THE QUEST FOR SALVATION [PART I] Posted By Suleiman Athman on Oct 14, 2014 in Blog, Fiction, Inspiration and Spirituality, Islam | 0 comments What has he lost, who loses the whole world and finds his Creator, and what has he gained, who gains the whole world and loses his own soul. Like a giant carpet, the Arabian desert opened up before him. He stared out at the vastness of the expanse ahead of him, appalled at the very thought of having to cross this endless stretch without the help of an experienced guide. He was a curious spectacle, this dishevelled sixty-year old with his hastily donned Arabian attire, for he was no Arab, despite the flaming white beard that lent him an almost likeable look. Yet, there was something in his eyes that spoke of a far deeper sorrow than the prospect of crossing a hostile desert alone. It was a deep-seated unending fear, one that assaulted him relentlessly and against which he had no control. It tormented him by day and haunted his nights; he had turned to anything and everything for a remedy, and sought every facet of knowledge known to mankind to find an answer that would still the raging inferno that threatened to consume him. It had all begun in his native Russia, following the publication of his masterpiece novel titled The Fields of War. The reception had been phenomenal, never had anything like it been written before by the hand of man, and the praise that followed was unprecedented. By all accounts, at the age of fifty and with a work of that magnitude to his name, Olev Karenin was assured of immortality in the annals of literature. Wealthy, physically fit and boasting a huge circle of influential friends, he had only to sit back now and enjoy the financial rewards that would inevitably follow. And yet, it was then that the nightmare had begun, and it would engulf the author and turn his life in a completely different course. For, as he laid back savoring the praise of his work from an adoring public, he began to ask questions. Yes, I have written a book, it is going to be a best-seller, I will be famous and richer than I could ever imagine. And then what? I will become the most famous author in all of Russia, possibly the world. So what? Death will knock on my door and I will be gone. What will become of me…how will all that I have amassed, my wealth, my books, my fame, how will it help me……These were the sort of questions that stabbed incessantly at his intellect, so, over time he knew he could no longer ignore them. He sat down, strangely silent, isolated from the people he had known for half a century, and thought slowly but logically about these questions…questions that had suddenly burst out from their hiding places and stood facing him, demanding real answers. He turned them over in his mind, a mind that the profession of writing had over the years honed to a formidable brilliance. Yet when he finally raised his head to clear his thoughts, he could only come up with one conclusion. That after fifty years of living and making money and writing, he had done nothing meaningful with his life, he had achieved nothing. The conclusion astonished him, a shock that hit like a hammer blow into his soul. At first, he thought there had been a gap in his thought-process, that the results were simply too horrifying to be true. How could it be that his life was meaningless? Was not his name on the lips of every citizen, was he not the most sought-after author in the motherland? Again, the same question that had closed the door of his happiness struck him…so what? How will it help you after your death? He couldn’t fathom an answer. He buried his face in his hands and began to sob, an anguished cry that drove him to the edge of an overwhelming fear, one from which he knew he could never escape. It was the death of his brother that heightened this gnawing fear into near-panic, for he had seen what he himself utterly dreaded. He had seen a brother who had never understood why he lived, and much l
Posted on: Thu, 16 Oct 2014 09:13:56 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015