Take a large sheet of paper—A3 at the very least. A pen and a ruler will suffice. Lay the ruler horizontally across the page and begin to make small dots, evenly spaced. Ensure they align to form a straight line. Now, focus on the very middle dot. Hold it. Fix your gaze on it. This dot, dear reader, is you.
The dots behind it? Your parents. Beyond them, your grandparents. Further back, great-grandparents. Stretching infinitely into the past, generations dissolve into anonymity. Ahead lie your children, their children, and children yet unborn. Thousands of dots, infinite in number, stretching into the abyss of time.
Now sit in solitude. Let silence bear witness. Reflect on what this simple exercise reveals. You are but a single dot in the sprawling timeline of existence—a fleeting pinprick in the endless flow of history. How far does your light reach? How many truly know you? Your parents, perhaps. Your children. Maybe a handful of others. Beyond that, what remains?
The river of time flows far beyond the edges of this paper. These lines and dots are mere symbols, conveniences. Imagine instead an ocean of countless sheets, each containing billions of dots, each representing a life lived, forgotten, or yet to be.
Now place the pen’s tip on any random dot far back in this line. This is one of your ancestors, a distant great-grandfather perhaps. Who was he? You do not know. Nor did he ever dream of you. Go further, to a dot even further removed. Another nameless figure, unknowable and unknown.
Now shift forward. Touch a dot ahead of yours. This might be a great-great-grandchild you will never meet. They will not know your name, just as you cannot hold their image in your mind. Keep moving, and the faces blur into the fog of eternity.
And here you are, alive, striding across the stage of life. But to what end?
We delude ourselves, thinking, The world is mine. I am its center. But life, my friend, is indifferent to your illusions. Imagine this timeline as a filmstrip. Play it at high speed, watching the dots flicker and vanish. What are we, then? A spark. A breath. A fleeting shadow. Nothing more.
In the brevity of this spark, we assume countless roles—kings and beggars, lovers and warriors, victims and villains. We wage wars, build empires, craft dreams, and indulge desires. Yet, what do we leave behind? Power, wealth, and reputation crumble before the vast tide of time. None can ascend beyond being a mere dot in its flow.
The Shade of a Tree
Abdullah ibn Mas’ud reported: The Messenger of Allah ﷺ once rested upon a reed mat, and when he awoke, it had left marks upon his side. Concerned, Ibn Mas’ud offered, “O Messenger of Allah, why do you not let us spread something softer for you?” The Prophet ﷺ replied:
"What is the world to me? What am I to the world? Verily, the parable of myself and this world is that of a rider who seeks shade under a tree, then he moves on and leaves it behind."
(Source: Musnad Ahmad 3709)
How perfect is this metaphor! The world is no more than a momentary shade—a resting point on a greater journey. The shade offers respite, not permanence. To linger too long beneath it is to lose the road ahead.
The Prophet ﷺ also said:
"Be in this world as if you were a stranger or a traveler along a path."
(Source: Sahih al-Bukhari 6416)
This profound advice invites us to view this life as a temporary sojourn. Like a traveler, we should carry only what we need and avoid becoming entangled in the fleeting comforts of this world.
The Rest Stop and the Destination
This life is but a pause, a fleeting interval on the way to eternity. To mistake the rest stop for the destination is the greatest folly. Yet how often do we do just that? We build our lives around wealth, comfort, and fleeting pleasures. Like a man en route to an important job interview who gets lost in the comforts of an air-conditioned waiting room, we risk squandering our purpose.
The poet Robert Herrick once sang:
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying."
Or as Shakespeare declared:
"Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
But does life truly signify nothing? Or are we missing its deeper purpose?
The Quran offers a piercing insight:
"Know that the life of this world is but play and amusement, pomp and mutual boasting among you, and rivalry in wealth and children. It is like rain whose growth pleases the farmers; then it dries, and you see it turn yellow; then it becomes debris." (57:20) ADD HERE THE AKHIRA
The imagery is vivid: life, like a fleeting rain, blooms and fades. Fields once vibrant with growth become parched, and lush green turns to brittle debris. Yet how often do we lose ourselves in this fleeting growth? How often do we cling to the transient and forget the eternal?
Rising from the Shade
Now imagine the traveler who understands this truth. He takes refuge under the tree, but he does not unpack his belongings or settle there. He drinks, rests, and rises. He knows his destination lies ahead.
This is life: a journey through a vast desert. The tree is but a reminder of the transience of all things. It offers shade for a moment, but the traveler must press on toward his ultimate goal.
