps, preparing for flight.

And I blink back a tear.

It was a blustery February morning, and just a few days before my 40^th birthday, when my cell phone rang. I thought perhaps it was someone offering me early well wishes. But it was my mom, calling with news that would forever alter the course of my life.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I sat down. “How are you?”
“Not good,” she whispered like a frightened child sharing a dark secret. “You know I’ve been feeling really down lately.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, matching her breathy tone.

She was talking so quietly that I cupped my hand over my left ear so I could hear her.
“I just swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills,” she blurted out.

My eyes widened as I sprung to my feet, nearly tripping over my toddler.

“A bunch? Like, how many?” I asked.

“I dunno,” she replied. “A lot.”

I raced to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I fumbled to dial 911 from the landline while trying to keep Mom talking to me on my cell.

A few moments later, I told her that the paramedics were on their way. She mumbled something incoherent. I could already feel her drifting away.

“Can you hear me?”

Numbing silence filled the line. Desperate to keep her awake, I continued talking, my voice growing louder each time I spoke.

“Are you still with me? Mom? Mom!”

Sensing the intensity to my tone, my 8-year-old son asked what was wrong. I wanted to comfort him, but I had to keep focused on Mom. Meanwhile, my toddler, who had only just realized his grandmother was on the phone, threw his goldfish crackers to the floor and pleaded to speak with her. He reached for the receiver with his tiny, cheddar-stained hands and shrieked, “I talk to Ga-ma!”

“Not now,” I said gently.

Both my boys burst into tears as my mind raced with worry. I paced the floor and repeatedly asked, “Are you still there, Mom? Keep talking to me.”

But I only heard a hint of monosyllabic mumbles, then a thud.

I stopped for a moment and stood beside the sliding glass door, shifting my weight from my right leg to my left as I stared out at the falling snow. I kept my eyes fixed on a specific tree branch in an effort to still my mind even as my restless stomach churned.

The wind whipped wildly, which made the snowflakes look as if they were engaged in a vicious game of tug-of-war. Blowing in umpteen different directions, the blustery scene depicted my current state of mind: frenzied, scattered, unsettled. My anxious eyes darted back and forth between the ticking clock, my wailing kids, and the straining pine trees in the backyard.

Finally, I heard the paramedics in the background and for the first time in forever, I took a breath.

I shot off a text message to my brother.

“Call me,” I wrote. “Mom just tried to kill herself.”

Even as I hit “send” with my quivering thumb, the moment seemed surreal. Did this really just happen? How? Why?

As I drove to Missouri, I tried to imagine what was running through my mom’s desperate mind as she ingested an entire bottle of sleeping pills. I envisioned her in her soft flannel pajamas, sitting on the cold tile bathroom floor, swallowing one handful of pills after another. My eyes squeezed shut and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I knew clinical depression was scary, but I’d never seen it up-close-and-personal.

When I stepped inside the hospital room, Mom’s eyes revealed a mixture of sorrow, regret, guilt, and fear. I sat next to her on her bed. She clasped my hand in hers, gripping it tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said softly, staring at the floor.

It’s okay,” I replied.

The truth was that it wasn’t okay. Not even a little bit. But what else could I say?

I stayed with her for several days, trying to soothe her by offering hugs and encouraging her by offering advice.

“Go to group therapy. Go to individual therapy. Do anything and everything to help you feel better,” I suggested. “Snarf up every resource possible.”

But instead of concentrating on getting better, she seemed more concerned with how her behavior would be perceived.

“What will people say if they find out what I did?” Mom asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

After she was released from the hospital, I went back home to Indiana. The following month, I was cautiously optimistic when Mom invited me, my husband, and our sons to visit her for her birthday and stay through Easter weekend. I took it as a good sign that she wanted to reconnect with her grandsons, so we packed our bags and drove west.

Though it was great to spend time with Mom, she was anxious and unsettled, worried that the kids might make a mess in her house. This was a far cry from the woman who in the past would often jump into the lake to entertain her grandsons. She spoke slowly and methodically yet still stumbled on her words. She seemed uncomfortable in her own skin. She wouldn’t even sit down to eat meals. Instead she stood by the sink, nervously nibbling at her food like a rodent.

One morning when the house was quiet, Mom approached me and said meekly, “Christy. I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

I didn’t want to rush her or force her, but I was desperate to hear what she had to say.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she said, squeezing my hands as if to relay some sort of message to me through code.

