The Faithful One

The faithful one stood in the doorway of the church, and prayed to God to make himself known, when he heard no voice, he walked away.  God was not at the church.

The faithful one stood in the doorway of the mosque, and prayed to God to make himself known, when he heard no voice, he walked away.  God was not at the mosque.

The faithful one stood in the doorway of the temple, and prayed to God to make himself known, when he heard no voice, he walked away.  God was not at the temple.

The faithful one decided to end his search to find his God, and to have him make himself known.  He decided it was time to go, his journey was meaningless and he was alone.

The faithful one stood in the doorway of his house, and prayed to God to make himself known, when he heard no voice, he walked inside.  God was not in his home.

The faithful one stood in the doorway of his mind, and prayed to his own self, to make himself known.  A voice answered, and it was God, and he was certain he was now known.

Written by Nadia F.

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Beyond A Beautiful Thing

Here is an an extract from Beyond A Beautiful Thing.

His great responsibility in his powerful position, gave him an in-depth insight into the student’s mind.  He would only ever demonstrate to those that were willing.  The others in dreamland would do as they pleased; and so they should.  Because forceful teachings were counteractive; for free will to choose was removed.  Instead he accepted that when his students were willing, the lessons would teach themselves; as supporting evidence would be provided through synchronicity.

The teacher knew that universities and schools did not determine who was able to teach truth.  Instead it was located in unequivocal certainty, and set by the unambiguous guidelines of the universal governing body.  The teacher observed, but never entertained those who had claimed to have found the philosopher’s stone; the penultimate answer to the only question ever asked, and the question from which all questions arose.  How could he?  For such gasps of truth, were various perceptions, interpreted by many men; the source of internal and external conflict, and the cause of countless wars.  Instead the teacher knew that truth gave way to one meaning, one purpose and one answer.

Those interpretations argued for many centuries could not make the truth, untrue.  His knowing was not threatened by the endless claims, of like minded pockets of individuals who collectively chanted in union.  They protested too much, that their forceful thinking was the way for all.  He knew that truth had no interpretation and needed no defense.  It was an innate gift of knowing.  Truth was only accurate if it resonated in everyone; without any exceptions.  If this was not so; then it was not truth. Instead individual falsities would continue to inflict on others right to choose, in a world that demanded to be right, instead of loving.

Written by Nadia F.

Extract from Beyond A Beautiful Thing.

The ‘Thinker’ of my thoughts.

Who whisper’s to me quietly, when I catch the thought too late, what is this nagging voice, of perpetual self-hate?
Who creates my perceptions of how I believe myself to be, and who creates my evaluation of happiness’s worthiness for me?
Who is the thinker behind my thoughts today, and how do they keep me safe? If I believe I am worthy then why do I keep putting myself in harm’s way?
Does the thinker behind my thoughts value me at all; does it deem me capable of the so called love and joy for all?

Who is the thinker that tells me, my life must be this way, my trust is getting weaker; I feel there may be another way?
If this thinker sees me as undeserving, how does this affect what I receive, everyone else has happiness, why not me?
Who is the thinker that is with me all the time, and what does it value of my own mind?
But if to value is to love and always keep safe, why is this thinker treating me this way, I am of value and I deserve happiness too, if only the thinker knew what I knew.
If I know what I know, why do I stay still, surely it’s better to make what I know real?

I chose to be the thinker behind my thoughts today, and I undo all that the thinker has done, is here I realize that happiness is a conscious choice, given freely to each and every one.
Happiness, happiness I chose to be, I now chose what my thinker does show, I decide what’s worthy of me, and love is all I know.

Nadia F.

Love Is Beyond A Beautiful thing.

