This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.

Longing Life

I’ve walked with priests, living and lost;
plead with a pimp who stole my passport;
wandered with prostitutes, poor and proud;
prostrated myself and pressed my forehead
to the dust right here in front of me;
felt her carry blue fire into my heart
and - hidden within - a kernel
containing the command to pilgrimage
and a life lost in living it.

I’ve felt what it is to first witness,
far before creation,
the signing of that sealed covenant
and its descent into time
so that it could tell all its tales
of sacred and profane and serve
as proof - pure in its paradox -
for That which loves to be known
and, knowing, creates leper and healer,
heretic and lover as compliments
to the act of coming home.

If you want to see heaven, look
to the ground at your feet:
firmness and firmament are no different.

If you want to know me, learn
to see yourself: know that you and I
reflect each other, always.

If you want to feel meaning, sing
a song which has nothing to do
with you or your life, made up entirely
by lyrics devoted to the glory of God.

Every story has this as its seed.
Each utterance circles around
the divine right to real


Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib