One night as my abla* and I were talking
about our hoca*, Mr. Gulen
she told me that he is a step in a staircase
which leads us closer to The Truth, and I agreed with my impressionable mind.
But now I writhe with guilt, what I have lived and sewn,
that metaphor seems awfully inaccurate.
My “hoca” is actually my friend
and he is not a step in a staircase,
he is one who carries wood and nails from his life into mine.
So that we may build a staircase together
our hands both callused with work.
When I fall and twirl deep into my nafs*
like a broken record stuck in static darkness,
he still carries wood but with tears and prayers for me to return.
Not lose me in myself, that pitted black hole.
Then our Beloved calls me again with morning prayer
and I ache on the inside to the time lost at night
jolt back into an awake reality with the sun pouring into me.
I cry with the wood again in my hand, and I cry for my friend
for not forgetting me and gathering wood as I lost time.
I cry for his prayers and how he spoke to The Beloved
to send morning prayer a little earlier than usual,
so that I may remember what it felt to live for others.
we build with our pearl tears and carve wood into marble stairs
our hands extend to the circumference of the earth
enveloping everyone with invitation to walk the same path, be our guests
*hoca: a Turkish word meaning teacher, mentor
*nafs: is an Arabic word occurring in the Qur’an and means self, psyche[1] ego or soul
*abla: Turkish word for bigger sister, used as a term of endearment for women who are older than you.
