#niyya
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Fic Lines! Tag Game~
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Thanks @thana-topsy by tagging me :3 And therefore recognizing me as a fellow writer even though I still haven't posted anything online. Yet.
The fragments are from two fanfics I'm working on, both telling the story of Ildari Sarothril from her perspecive. They are namely:
"She Looks so Beautiful in Her Grave: A Prelude"
and
"Ashes Feed My Revenge"
As I said, I haven't posted them yet. But if you get interested feel free to dm me, I'll gladly share my work so far with you :3
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Ok, so here we go:
A line from your fic that makes you sad
He looked around the graveyard once again. The dawn greeted him with shy, pinkish rays dispersed in the morning mist. Lighting the sea, the grave… The beautiful and deadly nightshades painted ornate, slender shadows on the ash.
The dawn, the time of the Mother of Roses.
Silver tears filled his eyes. Oh what a lowly mortal he is, in the face of death, in the face of the Gods. He leapt down on his knees, facing the rising sun, and prayed, prayed ardently being sorry for Azura, Boetiah and Mephala for what he’s about to do. But he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help it!
(from "She Looks so Beautiful in Her Grave: A Prelude")
A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character
Master fucking Neloth.
Ulves’ face was hued red with anger. It was him who killed her.
He coaxed Ildari into performing some unfortunate experiment on her. Two days ago Ulves floated up into the main tower to bring his master food when he casually informed him to dig a fresh grave. His blood boiled from the sole thought of it.
He wished to kill him with his whole heart. But he felt so powerless. The old sly wizard would fry him down to a crisp before he could even unsheathe his axe. The only option would be poisoning his meal… but it was very probable that this ash-sucker would survive somehow. And that would mean the end of Ulves’ life. And even if his master, what would that change? There was nothing that Ulves wanted to do after that.
(from "She Looks so Beautiful in Her Grave: A Prelude")
A line from your fic you want to talk about more
Imagine silence.
But in its foulest form. The silence that is only found in places of death, sending shivers down the spines of the living. The stillness of a burnt-down village. The void that fills the space after a man has uttered their last words.
Somewhere, all among that silence a faint sound could be heard.
Ildari’s heart started beating.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
A line from your fic you're proud of
And there she was outside, barely treading, yet irate enough to kick the ash left and right with a sour grimace.
The grim landscape stretched before her - all was only ash and burned-down trees, with suggestions of the shoreline and the mountains of the other side. But they were distant, covered by the thick clouds of wind-swept ash.
[…]
As much as she hated the musty air in the tower, outside it wasn’t much better. Even though the wind was merely a breeze, she already choked a few times on the ash that got inside of her windpipe.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
A line from your fic that's full of symbolism
Her mind was failing her, it was like a barren soil that couldn’t hold onto any seeds of thought, and certainly not let them develop. After a whole eternity of torment, she couldn’t help but close her eyes.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
A line from your fic that makes you laugh
“Knock, knock! Can I come in?” chirped Niyya right outside the door of her room.
That was weird. She was getting suspiciously friendly so quickly. Well, so far it was harmless. She’s probably one of those people that take all of their life’s pleasures in serving the others and have the reputation of a saint in the society - unless you are the one they are actually helping - then they become really annoying.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
A line from your fic you think could have been better
“Is everything all right?”
How dare she ask such a question? Of course it wasn’t! Just look at her.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg
[I don't feel like I've ever written one, sorry ): ]
A line from your fic that's shocking
WARNING: suicidal ideation
She put the book down and covered her face with hands. It only takes so much to strip a man off the will to live. What if the voices are never going to subside? And the pain? She can’t live like that! What will she do? Will there be anything to live for?
She imagined herself, lifeless, half-buried in ash, like this poor young Bosmer necromancer not unlike her, rotting away - only to be found by a flabbergasted traveller that wouldn’t even have the guts to give the final rites. No voices would be heard then. No pain would trouble her. Not a single tormenting thought would ever cross her mind. Tempting.
She heard footsteps coming.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww'
“Um… Ildari” Niyya hesitated. ”I think you are… pretty.”
The Redguard’s face turned dark red.
