Beyond

This morning I woke up to a parable. Look Beyond. I tried but couldn’t. I tried once again and failed. Then I remembered that the parables aren’t to be taken literally. The meanings lie beyond. But beyond was beyond me.
There was a time when beyond wasn’t so beyond. I may not have reached it ,yet I could see it. It was like a far fetched dream, an imagination of sorts that would remain just that. Years have passed by and gnosis has waned and the theist in me is slowly fading if not dying. This too could be ethereal.
There was a time when a quartet of Omar Khyaam would lift my sagging spirits or when a mere verse of Shams Faqir or Ahmed Batwari would fill me with ecstasy. When I read them today I feel nothing, absolutely nothing. They lie there in my book rack alongside a Sydney Sheldon or as inconsequential.

The morning prayers are a ritual that I have steadfastly stuck to because I did not want to be the one to be blamed for breaking the tradition. Besides I love the sight of a wick in a temple, flowers in the holy water and the ever smiling tiger riding feminine deities. Aesthetics apart, atheism is striking roots in me. This morning I finished my ritual without uttering prayers.
A collection of short stories of Kafka replaced the Panchang.I drank deep from the words of one of my favourite melancholy pessimist writers.
Sadly even he could not decode the parable for me.I drove me to my office without looking beyond.Rashid Hafiz kept singing Wahab Khar.All I could hear was

Tull Lalle burkhay paaan Tawkeed korne sadras manz
Ath daereyavas chuyne saneruk naeb nishanay

Lalla shunned the shame of being into the waters of unknown
And came out singing, this river is bottomless