“Honest about what?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. I pressed her a bit more.

“You can tell me, Mom. Whatever it is, I’ll help you. What are you not being honest about?”

“We’d better get ready,” she said tersely, releasing my hands. “The boys want to go to the zoo today.”

Just like that, the moment was gone.

At the zoo, the kids had fun seeing the animals and riding the train, but I couldn’t get past the vacant stare in Mom’s eyes. It was like she was looking past everybody—like she wasn’t all there. Anytime I tried to engage with her, I’d get the same response: “I’m tired.”

That evening after tucking the boys into bed, I asked Mom if she wanted to talk. She looked at me with a pained expression, like she was gripping a hot plate without a pot holder.

“Well, I…um, I,” she muttered.

I don’t know if she couldn’t speak or wouldn’t speak or what was going on. But her mind definitely seemed muddled. I knew something was gnawing at Mom, but I didn’t know how to pull it out of her.

When I laid down to bed that night, tears welled up in my eyes as I confided to my husband, “I think Mom may still be suicidal.”

I hated to admit it out loud, and yet, I could sense a definite heaviness to her spirit.

“Why do you say that?” Eric asked.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s definitely not herself. She’s apologized profusely for trying to kill herself, but earlier today she told me that she’s not been completely honest with me, and when I asked her what about, she clammed up. Have you noticed how empty her eyes look?”

“What do we do? Your dad won’t listen. He’s adamant that she’s getting better.”

“But clearly she’s not. I wish I could get her to confide in me, but I feel like us being here is stressing her out more,” I said. “If the boys’ energy is causing her anxiety to spike, maybe we should take off and let her and Dad have a quiet holiday weekend.”

“Okay,” Eric agreed.

The next morning, I found Mom in the kitchen. She wasn’t eating, cooking, or doing dishes. She was simply standing in her housecoat staring into space. Until she caught a glimpse of my oldest son. Then her eyes moved to him and she watched him intently, like she was memorizing his every move. She did the same when my younger son entered the room. When I sat down, she acknowledged me with a weak, forced smile like she was using every last bit of energy to keep from crying.

I approached her and said softly, “Mom, we’ve decided to leave early.”

“When?”

“Here in a few minutes,” I said. “Eric’s packing the car.”

Confusion, sadness, and relief simultaneously spread across her face.

“Why today?” she asked.

“I can tell you’re struggling, Mom, and I know the boys have a lot of energy. I want you to be able to rest so I think it’s best if we get out of your hair.”

Her lips began to quiver, her brows furrowed, and she said with palpable remorse, “I’m sorry, Christy. I’m so sorry.”

It was a phrase she had repeated numerous times over the past three days so I didn’t think much of it. I replied in the same way I had all weekend—by telling her, “It’s okay.”

We hugged and I told her I loved her.

“Things will get better,” I whispered into her ear. “I promise.”

Those were the last words I ever spoke to my mother.

Six weeks later, my phone rang again. When I answered, I heard my dad’s voice, low and scratchy, say my name, followed by a long pause.

“She did it again,” he said quietly.

My gut clenched as all the color drained from my face.

“What?” I asked.

“She was doing better. She seemed stronger….” he said, his voice cracking.

My entire body began to tremble.

“It’s far worse this time,” he continued. “She swallowed hundreds of pills of all different kinds.”
My knees buckled.

“No-no-no-no,” I repeated.

How could this be happening again?

“I’ll jump in the car,” I told my dad as tears sprang to my burning eyes. “I can leave right now and be there by midnight.”

“Even if you left now, I don’t think you’d make it in time to say goodbye.”

Wait. What? Goodbye? Oh, Jesus!

My breath caught in my throat as my heart splintered.

When I got news in the middle of the night that Mom had died from the overdose, my world faded to grey.

Why? Why? Why? Why?

A thousand other questions bombarded my brain, but this was the predominant one. I could not, for the life of me, make sense of the fact that my sweet, loving, kind, compassionate mom would choose to take her own life. It defied logic and left me feeling helpless, hopeless, and hollow. How was I supposed to go on? How was I to let go of the guilt that gnawed at me round the clock? How was I to ever smile again? None of it seemed possible.