Now Ildari understood why Niyya was so suspiciously friendly. But, she was a girl - a mere miner for damn’s sake. And there she was, making goo-goo eyes at her.
Ildari wanted to puke.
(from "Ashes Feed My Revenge")
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I don't know much fellow writers (yet) but I feel like @katastronoot and @greyborn2 might come up with something interesting :3
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her soft lips, cold and bloody as death.
Tags: Ildari Sarothril/Niyya. Major character undeath, nsft/E, slight body horror and breathplay. written for a combination of the ritual and mortal prompts for @tes-summer-fest. a03
"The fools have taken me in. Weak, pathetic men intent on looting this ancient fortress with their crude mining. Niyya is pleasant enough. I may choose to spare her when the time comes." - Ildari's Journal, Volume I.
At night, when the other miners have gone to sleep, Ildari sneaks into Niyya's bedroll to share warmth.
In the darkness of the night, Ildari Sarothril comes for Niyya. Their ritual begins like this; Ildari’s feet, silent as a cat on the rough stone, do not wake her, but the glow of her dead, stone heart does when it washes over Niyya’s eyes like an ashen kiss. She is a bruise-shouldered spectre in the darkness, red eyes gleaming, and her lips soft and cold as petals on Niyya’s cheek. Niyya stirs, playing at sleepiness, and that aristocratic Telvanni drawl sneaks, snakelike, into her ear. Ildari whispers her name, calling to her like an old, forgotten song in the bones of the earth.
Niyya smiles herself awake and answers, “Ildari,” and when she reaches up to touch Ildari’s grey cheek the mutilated light in Ildari’s chest pulses harder, faster.
“What do you need?” Niyya says.
Ildari replies, as she always does, “I cannot sleep.”
She comes closer, her stricken-white hair curling over her purpled lips, disturbed only when she breathes in to speak. When she lets the last of her air leave her mouth in a sigh, it reminds Niyya of the rush of sand down the dunes covering old, forgotten tombs. There is no relief, no release, nothing living in that lonely hiss of wind and sand and silence.
“I’m cold,” the ghost confesses, and Niyya opens her arms.
“Come here,” she says, pressing all the warmth and softness into her voice that Ildari no longer possesses.
No one could call Ildari graceful, anymore, if she ever has been. The way she moves is fumbling, like she walks recently blinded in a world of darkness, dead of skin and flesh and numb of feet. She is measured, perhaps, in her own, slow way, like she has relearned afresh the business of moving with a sharp mind that won’t accept failure. But she is practised at this, at sliding into Niyya’s bed, her arms curling rote around Niyya’s ribs and waist, her icy legs tussling against Niyya’s. It almost seems natural.
Niyya holds her breath when Ildari touches her, for she is cold as stone, even when Niyya pulls the blanket up around her shoulders and chafes the skin of her arms to chase some warmth back into her. She will warm, slowly, sucking in vampirically Niyya’s heat through their closeness. Sometimes, she almost feels normal, after a long night lying in Niyya’s arms, tasting her sweat and her skin.
“Niyya,” Ildari murmurs. Her eyes are dark, like old, crusted blood, unreadable in the dimness. The light from Ildari’s stone heart pulses beneath their chins, between them, lighting Ildari’s face in a sick distortion of red shadows. Ever distant, she turns her cheek from Niyya’s hand, brown-black in the dark, when Niyya cups her face.
Ildari’s skin is smooth, so smooth it feels like cool water against Niyya’s work-roughened hands. Every part of her feels fine and rich, a galatean noblewoman cast from dyed marble, glossy and remote. There is much Telvanni magister in her, still, in the way she grasps Niyya’s sides with spreading, possessive hands, digging her dangerous hands into the meat of the muscle like a scientist holding the mouse still.
Niyya’s seen the way she talks to the other Dunmer, how they give way before her sharp accent, the quickness of her tongue, how, even in her uncertainty, she moves like she fully expects the world itself to bend down before her. She’s no House Dunmer, but Niyya knows a woman with too much power than sense when she sees them; they have riches in Hammerfell too, after all, and those wealthy that hoard them and their secrets.
Yet, all the same, when she is cold, she comes to the rocky pallet of a poor human miner, a sorceress of only middling talent, to seek her solace.
