To breathe consciously is to recall one’s place in the universe. It is to sedate the wriggling ego which pokes and scratches, seeking to induce frustration by distancing one from what one knows. Conscious breathing slows the universe down to a walking pace, buying time for deliberate action rooted in Reality, replacing mindless conduct guided by expediency. Satan loves that which is frantic. There is no interaction but that it is with Him. His Presence encompasses the entirety of existence. The script you have written for yourself is of no consequence, and is written according to your myopic, misguided interpretation of the universe. Hence, the unwillingness of existence to conform to your wishes is not to be lamented. It is to be celebrated. His Plan is ordered according to His Eternal knowledge. Your plan is rooted in what you want. He is guiding your life in the direction it needs to move in order for you to know Him. His Actions are designed neither to punish nor destroy, but rather to nurture and awaken. Life is at it is supposed to be. His Loving Decree is being executed at every moment, moved by His Desire to be known. You can experience the gentle embrace that is His Remembrance in any experience by choosing to be conscious of Him, and see things as they truly are. By remembering the Almighty in every breath, each action, word, thought, and deed is both deliberate and conscious. One ceases to resist the unconquerable force of His Will, and celebrates playing one’s part in the Divine Theatre, dancing to the Divine Concerto, taking one’s place in the natural order.
In contrast to the long summer days that have defined Ramadan in the West for the last few years, my first experience of the blessed month was ( mercifully ) during the British winter, with the sunset prayer no later than 16:30. As a second year university student, I was still familiarising myself with both Islam and living away from my parents, and so my Ramadan diet combined biriyani iftars in the local mosque with occasional late night trips to the nearest fried chicken shop to curtail midnight hunger pains. A Muslim friend, Barbar, would knock on my dormitory door thirty minutes before the dawn prayer, and insist I share the food he had readied ( usually a reheated Pakistani dish prepared by his mother, accompanied by a few slices of bread ) . Another friend, Ali, perhaps inspired by my conversion, utilised the learning process I was undertaking as a chance to gain more knowledge about his faith, and would frequently come to pick me up from my dormitory in ord
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