“Everything’s possible with God,” well-meaning people told me. But their platitudes and looks of pity only pissed me off. They didn’t know what it felt like to be leveled by grief. Though friends encouraged me to find peace through prayer, I did the opposite and gave God the silent treatment. What did I have to say to Him, anyway? I was angry that He had not only taken away my mom but that He had allowed her to exit the earth in such a terrible, tragic way. Having been a Christian all my life, I’ll admit it felt strange to cut Christ from my life, but I didn’t know what else to do. Many days, I found myself curled in the fetal position, sobbing and gasping for air.

Over the next six months, everything was a chore—driving, cooking, reading, even sleeping. Then one night I fell into a deep slumber and was met by a vivid dream that seemed to carry with it a distinct message.
I was at home when suddenly bright blue skies began to darken as a slight breeze tickled the shutters. Instantaneously, the sky transformed into a greenish-black hue. A small hiss followed a rumble, then a booming crash. The ground shook with a sinister force. Giant tree limbs snapped. Heavy shutters broke. Tin mailboxes crumpled. Wooden dog houses cracked. As the wind continued to howl, dirt, debris, and trash swirled through the air like frenzied snowflakes. Fence sections and lawn ornaments crashed through windows and dented car doors.

The scene was chaotic and scary. I glanced out the window, helpless and weak. Then, just as quickly as it built, the storm died out, and the world grew eerily still. I stepped outside to assess the damage and my jaw dropped at the sight of the devastation. Our beautiful house—a house I had always perceived to be strong and indestructible—was now a shell of its former self.

As I walked the perimeter of the house, I saw that it was uprooted from its foundation. It became evident that we wouldn’t have access to power or water anytime soon. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to rebuild this foundation—to start fresh. As a result, we would not be living comfortably for quite some time.

There was a silver lining, however. Despite such extensive damage, we determined that we could stay in the house, which provided a degree of comfort.

I stood in stunned silence, beholding the wreckage that surrounded me. I couldn’t believe the massive devastation that had leveled my life in the blink of an eye. But…I had survived.

For the first time since Mom’s suicide, I woke up with a sense of peace. I knew I would still face challenges and cry countless tears. But I had survived the worst, and though my foundation was shaky, I was still standing. And I could feel God standing beside me.

In the weeks and months ahead, I began surrounding myself with others who needed love and support, and, together, we journeyed through our pain: we shared tears, smiles, and embraces, and we held one another up, day in and day out. I learned that being in a community is perhaps the most important piece of life’s puzzle when it comes to maintaining a healthy existence. I also found that even in the deepest, darkest pit of despair, one can find a sliver of light, a glimmer of hope, a hint of peace. And that is what propels us forward, enabling us to breathe in, breathe out, and carry on.

It was 3:45 pm. I was sitting crossed-legged with twenty other seven-year olds under a wall of flat glass windows. An eerie calm had settled outside, where a short time before there had been whipping winds and a sky as green as Kermit the Frog. My mom whisked into the building, her sensible yet fashionable heels clicking on the worn linoleum, and the petals of her flowered dress rippling with her gait. Shocked that I was not huddled in an enclosed room, she took one look at my position under the windows and told me it was time to go. That was the last time I ever saw my after-school program. Everyone knows not to take cover under glass during a tornado.

On the way home, my mom angled the car around downed branches the width of tree trunks and garbage cans lolling down the curb. The world was spent: siding dangled from the edge of condos, and telephone poles were precariously tilted, if they stood at all. People ambled about, assessing the damage as the neighborhood settled into a collective sigh. A policeman at the end of the lane directed traffic to make only a right turn onto the main street because of downed power lines to the left, the direction of our house. My mom said, exasperated, “Now we’ll never get home!” My mom, always tough and calm, was worried. It wasn’t until that moment that I got scared too.

We did, eventually, make our way to our still-intact home. Thinking back on that moment, one of a few post-tornado moments during my Indiana childhood, I note most how my fear was derived from my parents’ fear. I always felt safe and happy when at their side, but in the rare moments when they were fearful, I became beside myself with terror.

When I was growing up my mom and I would sometimes watch horror movies while sitting on our worn, brown suede couch. When the background music began its inevitable, this-is-the-scariest-part crescendo, I would turn my head 90 degrees to the right and look straight into my mom’s eyes. For the entire duration, my mom would calmly report that the masked man was bludgeoning the babysitter or wryly observe, “Oh, looks like the psycho wasn’t dead after all.” Sometimes she’d insert an, “Ew, gross!” exclamation when something bloody took her by surprise. I got all the emotion I could handle by looking into her eyes during those parts; she became a sort of “closed captioning” for me—recapping what my senses wouldn’t let me experience first-hand.