There is something in that that makes Niyya smile, renders her touch light and teasing as she feathers a fingertip over Ildari’s pointed ear. Even dead, Ildari’s ear twitches violently at the simple caress. The heart in her chest betrays her, pulsing brighter at Niyya’s touch.
“Does that help?” Niyya asks her, sotto voce.
“Niyya.” Ildari presses into her with unforgiving hands, grasping, claiming, wanting. She touches like she wants everything at once in the palm of her hand, the whole world spun out between the cage those clever grey fingers make. “Niyya, your touch warms me. But I’m still cold.”
“Where?” murmurs Niyya.
Ildari’s answer is a whisper. “My hands.”
“Warm them on my skin,” answers Niyya, a breath against her lips.
“If I do, what will you give me?”
Her fingers are darting, chilly flashes against Niyya’s belly that make her gasp. Ildari presses into her at the sound; silky-gentle, she has a scholar’s exploratory touch with a magister’s claiming arrogance, as she slips sinuously as a snake under Niyya’s clothes. She is cold, so cold, but the skin on skin makes Niyya tingle hotly.
Niyya inhales until her ribs swell and Ildari’s hands rise up. Niyya angles her shoulders down to lift her chest. She casts Ildari a fiery look under her eyelashes.
Ildari’s lips part, but no breath whistles between them. Her fingers link into a chain around Niyya’s wrist, clammy-cold and covering her flushed skin with grey like the arching buttresses of Nordic tombs against the thriving earth. Both arrogant and tentative, Ildari plucks at Niyya’s wrist and places it against her own still stomach. Unafraid, Niyya squeezes the sharp angle of her hipbone, then pulls her close.
Ildari’s bone-white brows arch, but her sulky mouth is soft when Niyya dares a kiss there. Niyya’s eyes flutter closed, but she can still see the red glow blazing against the veins in her lids. The stone heart pulses faster and brighter between them, Ildari’s wrecked and wretched heartbeat gathering speed alongside the near-silent rustle of skin on skin and clothes.
Niyya grips Ildari’s ass, hard enough that Ildari groans hollowly into her mouth. She’s slender and there’s less muscle on her than Niyya is used to, but the raw bones and stretched skin still fill her hands pleasingly enough.
Possessively, Ildari rolls her over onto her back, nudging one lean thigh between Niyya’s, kissing up her startled noise at the chill between her warm, sensitive thighs. Niyya allows it, breathing a laugh into Ildari’s offended scowl. Her laugh hitches when Ildari rocks her hips, and it’s Ildari’s turn to smirk.
Darkness falls; Ildari tilts her head to keep her lips, pressing Niyya down into the pallet. Her hair caresses Niyya’s cheeks, a silken blanket between her and the rest of the world. Ildari’s grip is like iron; she kisses Niyya without remorse, without mercy, until Niyya starts to dizzily push at her shoulders, choking out breathless hisses.
When Ildari finally lets her go, the throbbing light of her stone heart blazes into Niyya’s face like an axe-wound. She hides her face in Ildari’s chilly neck, panting hard. Spots spin before her eyes and there is a strange screaming in her ears. She can feel the blood rushing about her head.
“I – have to breathe,” she reminds Ildari, punching her shoulder weakly. Ildari only sinks onto her body, either ignorant or uncaring of how close Niyya has come to passing out.
“You are so very warm,” Ildari sighs against her skin.
She bites Niyya’s throat, tender with the promise of enough force to make Niyya shiver. Instead, she licks her throat, lingering over her pulsepoint like she aches to taste the pounding of Niyya’s heart. Her hand on her belly squeezes her once and then moves up to cup her breast. Her thumb swipes over Niyya’s nipple, and when Niyya jerks, surprised at the spark of pleasure, Ildari does it again. She works Niyya’s nipple into a stiff peak, fondling her underneath her shirt until Niyya is breathily moaning and grinding against her thigh.
Niyya’s nails dig into Ildari’s back, but if Ildari feels it through the light cotton sleepshift she wears she makes no sign. She presses her sweaty cheek against Ildari’s hair, trying to muffle her needy panting. She has no desire to wake any of the others, only a cave passage away, and have them investigate only to find her spread out beneath the mysterious Telvanni.
