In an era when many parts of the world were defeated by darkness, our horizon was everywhere emblazoned with colors, and the festivals of dawn came one after another. At breakneck speed were the heralds of light, with brightest torches in their hands, calling the people to revival in every land. Those to whom they drew near found new life, as though having felt the breath of the Messiah, and the lands through which they passed turned green, as though Al-Khidr had stopped by. With one eye on this world and one fixed upon the Hereafter, these entrancing countenances were turned to Divine whilst amongst the people. Their minds and hearts were joined hand in hand in this worldly adventure. With those magical travels sometimes here and sometimes beyond, they experienced a separate festival each day.

The firmaments were interwoven and converged with this world. Our cities and villages were like the layers of the heavens. We imagined journeying across these heavenly layers as if on land, from continent to continent. We were like children as our days and nights passed with the sweetest of dreams. We felt our existence anew with each dawn and sunrise, and we returned to life all over once more. Breezes of Paradise forever blew in our horizon of thought, and it was as though we heard the flutter of angelic spirits above us. We lived an entire past intertwined with this day, and this day with the near and distant future. At a time when our contemporaries writhed in different crises due to the narrowness of the present, we perpetually breathed an air of tranquility and joy, as though strolling across the spacious and relief-laden slopes of Paradise.

Once upon a time, our magical world was like the wellspring of life of the earth and the heart of the heavens.

In this world forever agleam with lights from eternity were our villages and cities dazzling with their celestial profundities and our glistening homes resembling a bridal chamber. In this world, the rose was reconciled with the thorn, the cat side by side with the pigeon, the nightingale friends with the magpie; everything oscillated so deeply while singing the song of eternity. In everything we saw and heard we straightened ourselves and rose up once again: as if having received the sound of the Trumpet of Resurrection, took to walking toward the Divine at an even greater pace, and felt as though our roads reached all the way to the heavens. Especially for the luminous souls who have attained the happiness of walking along the trajectory of a life of the heart and spirit, living in this world was a privilege, so to speak.

With the sounds of the call to prayer, a call to eternity at each dawn, we experienced a new resurrection and felt the faith with the freshness of the day it was first revealed from the heavens, feelings refreshed, hearts wakeful to the utmost, and our spirits neck and neck with the angels. It was as if we could see the smiling countenance of the Infinite Light, peace be upon him, just a few steps ahead and stood dazed with reverence. Our thoughts were as profound as to project to the beyond, evaluated life with the gravity of the angels, and spent every moment like hearts familiar with God.

Our magical world back then was like the wellspring of life of the earth and the heart of the heavens; this heart constantly proclaimed the Almighty with its rhythmic beating, and with its living and inanimate accessories it offered us unimaginable surprises reminiscent of the beauties of Paradise. Everywhere was aglow; looking to our surrounds, we felt the dazzling magnificence of the world beyond in the face of existence and creation.

Our nights always passed with the luminosity of a “daybreak” while our days were as bright as the slopes of the highest level in Paradise. The atmosphere hanging over us and the natural landscape it encircled were refulgent, as was spring, summer, autumn, winter, and indeed all creation. In this colorful climate, we always asked for that which surpassed our will by means of our supplication and entreaties and incessantly mumbled utterances that would please Him. With feelings alive and our hearts quivering like the lowest note struck, we always presented to Him melodies with a different tune each time! The lamentations breaking loose from our hearts from time to time and rising from our bosoms ascended like the heartfelt cries of Prophet Jacob, and the winds blew with the fragrance from the shirt of Prophet Joseph, peace be upon them. All around, the sugar-sweet words were woven with pure feelings, and accompanied with deeds of righteousness. These “good words” (Qur’an 14:24) rose to the best of their “dew points,” and then poured back upon us as another form of Divine favor.  Those days were the days promised to the believers, those places were places from the Ka’ba and Mount Sinai, and we were the auspicious inheritors of the earth.

Then, the day came when the ruthless assaults of the enemies combined with the disloyalty of friends, and we were no longer able to stand where we once stood. We experienced tremors one after another and thus toppled over suddenly. Who knows, perhaps if we had not been subjected to all those betrayals, this world would have continued to bedazzle until the end of time with its own particular beauty.

Then, the day came when the ruthless assaults of the enemies combined with the disloyalty of friends, and we were no longer able to stand where we once stood. 

It is a great pity that in an inauspicious age, all the lights of this luminous world were ravaged, the hands holding the torches broken, the mouths speaking the truth gagged, and a group of monstrous souls sat upon our life springs. The sun no longer rose with its own color. In the shadow of the stains upon its countenance, the moon was like a poor creature, and the earth had taken on the form of an arena of savagery where malicious demons ran wild. The damage had been done and no longer were the roses with which we were familiar blossoming, nor the flowers diffusing their fragrance to their surrounds, nor the nightingales singing. Replacing the people showering smiles upon their surroundings with serenity and jubilation were dark-spirited night demons who were overwhelmed by hatred, rancor, and enmity, and dejected souls growling with wrath. It seemed as though all people of heart and spirit had dissolved into thin air, along with that luminous era. Villages and towns were abandoned and our minds were as empty of spirit, meaning, and respect for our own values, as were the plains and prairies of life.

