THE BOOK OF SHADOWS
The Journey of Invisible Souls
A Sufi Poetry Anthology by Rizal Tanjung.
—
Chapter I
A World Busy in Disguise
God spoke behind the veil of the screen:
“O you who paint your face with borrowed light,
why do you dance on a stage not of your choosing?
You are not pixels aglow,
but light that needs no screen.”
And humankind replied in silence:
“I only want to be accepted, even if it means to vanish.”
Then God whispered:
“What vanishes, I have never forsaken.
You hide behind masks,
but I still behold your face.”
—
Chapter II
The Stage and the Mask
In classrooms, you were trained not to find, but to repeat;
not to be silent, but to memorize.
God asks in a moment of stillness:
“Do you still remember your own face,
when the world gave you layered masks?”
“Shed them, O soul, and come to Me in tears.
Let Me embrace the you that failed—
not the perfect one you pretend to be.”
—
Chapter III
The Silence That Holds Truth
In solitude, the bathroom mirror becomes a book of revelation—
not of verses written,
but of wrinkles and weary eyes interpreting life.
Silence is the language God uses
when the world becomes too loud.
He asks:
“Do you still hear Me,
when every notification shouts louder than I?”
And the soul replies within:
“My Lord, You are closer than the glow of the screen,
near as unrest without words.”
—
Chapter IV
Busyness Masquerading as Life
You arrange your agenda like a rushed prayer:
meetings, tasks, calls, projects.
But God asks:
“O you who fear stillness and drown in schedules,
when will you touch your chest and say:
‘I am truly here, not just present’?”
Time is not merely a clock.
It is a garden—
where your soul grows,
if watered by stillness.
—
Chapter V
The Value That Cannot Be Bought
God did not invent ‘likes’.
He placed a small fire in your chest
that can never be sold.
“O soul, I gave you light
that glows even in disgrace.
Keep living, even when spat upon by the world.”
Worth is not in human eyes,
but in the gaze of the heavens
that reads your courage to remain honest, even alone.
—
Chapter VI
The Small Voice Often Silenced
The voice whispers: “Come home.”
But man replies with more work,
stacking sheets and noise to silence the call.
God waits,
not with thunder,
but a gentle tremble: chest, throat, tears.
“If you want Me to speak clearly,
turn off the world.”
—
Chapter VII
Childhood as a Clue of Origin
The child still lives within you—
who drew a blue sun,
not from error,
but from a soul untouched by concept.
God whispers through the child:
“Be like that one—
who sees the world not to conquer it,
but to embrace it.”
—
Chapter VIII
Crisis as a Doorway
When all collapses,
it is not a curse.
It is God’s voice,
unable to bear your prison of false success.
“I shattered your tower so you could see the sky.
I broke your mirror
so you might find My face in the dust.”
—
Chapter IX
The Crack That Glows
A crack is not a flaw—
it is the passage for light to enter.
God does not appear in perfection.
He dwells in the tiny openings you’ve long tried to seal.
“Let Me enter through your fractures,
so you may know:
holiness is not flawlessness—
but light coming through wounds.”
—
Chapter X
Stillness as Prayer
Prayer is not a wishlist—
it is a stillness where God speaks back.
“Sit,” He says.
“Be with Me.
Let time dissolve. Let the world pass.
I want you only in silence.”
And that silence becomes a rosary.
—
Chapter XI
Becoming the Unnamed
In a small cave of civilization,
one sits without a name—
not in defeat,
but in refusal to be worshipped.
God approaches in dust:
“Those I mention in My Book
are not the praised,
but the ones who worship Me
when unseen.”
To be invisible is not to be meaningless.
God dwells in the silent tremor,
not in the headlines.
—
Chapter XII
Daydreaming as Revolution
While the world sprints,
he sits in the soul’s garden,
gazing at the sky.
God whispers:
“Thinking is a silent prayer.
And meditative stillness
is rebellion against the rushed world.”
To daydream is not to be lazy—
it is a path home, overgrown by appointments.
—
Chapter XIII
Mirror Without a Name
“Who am I?”
he asks, not people, but wounds.
And God replies:
“You are the courage to see without disguise.
You are the name I wrote
behind the secret wall.”
The mirror gives no name—
only reflects bravery.
—
Chapter XIV
Refusing to Be a Copy
God makes no duplicates.
He breathes a unique spirit into each soul.
“Do not copy another’s life,” He says.
“For I made you a complete verse—
not a footnote in someone else’s book.”
—
Chapter XV
A Light That Doesn’t Crave Attention
There is light in the chest—
not for display,
but to be shared with God.
“Remove the robe of your titles,” He says.
“Come to Me as a soul, not a position.”
Light needs no spotlight.
It needs sincerity to dwell.
—
Chapter XVI
A Letter from the Lost Self
In dreams,
he reads a dusty letter:
“You’ve been too busy becoming someone else—
yet I’ve stayed here.”
God sends messages
not via email,
but through guilt, longing,
and tears without language.
“The true self never left,” He says.
“It’s just waiting to be greeted.”
—
Chapter XVII
Falling as Blessing
“You fall not because I hate you,” says God,
“but because you forgot where you came from.”
Earth embraces not to punish,
but to remind:
grandeur is not above—
but in the soil’s arms.
—
Chapter XVIII
The Way Home is Not on the Map
Maps know places—
but the soul knows direction.
God says:
“Direction isn’t pointed—
it is felt.
And sometimes,
home is not forward—
but inward.”
—
Chapter XIX
Silence, Before All Names
Before you were called anything,
you were silence.
God created the cosmos from quiet,
not applause.
“Come to Me as you were
before you had names:
no labels, no roles—
just a soul longing to return.”
—
Chapter XX
Living as a Wordless Prayer
You need not speak for Me to understand.
No need to weep aloud for Me to hear.
“If you live honestly with your soul’s pulse,
then your life itself is a prayer.”
And when your body I summon home,
I shall only ask:
“Were you faithful
to the light I planted in your chest?”
For authenticity
is the only language heaven remembers.
West Sumatra, 2025