When I was a child and swam competitively for years with the local swim club, my parents attended every swim meet I participated in. They would sweat it out on the hot bleachers of the indoor pool deck, fanning themselves as they sat for hours in the backless bleachers waiting for my race to begin. If I became nervous before my event, as I always did, I’d scan the population of faces in ordered rows until I found my parents. My dad, always looking for me, would catch my eye and give me a thumbs up with a double eyebrow raise and a big smile for support. I would immediately feel relief and was instantly braver because he believed in me.

When I graduated from my small-town college and decided to move to New York City without a job, a friend, or a long-term place to stay, my parents took care not to discourage me. Instead, they threw an early birthday party for me and did the tough thing—they bought me luggage, in acceptance that I had to live my dreams, even if they took me far away from family. Upon unpacking that luggage, I found a tiny yellow post-it that my parents and older sister signed that said, “Love ya!!!” with each of their familiar signatures surrounding it. Beneath it was a card that said, “You Must Take Your Chance.” Never once did they remind me of my shy demeanor or annoying tendency to throw up repeatedly when travelling on my own. Never once did they ask me to stay with them forever, even though their eyes might have mentioned it.

 As an adult, I still gauge fear by my parents’ eyes. A few years ago, during a phone call that bridged the 1000-mile gap between our homes, my mom told me my dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She spoke flatly, like a tiny person standing in the mouth of a huge cave, every syllable clear and solitary. There were no reverberations, no hints of emotion. I tried to be the echo of her stillness. But when I arrived at my parent’s house and looked into my mom’s eyes, I knew we were in trouble.

The night before my dad’s brain surgery, he and I sat in cushioned deck chairs on the shaded back porch of the house. He looked intently into my face and asked if I thought he was doing the right thing by having surgery and if I thought he was going to be okay. His doctor had given him 6-12 months to live and flatly stated that this condition had a high mortality rate. Surgery could buy him time, but most likely he would not survive. My dad’s tumor gave him short term memory loss, so he forgot all of that. What he remembered was that he trusted me. What I knew was that every moment we’re given here on earth, we are living. If there was even a one percent chance that my dad would live, what’s to say he wouldn’t be in that one percent? Sitting on the porch that night, I breathed in, collecting all the calm I could from the cheerful summer day, erased fear from my face, and answered, “You’ve improved so much in this past week on medicine alone. I think you’re going to be fine.”

After his surgery, my mom, sister, and I walked down the hallway to see my dad in the intensive care unit. I have a nauseous fear of hospitals, one I inherited from my dad: a feeling that the hallway is too long, that the patients behind the floor-to-ceiling windows are unprotected so near to the thin glass walls, their bodies storming inside. We shakily entered Dad’s room, and he smiled at us and groggily said, “I feel fine,” then crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue to prove his normalcy. I relaxed, seeing his face, seeing he was okay. I think he did it for that reason.

I guess that is what love is—reassuring each other in the eye of a storm, being the wall of calm and protective peace within the whirl of a tornado.

Tajalli (manifestation), which has almost the same meaning as showing itself, display, and appearance, in the language of Sufism means being favored with God’s special gifts. It also denotes that the Divine mysteries have become apparent in the heart of the seeker by means of the light of knowledge of God Almighty. Every traveler to the Ultimate Truth can feel this favor in the conscience according to capacity and station.

The manifestation which is felt and perceived in every realm, be it low or high or simple or composed of parts, especially those included in humanity, which has the potential to attain perfection in all fields and is the most polished mirror to God, is called the manifestation of (Divine) works. A step forward is the manifes­tation of (Divine) Acts, which means that the Divine Acts are perceived with their meanings and purposes in the heart of the servants who are favored with glimpses of the manifestation of the Names as a result of their having a true view of God and His Acts with God’s help, but without falling into naturalism. The manifestation of the (Divine) Names is when travelers take on the color of the Divine Names, with their feelings becoming mirrors to them. After this is the manifestation of the Divine Compas­sionateness or the particular manifestation and the manifestation of the Divine Mercifulness or the universal manifestation. The former is the manifestation with which the believers, including in partic­ular the most loyal ones, are favored and by which they are embraced from all sides, while the latter denotes the manifesta­tion with which God favors the whole of creation by giving it existence and by maintaining it. Believers come to perceive in their hearts one or some of the Divine Attributes with their true nature, meanings and actions. This is the manifestation of the Divine Attributes. God elevates His servants whom He has favored with this manifestation to such a rank that, under the guid­ance of the Attribute or Attributes manifested, He makes them hear sounds others cannot hear and see things others cannot hear. There is another kind of manifestation that is connected with the Divine Attributes and this is called the manifestation pertaining to the Attributes; that is, it is purely a manifestation of an Attri­bute in a way that does not bring to mind the Divine Being Who is possessed of this Attribute. If, in particular, the Existence and Knowledge of God manifest themselves in the heart of a perfect­ed believer in all their nature, meaning and actions, in the compa­ny of other Names and Attributes, this is called the manifestation pertaining to the Divine Being Himself. Although the manifesta­tions of the Divine Names and Attributes are usually ignored with regard to this greatest and most intense manifestation, what is true in respect of this is that the Necessarily Existent One can­not be viewed and considered without the veil of the Names and the imaginary outlines that are drawn by the Attributes.