Her cunt throbs. Ildari plays her like an instrument, pinching and tugging at her nipples as she rocks against Niyya, matching the frustrated rhythm of Niyya’s canting hips just enough to keep the pressure where she needs it most torturously light. Her teeth scrape over Niyya’s throat warningly whenever Niyya’s gasps get too loud.
“Ildari,” Niyya manages in a strangled whisper into Ildari’s pointed ear, “Ildari, please.”
Ildari’s chuckle is stony in her ear. “You human spellcasters have so little patience.”
She palms Niyya’s breast again regretfully, then trails light circles down over her heaving sides and her fluttering belly to the cradle of her hips. Her fingertip, roughened only by the soot of her spells, the papers of her arcane study, and silky flesh of other women, teases at Niyya’s waistband. Niyya thinks she sees a smile flash on those swollen purple lips at Niyya’s eager squirming. Her other hand tangles into Niyya’s hair, guiding her inexorably back to her mouth.
“Mmph-!” Niyya tries but Ildari only hisses, “Hush!” and kisses her with enough force that her head spins. In the same motion, Ildari’s hand slips under her waistband.
Ildari’s cold fingers dipping into her soaked folds are a shock; Niyya arches, unable to gasp with Ildari’s tongue in her mouth. Ildari wastes no time but slides a finger into her at once, her thumb drawing little lines to the left of Niyya’s clit as she sets a rough, fast pace. She swallows up every moan, offering Niyya only brief seconds to frantically heave for breath before kissing her again, like she wants to eat the breathing life right from her lungs.
Her deathly-white hair, pale as bone, falls across Niyya’s cheek. Her icy fingers warm as they move inside her, heated by the wet clenching of Niyya’s body, the sweat that smears across her skin. Ildari pushes their bodies together, leaving barely any space for her hand to work and relying on the strength of her wrist for her curling thrusts. Her other hand still violently clutches the nape of Niyya’s neck, cramming their lips together. She kisses and fucks her like she wants to reach inside her, hilt herself into Niyya’s spine and the soft wet organs around it.
The heart-stone burns where it presses against Niyya’s arm, even through the shift Ildari wears. The pain is an abstract thing, searing-bright like an ember too hot to catch, with her blood thrumming with pleasure and head spinning from lack of oxygen. Caught between Ildari’s tongue in her mouth and her thumb rubbing Niyya’s clit, Niyya clings to Ildari, scrabbling at her implacable shoulders between muffled, fevered moans.
Ildari’s hand flexes and she pushes a second finger in; Niyya takes her easily, up to the last knuckle, and whines high and sharp against Ildari’s mouth. Ildari’s fingers curl inside her, beckoning like she’s summoning some beast from Oblivion. The orgasm that threatens to rattle through her at any moment certainly feels like a possession, making her skin alternately chill and prickle with heat, her body hard and arching and not her own.
Pulling back just enough to let Niyya pant for breath, Ildari whispers her name. Her eyes are like burned out coals, but the red light illuminates them both in crimson shadow, washing Ildari’s hair a bloody pink. She stares down at Niyya, all inscrutable eyes and smug, curling smile.
Niyya is too breathless to wipe the irritating look from her face with a retort, but she does her best to frown, instead, not that Ildari’s egoistic grandeur seems the slightest bit affected. Wretched, damned, beautiful woman, Niyya thinks, between only-half swallowed cries, smirking down at her like being able to make Niyya come makes her better than her, like she always does-!
“You may finish,” Ildari purrs, and her hand speeds up until Niyya can do nothing but cling to her and try not to break apart.
Her orgasm rolls over her like a wave, cresting and cresting seemingly without end until Niyya is near-tears, almost praying for the damn thing to be over even as pleasure thunders through her veins and her eyes roll back into her head. She shudders and jerks underneath Ildari like a woman electrocuted.
Ildari works her through the whole mess, the only time she has been patient with anything. When Niyya collapses, spent and gulping for breath, Ildari dusts a kiss over her sweaty forehead and settles down at her side. She worms her way under Niyya’s arm and rests her cheek against Niyya’s chest, her ear pressed against Niyya’s heart.
