Of Virtue of Hope And Vice of Despair

The dream had the back ground orchestra of generous rain showers bating at the windows. As she woke up she could still feel the anxiety knotted at the pit of her stomach like she experienced in her dream while explaining the need to deviate from the path of Logic to that of Love. She didnt remember whom she was talking to, she didnt really remember what she was talking either. The only thing she remembered of the dream was the gushing sound of the rain and an overflowing fountain in her heart.

She woke up with a taste of fear in her mouth. Could she be wrong? Could it all be futile? I mean, all over again! Her fingers trembled as she beat her coffee while her eyes looked around as if in an attempt to grope something physical to hang on to, to feel secure. Assured.

And suddenly the assurance hit, like an answered prayer! 'What is it that you seek assurance for?' Her heart asked her doubtful mind. 'Are you not content with the Love alone that asks you to be firm?', it whispered. Her hand ceased its brisk movement and she chewed on it for a while. Setting the mug aside, she moved to the stove, fiddled with its knobs, all the while replaying the question in her head, trying to be sure of her answer when she comes up with one. After all, for many questions its not the promptness of the answer but the understanding of the question itself and the conviction with which the reply comes, that makes it reliable. 

And she so gravely needed her reply to be reliable, for her own sake if not for anyone else's. She needed her mind to be sure when it picks up the line of her heart. Why wouldn't she? For, synchrony, she thought, is Freedom. 

It didn't take eons. The reason returned. With a reply that made her heart smile. 

It was no theory of self annihilation that a heart could pride in; neither was it the idea of a premise that didn't permit the interference of the mind. It was a kind a vision, a vision that seemed to last only a few moments but profound like an experience of life. A short clip of a movie that she watched through her mental eye as she stood there in her kitchen in those early morning hours with a half made mug of coffee on the counter, and a stove turned on.

It was the hall of a beautifully architectured masjid. The plain white ceiling was high, with a golden chandelier hanging through the single doom in its middle. Red Persian carpets spread across the hall to the other end where the yellow stream of light seemed to penetrate into its calming shade through the series of arched windows in the wall. The ambiance spoke of tranquil and silence. A brightly sunny courtyard offered the entrance into the hall, which at the moment was empty. A man appeared at the main entrance and put off his shoes, as is the custom while entering for prayers in a mosque. Leaving his shoes there, he moved in and a little short of the center of the hall, he stopped and bent down to prostrate in prayer. There were two clothed bundles with him that he placed in front of him. The bundles were tied with big crude knots, and their greyish white cloth seemed rough in texture.

Suddenly a sentinel came. A guard, whose baton seemed to provide the only view of him. With one strong move of the baton, the sentinel hurled both the bundles out of the mosque and they dropped exactly where the man had put off his shoes at the entrance. 

"When you come in here to SEEK", the sentinel admonished, "leave your vice and virtue out. Its not a worship of your goodness and sins!" 

The coffee turned out to be gratifyingly delicious.