The Nearness That Touches

هُنَاكَ حُضُورٌ يَأْتِي
بِغَيْرِ أَنْ يَنْتَظِرَ بَيَانَكَ،
يَأْتِي لِأَنَّكَ حَيٌّ،
لَا لِأَنَّكَ أَدَّيْتَ عَمَلًا.

There is a Presence that arrives
without waiting for you to explain.
It comes because you are alive,
not because you performed.

يَسْرِي فِي الظِّلَالِ،
لَا خَوْفًا مِنَ النُّورِ،
وَلَكِنْ لِأَنَّ القَلْبَ يَسْتَتِرُ فِي الغَسَقِ
قَبْلَ أَنْ يَجْتَرِئَ عَلَى الحُبِّ.
وَلَا تُعْلِنُهُ آيَةٌ ظَاهِرَةٌ؛
وَلٰكِنْ بَعْدَهُ
يَصِيرُ مَا سِوَاهُ صَاخِبًا خَشِنًا.

It moves through shadows,
not because it fears light,
but because the heart hides in twilight
before it dares to love.
Nothing dramatic announces this arrival;
only afterwards does the world seem loud
beside its quietness.

يَرْتَفِعُ سَعْيُكَ،
وَيَنْزِلُ عَطَاؤُهُ؛
وَمَوضِعُ لِقَائِهِمَا
لَيْسَ فِي السَّمَاءِ،
بَلْ فِي سَرِيرَةِ القَلْبِ.
وَلَا يَنْكَشِفُ هٰذَا المَوْضِعُ
إِلَّا إِذَا هَدَأَ النَّفَسُ
وَسَكَتَ الجِدَالُ.

Your striving reaches up;
His gift reaches down.
Where they meet is not in the heavens,
but in your chest.
This meeting-place becomes visible
only when breath settles
and argument stops.

هٰذَا الدُّنُوُّ يَمَسُّ وَلَا يَأْخُذُ،
وَيَهْدِي وَلَا يُلْزِمُ،
وَلَا يَطْلُبُ مِنْكَ تَغْيِيرًا
لِتَسْتَحِقَّ حُضُورَهُ.
وَإِذَا ظَهَرَ—
انْفَتَحَتْ غُرَفٌ نَسِيتَهَا،
وَاسْتَيْقَظَتْ مَوَاطِنُ
كَانَتْ تَنْتَظِرُ أَنْ تُرَى.

This Nearness touches without holding;
it guides without insisting.
It never demands that you change
in order to be worthy.
When it appears,
forgotten chambers open—
rooms within you
that have waited years to be seen.

لَا يَطْلُبُونَ بُرْهَانًا؛
إِنَّمَا يَنْظُرُونَ—
كَمَنْ يُرَاقِبُ ضَوْءَ القَمَرِ
يَرْتَعِشُ عَلَى الْمَاءِ.
فَإِذَا تَعَلَّمَ القَلْبُ الرُّؤْيَا،
كَشَفَ كُلُّ شَيْءٍ اسْمَهُ.

Those who study here
do not look for proof.
They only look—
the way one studies moonlight
on moving water.
When the heart learns to see,
everything reveals its name.

لَا يُعَاقَبُ مَنْ تَأَخَّرَ—
إِنَّمَا تُؤَخَّرُ المَعْرِفَةُ.
فَإِذَا جَاءَكَ النَّدَمُ،
فَلْيَلِنْ وَلَا يَقْسُ؛
وَلْيَصِرْ إِذْنًا
لِأَنْ تَبْدَأَ مِنْ هُنَا
حَيْثُ أَنْتَ.

To delay turning toward Presence
is not punishment—
it only postpones recognition.
If regret rises now,
let it soften rather than harden;
let it become permission
to begin again
from exactly where you are.

إِنَّ السَّكِينَةَ هُنَا
مَمْزُوجَةٌ بِالشَّوْقِ—
لَيْسَتْ مُرَّةً، وَلَكِنْ عَمِيقَةً،
كَسُؤَالٍ بَلَغَ جَوَابَهُ
بِهَمْسٍ.

The taste of peace found here
is bitter with love's longing—
not sour, but deep,
like the moment when your deepest question
finally meets its quiet answer.