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was sincerely aggrieved by my untimely death。 I was； indeed； very pleased by
this。 I don’t know whether the sorrow of Our Glorious Sultan means great
efforts will be made to catch my rogue murderer； including the mobilization of
torturers； but I do know this： that accursed man is now in the courtyard；
among the other miniaturists and calligraphers； wearing a dignified and
exceedingly tormented expression as he gazes at my coffin。
Pray； don’t think that I’m infuriated by my murderer or that I’m set on a
path of revenge； or even that my soul is restless because I’ve been treacherously
and cruelly slain。 I am； at present； on a pletely different plane of being；
and my soul is quite at peace； having returned to its former glory after years of
suffering on Earth。
My soul temporarily quitted my body； which was writhing in pain as it lay
covered in blood from the blows of the inkpot； and quivered for a while within
an intense light； afterward； two beautiful and smiling angels with faces bright
as the sun—such as I’d read about countless times in the Book of the Soul—
slowly approached me within this ethereal brilliance； grabbed me by my arms；
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as if I were still a body； and began their ascent。 Ever so serenely and gently； ever
so quickly we ascended as if in a blissful dream！ We passed through forests of
fire； forded rivers of light and forged dark seas and mountains of snow and ice。
Each crossing took us thousands of years； though it seemed no more than the
blink of an eye。
We ascended through the seven Heavens； passing varieties of gatherings；
peculiar creatures； marshes and clouds swarming with an infinite variety of
insects and birds。 At each level of Heaven； the angel who led the way would
knock on a portal； and when the question； “Who goes there？” came from
beyond； the angel would describe me including all my names and attributes；
summing up by saying； “An obedient servant of Exalted Allah！”—which would
bring tears of joy to my eyes。 I knew； however； that there were yet thousands
of years before the Day of Judgment when those destined for Heaven would be
separated from those destined for Hell。
My ascension； except for a few minor differences； happened just the way
Gazzali； El Jevziyye and other legendary scholars described in their passages on
death。 Eternal puzzles and dark enigmas that only the dead might understand
were now being revealed and illuminated； bursting forth brilliantly one by one
in thousands of colors。
Oh； how might I adequately describe the hues I saw during this exquisite
journey？ The whole world was made up of color； everything was color。 Just as I
sensed that the force separating me from all other beings and objects consisted
of color； I now knew that it was color itself that had affectionately embraced
me and bound me to the world。 I saw orange…hued skies； beautiful leaf…green
bodies； brown eggs and legendary sky…blue horses。 The world was faithful to
the illustrations and legends that I’d avidly scrutinized over the years。 I beheld
Creation with awe and surprise as if for the first time； but also as if it’d
somehow emerged from my memory。 What I called “memory” contained an
entire world： With time spread out infinitely before me in both directions； I
understood how the world as I first experienced it could persist afterward as
memory。 As I died surrounded by this festival of color； I also discovered why I
felt so relaxed； as if I’d been liberated from a straitjacket： From now on；
nothing was restricted； and I had unlimited time and space in which to
experience all eras and all places。
As soon as I realized this freedom； with fear and ecstasy I knew I was close
to Him； at the same time； I humbly felt the presence of an absolutely
matchless red。
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Within a short period； red imbued all。 The beauty of this color suffused me
and the whole universe。 As I approached His Being in this manner； I had the
urge to cry out in jubilation。 I was suddenly ashamed to be taken into His
presence； drenched in blood as I was。 Another part of my mind recalled what
I’d read in books on death； that He would enlist Azrael and His other angels to
summon me to His presence。
Would I be able to see Him？ I wasn’t able to breathe out of excitement。
The red approaching me—the omnipresent red within which all the images
of the universe played—was so magnificent and beautiful that it quickened my
tears to think I would bee part of it and be so close to Him。
But I also knew He’d e no closer to me than He already had； He’d
inquired about me from His angels and they’d praised me； He saw me as a
loyal servant bound to His mandments and prohibitions； and He loved
me。
My mounting joy and flowing tears were abruptly poisoned by a nagging
doubt。 Guilt…ridden and impatient in my uncertainty； I asked Him：
“Over the last twenty years of my life； I’ve been influenced by the infidel
illustrations that I saw in Venice。 There was even a time when I wanted my
own portrait painted in that method and style； but I was afraid。 Instead； I later
had Your World； Your Subjects and Our Sultan； Your Shadow on Earth；
depicted in the manner of the infidel Franks。”
I didn’t remember His voice； but I recalled the answer He gave me in my
thoughts。
“East and West belong to me。”
I could barely contain my excitement。
“All right then； what is the meaning of it all； of this…of this world？”
“Mystery；” I heard in my thoughts； or perhaps； “mercy；” but I wasn’t
certain of either。
By the way the angels had e near me； I knew some sort of decision had
been made about me at this height of the heavens； but I’d have to wait in the
divine balance of Berzah with the mass of other souls who’d died over the last
tens of thousands of years until the Day of Judgment； when the final decision
about us would be made。 That everything transpired the way it was recorded
in books pleased me。 I recalled from my readings as I descended that I’d be
reunited with my body during my burial。
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But I quickly understood that the phenomenon of “reentering my lifeless
body” was just a figure of speech； thank goodness。 Despite their sorrow； the
dignified funeral congregation that filled me with pride was astonishingly
organized as it shouldered my coffin after the prayers and descended into the
little Hillock Cemetery beside the mosque。 From above； the procession
appeared like a thin and delicate length of string。
Let me clarify my situation： As might be inferred from the well…known
legend of Our Prophet—which states “The soul of the faithful is a bird that
feeds from the trees of Heaven”—after death； the soul roams the firmament。
As claimed by Abu ？mer bin Abdülber； the interpretation of this legend
d