The masses were dead on their feet as though subjected to an illusion, those holding the reins in their hands were in pursuit of a different fantasy each day, people scattering helter-skelter away from their own values, and disorder on the societal scale was experienced. There was no respect left for the family tree, nor regard for its fruit; axes hacked away at the tree’s roots and our thousand-year legacy was cast away to the scrapheap just to spite our forebears. Hypocrisy was popularized and dissension reverberated in all quarters. Deception was considered prowess and subterfuge, in the hands of its professionals, witnessed its golden age in favor of besmirching the believers. Deviators were wilier and quicker than ever before; on the contrary, many of the believers were worship-weary, service-spent, and addicts of rewards, and matters requiring patience, determination, sacrifice, and resolve had of course been entrusted to extraordinary occurrences. As a matter of fact, how many people believing in extraordinary manifestations had actually remained, God knows!

Considering our recent history, was it at all possible for us to get back up on our feet and pull ourselves together as a society facing such a degree of disarray? Were we going to be able to stand on our own feet once more as ourselves? It was very difficult to say anything positive with respect to the apparent causes; however, for believing hearts, causes were not everything. After all, what could not happen when God manifested His Favor! How many times humanity had encountered surprise springs until the present day, at the very moment when they fell defeated to sleet and snow. How many times they had witnessed “coolness and peace” (Qur’an 21:69) in the bosom of the most formidable infernos. Each and every time humanity turned to the door to which they needed to turn with faithfulness, confided and expounded their troubles to Him, the death pits in which they found themselves were transformed into ramps of elevation and at a stretch, in the very same breath, reached peaks that had hitherto appeared unattainable. Why could it not happen once more!

Indeed, no one who had turned to Him sincerely until now had ever come away empty-handed, and there were none amongst those remaining independent of Him who had been delivered. Thus, with all these considerations at the present time, our faces are darkened, but our hearts tremble. Fixing our hopes on the vastness of His mercy, confiding our inadequacy, inconsistency, and of course our helplessness to Him, we ask that He enable us to reach a fresh phase of revival with a brand-new celestial calendar and entrust our hopes and aspirations to His favor.

There is blood and sweat on the brow of the past
Iron fetters on its feet,      
A bitter smile on its lips.
What a red spirit it clashed with…


There is still occasional darkness on the horizon;
However, day follows the night…
Autumn fell in and all the orchards decayed.
Leaves turned yellow and flowers faded.

The hero died, and his steed was tired;
He had fought with a huge malicious demon.

Now even if it seems impossible for him to return, 

We’re waiting for him at rosy dawns…
The crowns that once shone,
The slopes that opened their bosoms to the crowned.

Emerald trees on golden slopes,
Reached the caravan of separation and left.


There’s a spark from that frightful extinction

There are messages in the spark from the return.

Reductionist, their next-door neighbor, was editor-in-chief of a highly recognized magazine. He was kind of older, and so had rather a fatherly attitude toward them. Not surprisingly, each of the three writers had one thing in mind-to catch the attention of their next-door neighbor, which was a really tough job. Having seen thousands of different articles in his life, and still editing several of them every day, Reductionist had become very good at categorizing ideas and pieces of writing. So, it was really difficult, if not impossible, to come up with something that he would call original. This state of Reductionist caused competition, and sometimes jealous actions, among the three writers.

Reductionist used to invite his neighbors to accompany him whenever he was invited to a program related to writing. Rational especially liked them because he learned new things from different people. Romantic loved staying alone, but doing this in different settings opened ways for new inspiration. Regular, on the other hand, was not very thrilled at the idea of traveling because it disturbed his daily schedule. But he thought it was OK being with friends as part of a bigger schedule that spans a larger time.

At the end of one of those trips, they were traveling back home on a dark and rainy night. As they covered each mile of the road, they talked about various topics. After some random ones, they started talking about a topic that really interested all of them: writing. They discussed different issues surrounding the main idea of writing, such as how to start writing, how to write well, how to make your words carry meanings that would satisfy the mind and the heart, and so on. When it came to the issue of inspiration and new ideas, Romantic told a short story:

“A farmer had two fields. He started cultivating both. After the first season, he saw that one of the lands was yielding produce but the other one didn’t. Several consecutive trials only confirmed the quality of the fertile one. The more trials the farmer made, the faster he received the produce and the more he reaped. Then the farmer decided not to use the barren field anymore.

