Remembering Jamal Mouzaffar

Yesterday evening, I went for a walk to clear my head...or to look for a sign to make sense of all this. I saw flowers growing in weeds, I saw new leaves growing from a lightning charred tree. I tried to run, but couldn't run fast enough. I sat in the garden. I searched for some comparison, something that would give me a reason. I couldn't find any. I spent some time writing in my Nature journal that i had put away back in the beginning of June. I wanted to feel connected to the Earth.

Inshallah
God Willing
like we don't have
a choice
Because we really don't
It means
I want the best
for you and yours
but have no way to guarantee it
Inshallah
God willing
by and by
Vaya con Dios
We all have a way to say it
but how can we make sense
of your death?
We're not supposed to
but God willing
one day we'll see
clearly
face
to
face
Go with God, Jamal
We don't have a choice
in this life
when we come and go
but God willing
I will see you again habibi
dear one
friend

----

When I returned home, I found a passage in one of my books of poetry by Rumi that struck me as particularly relevant. I'm sharing it with you here:

On the day I die, when I'm being carried
toward the grave, don't weep. Don't say,

He's gone! He's gone. Death has nothing
to do with going away. The sun sets and

the moon sets, but they're not gone.
Death is a coming together. The tomb

looks like a prison, but it's really
release into union. The human seed goes

down in the ground like a bucket into
the well where Joseph is. It grows and

comes up full of some unimagined beauty.
Your mouth closes here and immediately

opens with a shout of joy there.

~mevlana jelaluddin rumi - 13th century