Naseem il ney

There is a breeze that passes over and through me but leaves all too quickly. I look back, searching for the soul that ran away. I look forward..."Where did the zephyr go, and when will she return?"

I continue to walk under the sun, eyes closed and arms open...waiting for her to embrace me again; to re-place me into her trance.

But she does not come.

The ney whispers in my ear his summons to the dear naseem to visit me. He pipes and pulls and prays for the wind's safe return: "Oh that you are Allah's warm, sweet breath...Come and wash over this fasting walker, dehydrated and longing for you to protect and propel her."

"ON YOUR LEFT!": I hear the cyclist's jarring warning interrupt my song. I keep to my side and stare beyond him and his hoard. "It is not you I am concerned with," I think. "Leave me and go. I only long for il hawa. She is the one I will respond to. As for you, cyclist, stay left, pass, and vanish."

I let the negative energy evaporate from me into the still air, and il ney blows his highest pitch at it, launching it to chase the cyclists and push them farther away. This release creates a holey place for my beloved breeze to travel in and out and through freely.

"Ya Allah....ya Allah," my heart beats. It too awaits its refreshment.

I continue to walk forward.

Suddenly, a tress is lifted by an invisible force, and a spirit wafts into my nostrils-larnyx-pharnyx-trachea-lungs. Il hawa granted il ney his wish, and I am the beneficiary.

The wind has fully embraced me now. She swivels with the sounds of her companion ney in a beautiful infant tornado that only I can feel and that is not mature enough to carry me away.

And then, sprinting through adulthood and racing for death, il hawa settles down and dies. Il ney and I are left to mourn--we pray for il naseem's rest and rebirth.

I open my eyes to the sights of the trail and the cyclists that pedal passed. I do not see the zephyr but I know that she is gathering herself so that she may greet me again.

"Allah ykhaleek ya ashlab Shalabi u ya3teek il 3afeeya...inta wil ney." A tress lifts up and caresses my brow. The breeze is reborn.