Love is beyond a beautiful thing, for beauty is individual, but love includes everything.
Beauty is passion for what we perceive through our eyes, but to just see beauty, is to look to the outside.
When we look within, we hear love is listening, waiting patiently, for what is given freely to all things.
It is here compassion and passion combine, to make love the universal current of life.
Beauty alone cannot comprehend love in ugly sights; for it cannot perceive beauty in all of gods light.
It separate’s itself from those ugly things, deems them only worthy when darkness sets in.
It thinks love cannot exist in all that it sees, and so it is cleverly betrayed and easily deceived.

Beauty is lonely, and its price must be paid, but once payment is exchanged, its value is no longer the same.
For, compassion is now gone, and arrogance sets in, for what is now owned, is just a beautiful thing.
Love is a free spirit and a gift for all, its treasure is beyond what beauty so easily can fool.
Like a flock of birds, who collectively take flight, they know they are guided by the rhythm of life.
True love is your guide, but not through your eyes, you can see beauty in the universal language of life.

To protect beauty is to be vigilant for fear of loss, but love needs no protection, for its worth cannot be measured by cost, it can’t be stolen or taken away, for there is no price to pay, for love to be exchanged.
Love does not evoke envy or arrogance of I, it is beyond beauty, timeless and kind. When vigilance is gone, and peace sets in, you will see that love is beyond just a beautiful thing.

Nadia F.

The morning shadow

Late in the summer I saw a shadow

It asked me my name

I say I am your shadow

It says, same

Look past my darkness

Stop making shapes

Take that silly look off your face

But who is it talking, shadow or me?

We are both shadows crying in the wind

For all of life’s goodness we will be so

Shadow friend, shadow foe

 

 

Beyond A Beautiful Thing, is a contemporary women’s metaphysical & visionary fiction novel.

  Desperation and sadness made her lips quiver, as her cheeks scrunched up into her brown eyes.  Serena was in the midst of her repeated daily rant, sat on the cold black and white tiled floor of her kitchen, directed angrily towards the one who never responds.

     “God, I can’t take this anymore, why won’t you intervene?  I don’t know how much longer I can keep on going, because all I feel is sadness and loss.  Why can’t I be happy, what about me?  Yes me,” she screamed.  Her temperature rose, boiling with resentment at his unfair lottery based on worthiness, answering the prayers of those who already had much to be thankful for.

     “What do I need to do before you make yourself known?  Come on, just bloody do it, strike me down or…,” she stopped as she placed her hands into a praying position, clasped like a Buddha, “give me enlightenment that all those spiritual people speak of.  Do something for God sake,” she said, mocking him as she held her posture.

     “Anything at all, that takes this pain away.  You are the only one who knows my secret thoughts inside my head.  I don’t know what to do,” she cried, as her voice trailed away into a whisper.  Feeling as though she were drowning in her tears, it was difficult to swallow her manifestations of resentment for his lack of guidance or love.

     Her perceived prayers had begun at four thirty this morning, as she sat in the garden and spoke to him in the least antagonizing way she were capable.  She had asked for the usual forgiveness for her sins.  Then she politely demanded that he bring her a handsome husband who was rich, financial freedom thanks to her handsome rich husband, and a large farmhouse or cottage to house her new children, which were again gifted by her handsome, rich and now extremely fertile husband.

     Then when the sun then rose, so did her anger and as always she changed tactics, to instead chastise him for being useless.  Neither method of prayers warranted a response, although it did not prevent her from habitually entering the sweepstakes of prayer answering, on a daily basis.

     She released her hands and flung them into the air in defiance.  Her voice now returned with anger, and her tears refused to fall to her cheeks in protest.  She pushed through the waterfall of her emotion, to float up above the waters of despair, sailing now towards hatred and arrogance.

     It was her hope that if she provoked him enough through dissatisfaction at her blasphemy, that he would eventually respond.  She said, “What kind of a God lets people suffer?  How are you the almighty and all-knowing; you don’t even know what my purpose is?”

     Her conflicted mind was more active than it had ever been, and it was a secret depression that none of her friends knew of.  They just thought she was pitiful for never having found love, and they commiserated her as she did herself.  They certainly did not see of any cause for concern, as they did not understand the cause.  They saw only its effects, which she manipulated them into believing was as a result of searching for happiness, by way of a man.

