following me everywhere I go.
Her too-cute mangy face pops up every time I go out onto the street,
and she waits for me every time I enter a doorway,
head on her paws, whimpering.
What am I going to do with her?
Halfway through my day I think,
“I am like this dog, tagging along after Allah,
whining for Him whenever He disappears.”
I feel proud.
Big mistake. My soul speaks to me, saying,
“Najat, you fool, you flatter yourself too much.
You are nowhere near as faithful as that dog.”
Then I think, Of course! The dog is Allah,
Chasing after me everywhere I go, shadowing my every step
whining for my attention.
I feel special.
Big mistake. My soul speaks to me again, saying,
“Najat, you fool, you flatter yourself too much.
Allah has better things to do than follow you around all day.”
I scowl at the dog.
She wags her tail and gives a little jump.
I touch her fur, she licks at my hand.
I am just Najat. This dog is just a dog.
Can I not love her without turning her into something else?
Apparently not. Never mind the dog,
the religious imagination is the tenacious bitch.
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