may those who love us not drown at sea,
may they not suffer poverty in their old age,
may they not pass away without saving their faith.
we got off the train and walked outside. the sea greeted us under the sun. we climbed up the hills of üsküdar, searching for the elusive tomb of a sufi saint. we followed signs on narrow cobblestone streets, left, right, left, until we reached an opening where women secured scarves around their necks. i gathered my hair, took my shawl and wrapped it over my head.
“all the wishes i have wished for here have come true,” the mother said.
we walked up the stairs. women and a lone man were bowing by the high iron fence; some held prayer books under their noses. older ladies offered sweets for the good luck of our hopes, but also for their own. i followed behind the mother until there was nowhere else to go. i cupped my hands and faced the courtyard. “hey, what’s up.” i wondered if the soul of the dead could see through me. my inner talk went on, unprepared, much like all supernatural conversations which are stripped of heartfelt sincerity. perhaps i should’ve thought of something else; ottoman sailors came before me many moons ago and knew of better things to say. mine were the utterances of a skeptic put under an imaginary spotlight, a bad seed contaminating the crop.
in truth there was something i very much wished for. every morning, there lay this thunderous desire in my gut, pulling at my throat. it was a hoarse want, voiced in rumbling whispers only when the moment called for it. if i were to express it too forcefully, i feared it would not unfold. a pox on my wish. yet there was no rhyme nor reason to my fear, as my want was part of the deal, part of the program, within the realm of reality. still, i often wondered about the various gestures that would tip the odds. don’t act just dream, don’t dream just act—such a careful dance to uphold.
it would have made sense for me to wish for this want as i stood by the mystic’s grave, but i didn’t. after two arbitrary amen i swept my hands across my face and i turned around. i studied the cemetery, the stone wall, the roses. i spotted a kitten huddling in a flower pot. i knelt beside him and let all of the love i kept inside flow toward him. i am neither above nor below the matters of the soul. my trust and devotion have simply tended to take on different shapes.