To Cry

I think I owe the swear jar hundreds of dollars in payment.

I have found that swearing has now become habitual passtime activity. I have met the onslaught of assignments, readings, and responsibilities with mindless inexplicable cursing. I remember meeting dates in the middle of the night, and paper topics and ideas when I'm showering or eating. I can't sit in the library for more than 30 minutes and not fall asleep or daydream.

The irrgularities of my thinking have made swearing (the current vogue is using Prophet Isa's name in vain or in its variant forms--Jeez, Gee Whiz, etc.) more justifiable. I reason that given the chaotic pattern of my life, and the extreme behaviors of all-nighters at least once a week for pleasure, swearing is the least of my worries.

Along with swearing comes another peculiar behavior, crying. I am not fond of crying. It is a display of weakness if one cries out of pain caused by others. However, to cry out of joy is a manifestation of internal happiness, of a connection with the words or feelings from a kutbha or lecture perhaps. This latter reason for crying is good. That's because those who intentionally inflict pain or hurt never deserve our tears.

The desire to cry has come many times these past weeks. I cried for a few hours last Thursday but understood it as a means of getting salt and impurities from my eyes. Although that may sound ridiculous to those who are in touch with their emotional, sensitive sides as normal human beings ought to be, I believe tears should be reserved for only moments of happiness that you feel from inside. I cry when I've achieved great insight, remembered why I was created, etc. Pain caused by others can be translated in tears but those tears are not productive and achieve no ends other than a wallowing of the self in its own sadness.

When was the last time you cried?

I cried when I fell asleep at the Islamic Center last Thursday and missed a meeting date with my friend. I disappointed him, and the disappointment was magnified when I came across a brother who made me cry just that previous week. He criticized my character or lack thereof, and insisted that his rudeness and bestiality was a mirroring of what I do on my blog and in my writing. I cried that previous week because he not only insulted me but the writing itself, which I have never purported to be more than narscisstic rantings. Ultimately, his defamation hurt because I considered him my brother. Even in disappointing another human being, I do not think intentional meanness is ever warranted. He was mean, and I cried like a sissy.

I am not sure why I am writing this. The early morning hours are moments of delight for me to write and think, but overall my judgement and ability to spell shut down.