     They grew tired of her single women tales of adventure, and of how the next man was the one to save her, with his fairy tale charm, and a wealthy kingdom to match his superiority.  Behind her back she was mocked for being unlovable and out of touch with the reality of love.  Therefore they never dug too deeply into her single mind, because it was a monotonous storybook of unhappiness, without a successful conclusion.  They were happy to entertain only short chapters from the book of her love life, while they continued to embrace long term husbands and cherished kids.

     Nevertheless Serena was pleased at her friend’s lack of interest at her unhappiness, as it ensured she kept her truthful truths hidden from the world.  Which was why she could not relate to stories of relatives, thinking their loved ones suicide was inevitable.  For not one soul knew of her secret dark thoughts, through fear of being saved.  She could not risk telling someone, in case the option would no longer be available, and she did not want to see sense.  Instead the only observer to her meltdown would be him, the one who never responds, because he is too busy listening to everyone else’s prayers, to answer hers.

     Having calmed down she stood up and glanced in the direction of the paracetamol, waiting patiently in her medicine cabinet.  It conveyed it were the only option that would silence the voice of doom for good, so that she may be free from a world in which her existence was meaningless.

The reader and writer is one in the same

The reader and writer is one in the same.

Free will is then given, at the start of each day.

Although written down once; it doesn’t have to remain.

Life conspires happily, when we determine the way.

Next time you write history, remember your name.

The reader and writer is one in the same.

Written by Nadia F.

Failure

Failure lies in the insanity of one’s refusal to accept the truth. Where there is truth, choice is removed, and peace can again rise.

Written by Nadia F.

Light of Truth

The light of truth frightens us most, and not the darkness of lies. For when the light shines over us, our power has nowhere to hide.

Written by Nadia F.

Truth is the student, of certainty’s lesson in prayer

Truth is the student, of certainty’s lesson in prayer.

And in certainty the teacher is found.

Even if countless faiths pray all at once.

The truth can never be drowned out.

Written by Nadia F.

Inspiration is the tool of creation

The hand of willingness, always holds the right tool. For inspiration is the tool of creation.

The tool then dictates, it must copy for now, until it discovers it’s own creation.

Once joy is found, a new tool is passed around, to the next willing hand, for creation.

There are many tools, that we can choose, but the hand must be willing to open.

Written by Nadia F.

 

Author’s Note for my novel.

Why have so many love seekers chosen beautiful sights, over love’s ever bright light?  The answer is free will.  No person is ever created without a purpose or a person to love them, unconditionally and totally.  There is always a reason for being, and a being is created to love and be loveable.  If someone has not found their purpose, or love for another, reciprocated in total unity; they must have overlooked love, to instead see beauty alone.

Beautiful things are witnessed by those, who look to copy another’s happiness.  This is to be a spectator to someone else’s joy.  For to accept only beauty is to settle for second best.  It is a temporary glimpse into the happiness created by others, for others.

Instead light seekers invite love in with certainty, before the means are even carried out and the ends are given.  They block all other roads for their cause to journey on, so it has no choice but to collide magnificently on the crossroad of effect.  Their destiny is found in the love that patiently lies in between all that is now, and all that has ever been.  They understand that free will calls, for the reader and writer to be one in the same.

Therefore the idea that some are more deserving of love than others is untrue.  Deserving is just another way of saying perception, as it is this which manifests the reality in the eye of the beholder.  Many perceptions are conditioned into us when we are young, and so we must find our own truth, if we are to see love with clarity.

In clarity there is certainty in our ability to create freely.  No longer do we believe that our destiny is preordained through culture, religion or environment.  Or look to our parents, teachers or peers to tell us how love is to be.  Instead it is up to us to willingly invite love in, and only then can we see that love is beyond just a beautiful thing.

Written By Nadia F.

From my novel called Beyond A Beautiful Thing.