The first and universal manifestation that pertains to the Divine Being Himself occurred as the special manifestation of His Divinity and Lordship on Prophet Muhammad, who was also known as Ahmad and Mahmud, and who was regarded as the ultimate cause for the whole creation being transferred from existence in the (Divine) Knowledge to the external, sensed existence. The community of Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, has a particular share, albeit shadowy in this manifestation. What Prophet Moses, upon him be peace, experienced on Mount Sinai was an aspect of this greatest, all-embracing mani­festation of the Divine Lordship which occurred by means of the mountain beyond all human concepts of modality.

We can approach this last point from the viewpoint of Sufism as follows:

Like the desire of Prophet Adam for the forbidden tree, which resulted in all of his descendants coming to this world, including, in particular, the greatest of them all, Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, Prophet Moses had an intense love for the Truly Existent One and an irresistible desire to speak to Him. At a time when the evident signs of his Prophethood and Messengership came one after the other, he sighed from the bot­tom of his heart with an overflowing yearning: “Show me Your­self, that I may look upon You!” (7:143). The Voice of the Pow­er, Which always speaks with wisdom, answered: “Never can you see Me (with your eyes in the world).” The Almighty meant: How can you see Me, seeing that you are still behind the veil of seeing Me and prevented by separation, being in the corporeal world. You are a shadow of the light of My Existence. If You rise to the horizon of seeing Me by Me, then you can see Me, but not with your eyes as I declared, Eyes comprehend Him not (6:103).

When you desire to look, you must look at the mountain of exis­tence with the eyes of non-existence so that the mountain of exis­tence may remain as it is and you will be able to see what you desire to.

Nevertheless, none except Prophet Muhammad would be favored with this manifestation. So, for an answer to Moses’ overflowing yearning to see the Divine Being and refusal to the appeal to see Him with his eyes in the world, the Almighty Lord displayed a manifestation of His Lordship on Mount Sinai or the nature of Moses, and either the Mount or both it and Moses shook violently and fell down as if struck by lightning. When the teaching for guidance had finished, Moses woke up from his faint that had been caused by the might of a manifestation of the Divine Lordship, and said: “O God! I proclaim that You are free from all kinds of defect, and that You alone are All-Holy (to be worshipped as God, and the Lord). From now on I turn to You with the consideration of annihilation in You and subsistence by You. We can observe You in Your signs, not with the darkness of our egos, but with the light of Your Being. I am among the first to believe in this truth.”

The gist of the matter is:

Love functioned as if the soul of Sinai, and
when Sinai was intoxicated with love, Moses fell down in swoon.

The manifestation of the Lordship has different veils:

The first is the manifestation of the Being Himself. This man­ifestation being beyond the Names and Attributes, a traveler who experiences it considers only the Divine Being Himself. Yazi­cizade Mehmed Efendi, the author of Muhammadiya, implicitly criticizes the Mu‘tazilites who deny a vision of God even in the Hereafter and expresses this spiritual perception as follows:

Since His image shows itself wholly within my soul,
My heart wipes away both name and form from this imaginary picture.
As it is possible to view Your Face and I desire to view It,
For I keep my ears free from the words of the Mu‘tazilites.

The manifestation of the Divine Attributes, which is the sec­ond category or degree, is the manifestation of one or more of cer­tain Attributes. This has been dealt with in two sub-categories:

The first is the manifestation of the Divine Majesty, with which people of self-possession are favored, and the other is the manifesta­tion of the Divine Grace, of which people of coloring feel in need.

