The Room!

[Striver]

Author Unknown

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small indexcard files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory could not match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At."

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers."

Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 30 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"

In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it.

The title bore "People that I Have Taught About Allah". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the over-whelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room.

I must lock it up and hide the key.

[umrah2004]

Author Unknown

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small indexcard files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory could not match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At."

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers."

Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 30 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"

In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it.

The title bore "People that I Have Taught About Allah". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the over-whelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room.

I must lock it up and hide the key.

What was the basic meaning of this there was no point to ponder on at the end no teaching no lesson.
Although the story was very reflective and good.
Is it refering to the right and wrong books on our shoulders?

[ze leetle elper]

I understood the moral to act as a reminder to us that everything we do (whether it is lustful thought's or yelling at your brother as in the story above) is recorded (thus the files).

The files which contained the most were files which the individual was ashamed about and wanted hidden. The file which the individual eagerly opened (people I have taught about Allah) was very small. The music file again was large.

All displaying the amount of time the individual had spent doing or saying the particular actions or words.

An excellent post brother.

[abdushakur]

An excellent post brother.

all the contributors to the thread b4 ur post were sisters.

[ze leetle elper]

Ha! That's what you get for sister icons that look like fried eggs with white beards.

My apologies sister Striver: an excellent article.

[UmmIbrahimIsa]

What was the basic meaning of this there was no point to ponder on at the end no teaching no lesson.
Although the story was very reflective and good.
Is it refering to the right and wrong books on our shoulders?

Assalamu alaikum wr wb

Usually stories like this above have morals to it to what it means. There was a point, and there was something to ponder about it, and there was a lesson and it did teach something it depends on whether or not you take it into practice or not.

Not really on books but more rather on how you are as a muslim person towards everyone, are you good to them? kind to them? sincere? forgiving? are you helpful? patient? understanding?

do you mock them? insult them? find faults in them? be suspicious of them? do you backbite or slander them? do you gossip against them? do you hurt them? do you insult them? do you make fun of them?


This just talks about how big we go about going out of our way to find faults in others rather than looking on our own mistakes and faults.
We overlook ourselves and focus so more on others and point it out and laugh at them... we make fun of one's appearances, and compare them, you think of yourself as higher than them in knowledge, in anything that you do and you think of them as nothing, way beneath you and that they are nothing compared to as you are type of attitude...

Well this is what I came up with when I read it, and usually it gets one to think twice before stooping down low to try something like that, gets one to make a change or make the intention to change to do better for the afterlife for the sake of Allah swt.

Insha'Allah

Allahu Alim

[umrah2004]

I understood the moral to act as a reminder to us that everything we do (whether it is lustful thought's or yelling at your brother as in the story above) is recorded (thus the files).

The files which contained the most were files which the individual was ashamed about and wanted hidden. The file which the individual eagerly opened (people I have taught about Allah) was very small. The music file again was large.

All displaying the amount of time the individual had spent doing or saying the particular actions or words.

An excellent post brother.

ASSALAMAULAYKUM,
Jazakhallah sister you have clarified it for me.
Jazakhallah

[Julaybib]

Salaam.

Jazak'Allah for the post sister, makes one ponder. Indeed how merciful is Allah for keeping our sins hidden, for if they were exposed even our nearest and dearest would be repulsed by us. Our good deeds are miniscule, and our sins are fathomless.

May Allah have mercy upon us all, especially a hypocrite and sinner like me Ameen.