Dear Death Diary,

Alhamdulilah — All Praise and Glory to the Most Loving, Most Merciful, and Most Gracious.

With a heart full of gratitude after a long 17-hour day, I sit at my makeshift desk I built during lockdown. A piece of MDF covered with “expertly” placed chalkboard wallpaper, laying atop four IKEA storage cubes — two on either side, with the top cubes showcasing part of my eclectic collection of books, each one cheering as the words mechanically flow from keyboard to screen: type, pause, delete, type and repeat.

2018 was the last time I publicly published posts. Even after years of hosting a personal blog, I was nervous to share my exhilarating experiences at my first tech conference — can you tell by the lack of naming convention when choosing the title of my articles?

Behind the mask of successful triumphs over trials, only my inner circle knew the challenges I faced. I eventually collapsed from the fatigue of mapping, blasting and excavating tunnels through mountains, all while under the pressure to magically become the glimmer of light at the end for myself and those around me.

At high times of stress, I would joke with my family about how comforting it was to live within the womb and how I longed to be embraced by its safety once more.

Who knew, that my collapse would be in the metaphorical arms of Al-Khaaliq, the Creator, our Creator, who would remind me of Truth and Power; that my existence has always been within the walls of the Womb of Maternal Mercy; that I was and will always be a breath away from safety, warmth, and nourishment — physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

My past, a loving reminder of Beauty and Majesty is propelling me to share. I am approximately 193 days, 12 hours and 30 minutes into my Year to Live with the Rumi Centre, “a year-long [training] in living with presence and intention; as well as forgiveness and gratitude, while letting go of what no longer serves us.”

Since my last articles posted on Medium, I have been blessed tremendously with the time, resources and support to undertake a process of reflection and renewal, unlearning to relearn, and polishing my external and internal lenses to witness the world anew. Today was a testament that every moment sends a message, and every connection is a cherished gift.

Today was the end of Jim Kwik’s three-day Limitless Learning Summit, a powerful mix of mindset and motivation to multiply our memory. Today was also the eighth session learning in community with Imam Mendes and his dear friend Dr. Ali Hussain, a night of remembrance that the sacredness of our past holds the keys unlocking progress into our future.

After my eighth session with Imam Mendes and Dr Ali Hussain, and as I write on the eighth day of August, I reflect on the theme of the eighth month of my year to live: forgiveness.

• How can I exercise compassion and activate loving awareness to reset the compass of my heart?

• How can I connect with God’s grace and mercy to offer forgiveness, ask for forgiveness and accept self-forgiveness?

• How do I lay down the armour that once protected me and expose myself to the radical honesty leading to the promise of growth and change?

Micah Anderson and Tasnim McCormick Benhalim, two of our four Year to Live facilitators reiterated during last month’s session that the only way out is through. So, tonight marks a manifested beginning; a step towards “navigating the nuances of forgiveness” to re-purpose past memories.

Drafting this article feels surreal. A sped-up life reel flashing in my frontal lobe relives ecstatic joys scaling metaphorical mountains followed by grieving pains from falling uncontrollably into the daggered depths of volcanic valleys. But Alhamdulilah, my rising fears are graciously met by expansive thoughts, grace from the opportunity to experience newness.

With approximately 203 days left in my year to live, and at the suggestion of my teachers, welcome to my death diary — a collection of reflections beginning with the end in mind, a space embracing practice as progress.

My beloved, Arwah and dear friends who stumble upon these words,

In the name of Allah, the One whose name encompasses all that was/is/and will be,

May the seeds of practice be planted in the depths of love. May practice be watered with fresh forgiveness. May practice grow into vines of endless empathy. May practice reap fruits nourishing self and community. And finally, may practice lead to decomposition that fertilizes transformation and self-actualization, as well as annihilation into The One.

Ameen.

And, in true Rumi Centre fashion, I end this reflection with a poem from one of our most prolific teachers and spiritual masters, Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi, which is also the poem my father used to recite to me while tending to panic attacks and flashbacks.

Alhamdulilah.

Until my next entry, Fi Amanillah (I leave you in the protection of God)

Love, Always

Ruhi