“The inspirations are gifts from God. He plants seeds in our hearts in that way. People who value and pay due respect to inspiration are like the fertile field in the story. The farmer enjoys the produce and uses that field more. People who ignore inspiration or postpone dealing with it are the barren land. They don’t foster the seed, and the farmer ceases using them.”

After the apt parable, everybody was submerged in silent thought for a while. Then Romantic suggested, “Why don’t we pull over and talk about this all together with peace of mind? I’m really enjoying this.” But Rational did not share her perspective: “You know, I really would love to, but we have a long way to go. It is not wise to stop and forget about our trip. What are you going to do when we are all sleepy and not able to continue on the way? And what is wrong with talking while traveling, anyway?”

At the words of Rational, Romantic started crying: “You never listen to me; you always want me to forget my heart. I feel like I am among friends who are like dead statues.” Irritated by the words of Romantic, Regular took a turn, but talked in a way so as to manage the feelings of everybody: “Hey, umm… I think focusing on the discussion is a good idea, but it is not what we usually do. We are not near a lake or on top of a hill. It is neither sunset nor nighttime in a café. So, it may be better to wait until tomorrow.” Although these words were as neutral as they could be, Romantic still felt neglected: “I don’t think you are going to give yourselves to the matter if we keep going and talking at the same time. Instead, you are going to exploit and consume this lovely talk as a means to keep awake. This is a clear betrayal; it is hypocrisy toward your heart.”

“Wait a minute. I don’t think being wise is the same thing as hypocrisy. Do you have a really good reason to forget about everything else for the sake of this topic? I mean, what makes this topic so important that you want us all to sacrifice everything for it?” rebutted Rational.

Romantic could not answer this question, and turned her face outward into the darkness veiling the fresh green of the trees. She thought, “I am just like those trees and flowers that suffer from not being able to display their beauty because of the darkness.”

Reductionist, who was driving while listening to all the talk, said, “What is it that you are aiming to get from this talk, whether we do it now or later? I don’t want to be discouraging here, but isn’t this another hay-fire that is going to give a burst of heat and light, but will prove ordinary and transient in the end? This is just another emotion-provoking breeze about inspiration. I have experienced several of those, and yet here comes another. What difference is this going to make when we already have thousands of them out there? What is the point in discovering America over and over?”

Hearing all these arguments, Romantic, Rational and Regular all shut their mouths. Although the three roommates wanted to talk about the new perspective that Romantic had presented, their dispute about how to do it had weakened them in the face of Reductionist’s arguments. Nobody could say a word after Reductionist had spoken, and silence covered the quartet like the night.

Although she had been upset by the rest of the group, Romantic was still awake and happy in her mind. She decided to daydream about previous inspirations she had received. That way, she lived again the exhilaration and joy that came along with them. Triggered by that energy, Romantic gave a giggle that disrupted the increasing weight of the dark and silence. Rational, who was sorry to have upset Romantic, used this as an opportunity: “I have an idea. By going slower, we can sincerely concentrate on each other and on Romantic’s inspirations. That way, we can convert our trip into a journey toward the making of an article.” This suggestion triggered Regular to say: “Yeah, depressed nights, too, are part of our custom for in-depth talks.” Now everybody was waiting for Reductionist to approve the idea. Reductionist first slowed down. The reduction of the noise from the engine strengthened the silence. In the tense atmosphere, Reductionist laughed like a thunderclap, and said, “I am going to tell you guys a little story. A writer had three pens. He picked the first one and wrote an article with it. After finishing it, the pen said, ‘I wrote this article for you. Do you like it?’ The writer smiled back and said, ‘Yes, thank you.’ Then the writer put that pen in his office so that it could do things for him. Another day, the writer used the second pen to write a piece. After he finished it, the pen turned to him and said, ‘I wrote what you told me. Do you like it?’ The writer smiled back and said, ‘Yes, thank you.’ Then the writer put that pen in his bag so that it would write things as he wanted. And finally the writer used his third pen to write another article. After finishing it, the pen turned to him with a smile and said, ‘Thank you for using me.’ The writer smiled back at the third pen and put it in his pocket right next to his heart. He carried it everywhere he went, and whenever he had an original idea, he welcomed it with the help of his third pen.”

By that time, the rain outside had turned into a rain of smiles inside the car. Motivated by the unexpected story Reductionist had told, everybody engaged in an effort to welcome the inspiration that came through the one next to the heart. Romantic was not late taking her turn: “You know, for everything there is a season. You have to sow your seeds in the fall and wait until summer to reap. If you sow any time else, you not only waste your time but also lose your seeds. So, I guess the best time to work on an idea is when it first descends from the heavens to your heart.”

Both Regular and Rational looked at Romantic with wide open eyes. Regular said, “You have an important point there.”

“That is absolutely right,” concluded Rational.

Seth Mette has a PhD in Aerospace Engineering and is currently working as a postdoctoral fellow at West Virginia University. He has a special interest in psychological fiction.