If those who have not attained self-possession and wakefulness receive the manifestation of the Attribute of Existence, they may say, as Junayd al-Baghdadi said: “There is but He under my robe.” When those who are not people of self-possession are visited by the mani­festation of the Attribute of Oneness, they can express the state they fall into with pleasure, like Bayazid al-Bistami, who said: “Glory be to me, how exalted my being is!” If they are invaded by the manifes­tation of the Attribute of Permanence, they can utter the sentence that is irreconcilable with the rules of Shari‘a, that Hallaj al-Mansur [1] did: “I am the Truth (and Ever-Constant)!” [2]

When this manifestation occurs as the manifestation of the Divine Power and Will and is received in its true nature in wakefulness, and not in a state of pleasure, it will be as expressed: When you threw, it was not you who threw, but God threw (8:17). It is only Prophet Muhammad, the master of creatures, upon him be peace and blessings, who could receive this manifestation in its originality and true nature. If it is the manifestation of the Divine Creativity, it is Prophet Jesus who became a polished mir­ror to it in an extraordinary manner, as stated in the verse (3:49): I fashion for you out of clay something in the shape of a bird, then I breathe into it, and it becomes a bird by God’s leave.

The third is the manifestation of Divine Acts. This manifestation is an aspect of the manifestation of Divine Attributes and means that temporary acts have been annihilated in everlasting Acts. The author of Muhammadiya expresses this also in a vivid style as follows:

The All-Beautiful Beloved One has displayed His Light
again from the palace of Majesty;
this is why I am once more enraptured and crazy
because of the wine of His being all-eternal with no beginning.
My eyes and heart have removed from themselves the veil of ignorance,
and a call has been made to my soul from the One All-Exalted.
I have given up attachment to love as I have found His love.
Those who have found His love have abandoned grief-laden love.

Initiates lying in wait for a manifestation sometimes become so intoxicated that they feel Him in whatever they see. It even occurs that as they are so immersed in their present state, they see themselves in whatever they look at and cannot help but utter words that are irreconcilable with the rules of the Shari‘a, such as “I am the Truth,” or “Is there anybody else save me in both worlds?”

So far many have made such confusions and uttered such words. We can cite here only a single example:

I am not myself, if I am myself, then “he” is You;
If I am wearing a shirt, it is also You.
Full of suffering on Your way, I am left without body and soul;
If I still have a body and soul, then they are but You.

 The manifestations that cause those receiving them to utter such words are manifestations connected with the Attributes. Those deceived by their reason or the illusions which they take for the truth, have fallen away from the sphere illuminated by the master of the creatures, upon him be peace and blessings. They have both ruined themselves and deceived others. Let us listen to what the author of Mizanu’l-‘Irfan says about the state of such people:

If an intense manifestation comes from the Divine Being,
some initiates lose balance in this state.
This is a hard trial and great trouble for the initiate.
If he is not a perfected guide or
under the guidance of such a perfected one,
he may be hanged like Hallaj al-Mansur.
This is truly a difficult state for an initiate:
Whoever utters, “I am the Truth,” without being like Mansur,
he will become an unbeliever (with his) body and soul.
In short, this state is a slippery place,
Where the perfected ones among the saints do not long remain.

O God! Include us among Your servants sincere (in faith and practicing the religion), and endowed with sincerity, and God-revering, pious, and abstinent from all forbidden things big or small, and among those of asceticism and those near-stationed to You. And bestow blessings and peace on our master Muham­mad and on his Family and Companions, all of them.

Notes

1. Husayn ibn Mansur al-Hallaj (857–309) is famous for his utterance “I am the Truth.” He mostly lived is Basra. He is also famous for his austerities. (Tr.)
2. God’s manifestation with His Attribute of Oneness means His overall manifes­tation throughout the universe with His unique Grandeur, and this is why one who experiences it utters what al-Bistami uttered. God’s being the (Ultimate) Truth (al-Haqq) also means His being constant and unchanging, for haqq also means stable, established and constant. This explains why one experiencing this manifestation may make utterances like that which al-Hallaj made. (Tr.)

In our previous article where we discussed the mind-boggling complexity of our eyes’ retinas. We learned about the ten separate layers of cells, but we did not elaborate on the intricacies of their creation. We also learned how the substance in the cone cells, called rhodopsin, is destroyed on exposure to light and then regenerated in the dark. We thus touched on the wisdom behind the existence of both night and day.

The destruction of rhodopsin is caused by the generation of electricity after its contact with light. This electric impulse is transmitted from cones and rods to either horizontal or bipolar (having two poles) cells. The section between these two different layers of cells is called the outer plexiform layer, where horizontal cells receive electric impulses from rods and cones, and carry them to neighboring bipolar cells. The horizontal cells are also charged with transmitting electricity horizontally between rod and cone cells. The signals make it possible for shapes to be carried to the central nervous system in an appropriate contrast. Other signals are blocked so that the borders of the place of contact with light can be clarified in the brain, which does not receive an excessive load of signals. If it were not for these cells, it would be harder to perceive borders because the line of difference between two different colors would not become clear.

Bipolar cells have two opposite poles. They are created as one of two types, in accordance with their functions: one amplifies generated electric impulses, while the other inhibits the transmission of excessive impulses from around the perceived object to the brain. Bipolar cells provide the contrast necessary for making borders clear. They make clear vision possible, and yet most people have never heard of this wondrous gift inside their retinas!

How is contrast enabled?

Thanks to an innate ability, our brain does not occupy itself with regions that have the same color or the same light. It will not be stimulated much if, for example, a wall is completely white or a car is bright red all over. If, however, there are other colors on the wall, say, a white moon or star on a red background, then there will be more stimulation in the brain. Suppose we place the shape of a crescent on the wall. The stimulated parts of the brain will lie along the sharp ends of the crescent, not in the inside or outside of it. The stimulation in the brain is less associated with non-contrasting regions than contrasts in view. The higher the contrast, i.e. the greater the difference between light and dark areas, the greater the degree of stimulation.

Amacrine cells in the inner plexiform layer of the retina enable horizontal transmission. There are up to 30 different types of these cells, and they carry out at least five to six functions. For instance, one type of Amacrine cell transmits electric impulses from cones and rods to bipolar cells, then to other Amacrine cells, then to ganglion cells, and finally to the brain.

Another type of Amacrine cell responds strongly to the onset of the visual signal, while another to its completion. One other type reveals the difference in light intensity regardless of direction, while still others respond to the movement of a light point in a certain direction in the retina, causing a perception in the brain as to the direction of the light.

Further research may reveal yet more functions. Amacrine cells might have such functions as regulating the intensity of electric impulses specific to each wavelength and generating different levels of impulses for moving or stationary objects.

The function of the ganglion cells in the innermost layer of the retina is to help ensure that the electric impulse generated and corrected in the retina is eventually transmitted to the brain. Three distinct ganglion cells are identified in the retina. These cells are represented with the letters W, X, and Y. W cells are assigned the task of transmitting signals from rod cells, which produce black and white visual signals in the dark. Making up about 40 percent of all ganglion cells, they have diameters of less than 10 micrometers and transmit signals at a speed of 8 m/sec. It is evident that these cells are assigned the task of perceiving objects in the dark as rough, vague shapes.

X cells, on the other hand, transmit electric impulses to the brain, creating precise color pictures of objects. Making up 55 percent of ganglion cells, they have midsize diameters (10-15 micrometers) and transmit signals at a speed of 14 m/sec.

The largest of ganglion cells (with diameters as long as 35 micrometers), Y cells are assigned the task of transmitting instant changes in sight. Making up only 5 percent of ganglion cells, they send signals at speeds of 50 m/sec.

Sending intense signals in split seconds, Y cells inform the central nervous system immediately in case of a threat or an unusual encounter. When our body or eyes face a threat, these cells help protect us by warning the brain to move away from the threat or close our eyelids rapidly. If it were not for these cells, we would not be able to reflexively close our eyes and thus protect them. It’s incredible to ponder how complex these systems are – and how perfectly they’ve been created.

Between layers of cells there also lie layers of network that house neurons and their connections (synapses). These cells too have subgroups trained to carry out specific tasks. All of these cells are built according to certain specifications so that they can transmit stimuli to the brain when they receive light. Extremely severe visual problems develop when even a single layer of these types of cells is missing. Every one of the layers in our eyes is immensely special, and it is hard to imagine them to have been randomly placed there. It should be born in mind that this article simply skipped numerous elements of the retina and their chemical functions. Taking the precise measurements and mechanisms into account, we can only feel greater awe and love in the face of the incredible art devoted to the creation.

The first article can be found at https://fountainmagazine.com/2018/issue-126-november-december-2018/retina-the-mind-boggler