Stargazing

The man sitting beside me nodded his head and smiled at me as I arrived at my seat. We didn’t know each other, but we regularly met every day without a prior appointment. Spending months on the third floor of the main library, I noticed that some people always returned to the exact same seat. When they saw the seat was occupied by someone else, they went peevishly and came back several hours later to secure their favourite spot. 

I was no different as if our beings had synched with the seats we had chosen. Therefore, we almost always found familiar faces. We didn’t have any intention to get to know each other, but sometimes we exchanged a smile as a warm greeting. We also kind of missed one or more regulars when they were absent. 

I had developed two new habits within a week. The first one was practising silent meditation, which I had learned from a Sufi centre. I was as keen on my recovery thanks to the other staff from the faculty who were trying their best to help me. Since finding joy and contentment in Rumi's poems, I have grown interested in Sufism teachings. I was curious about how humans could love their God so endearingly and sincerely above anything else. I wanted to do it as well. I somehow felt haughty and arrogant for loving humans who gave me nothing more than God, who had given me a lot even without me asking. 

Long story short, I searched for Sufism teachings in Glasgow and was lucky to discover that they also held meditation sessions. I had known the benefits of meditation since I was young but had never been really interested in it. The first practice was heartwarming, and I listened to the story of Sufism. The director reminded us that Sufi meditation began by setting the intention to the heart, and the heart was set on God. Since then, I would spare 30 minutes between my library schedules, far from the crowd and loud noise, to sit in silence without thinking about anything. This helped me let go of unnecessary worries and negative feelings. 

The second habit was one I unconsciously grew when I got bored. I sat near a relaxing space with sofas and bean bags to lie down. The sofas faced large windows overlooking a café in the next building. From there, we could see people walking in the small alley between the main library and the café. I usually took a rest at 10 pm, and there I would see a few people standing separately in front of the café. All of them had one hand holding a cigarette while the other hand was hidden inside their pocket. Their eyes mostly stared at the sky. What intrigued me was that Glasgow's sky was mostly not starry. Hence, I learned that in the midst of their exhalation, their minds went somewhere far. The stars they gazed at were projections of their worries, fears, dreams, plans, and memories. 

Sometimes I wondered how it felt to smoke. I felt sheer jealousy when people said that they felt better after smoking. At the end of the day, I knew that I didn’t have to. My stargazing took other forms as well. It could be watching those people, reading Rumi, writing rants, or wrapping myself in a shawl as I began to meditate. 

I felt so much better those days. I could see that my latest post was already a week old, which was a good sign: I had had no significant negative thoughts for the past week. I was used to dealing with depression; I was trying to get closer to God; I took note of my destructive inclinations and found strategies to avoid them; I withdrew myself from negativity-prone circles; and I challenged my fear of facing people I had avoided. My ultimate stargazing was going to the sixth floor of the library and prolonging my prayer. Feeling the presence of God made me a thousand times stronger. Even when I felt hopeless and about to give up, God was still there, helping me through those times. In the midst of my difficult moments, He sent me good people.

Glasgow, 4/8/2017

Intan

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