Niyya throws an arm over her eyes, feeling a grin creep over her lips. Lassitude sinks into her muscles, leaving her limp and charitable enough to tuck her arm over Ildari’s shoulder. Her skin feels warm now beneath Niyya’s hold, like she is simply a sick woman instead of a dead one. Ildari’s hair is silk between the idle movements of her fingertips as she waits for her breath to calm.
When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted with the gentle, pulsing flare of the stone in Ildari’s chest, thrumming along to Niyya’s heartbeat. Indulgently, Niyya slides a finger under Ildari’s chin and lifts her head to look at her.
Ildari takes a quick breath. The familiar rhythm of Ildari’s heart-stone wobbles, directionless without a guide.
“Thank you,” says Niyya.
Ildari’s eyes reflect the light like a cat’s. “I’m still cold. Shall I show you where?”
“Yes,” says Niyya, and Ildari takes her hand.
This time, she glides it to her own chest, still and dark like an empty well beneath the blanket wrapped around them. Beneath her chest, her skin is smooth, the well-fed, pampered body of the elf she was, but as they move up, towards the left of her chest, they reach the wound of her heart-stone. In the day, the stone in her chest is surrounded by leather wrappings, to help anchor it, but Ildari ties them too tight; Niyya can feel the indents cut into her flesh pass under her fingertips, mute betrayals of Ildari’s constant agony.
Niyya’s fingers bump over the lumpiness of stitches and scar tissue. Some of it is puckered and raised, burned like somebody had tried to stem what must have been fatal bleeding with hastily-applied fire – if Niyya looks at her under the light, she can see the fading whorls of somebody’s fingerprints, wedged round the heart-stone as if, with a flaming hand, they’d tried to pull the damn thing back out.
Ildari’s scars have never healed, but they do not bleed, and the stitches that hold her cold purple-grey flesh together don’t sink in and reject, which their best healer has pronounced is the all they can probably hope for. It is a truly stomach-churning sight, not in the least because Niyya knows it hurts her, constantly, and she has no way of offering any reprieve.
Even now, the stone jutting out of her chest throbs bloodily in an increasingly twisted mimicry of Niyya’s heartbeat, as if the memory of life is fading already.
“Here,” says Ildari, when Niyya’s hand hovers over the ugly, swollen lump of the heart-stone. “Touch it.”
Hesitating, Niyya searches her implacable face. She is empty there, the shadows of her cheeks lined with deep red grooves, like the blood-wetted grates in a butcher’s floor. “Won’t it hurt you?”
“Touch it,” she repeated, hollow with spite, “Touch me, Niyya. Make me warm again. Make my heart beat like yours does. You cannot do it, can you?”
“Ildari…”
Her chest aches with pity, even as her stomach squirms with a subtle, private horror at the thought of purposefully touching the mangled wreck of flesh around the malevolently glowing stone she would never dare to admit to Ildari. That perversion of the arcane, whatever has been done to Ildari, is beyond her, she knows that much. She thinks perhaps it is beyond anyone.
Instead, she slips her arms around Ildari’s back and pulls her close, kissing her forehead. She strokes her back, ignoring the uncomfortable jabbing of the heart-stone against her chest through their clothes.
Woodenly, Ildari nestles against her shoulder.
“I’m here,” Niyya promises, softly, as earnestly as she can. “We will take care of you.”
Ildari moves her lips against Niyya’s neck, too limp for a kiss, too intentional for a breath. Her body lies still and pliant in Niyya’s arms, like she has had her controlling strings cut, and fallen only coincidentally into Niyya’s embrace. But her hands, with the same, ticklish, uncertain creeping of many-legged spiders, crawl over Niyya’s back and clutch onto her shirt, like Ildari is holding her in place.
“Are you my friend?” Ildari asks her.
“Yes, I’m your friend,” answers Niyya, craning her head to try and look down at her.
Ildari’s eyes glitter in the dark raw light of the heartstone’s pulsing. She is staring at Niyya’s neck, at the pulse that flutters there in her throat. “Will you help me do what I must, Niyya?”
“If I can, I will,” promises Niyya. “We all will.”
“Thank you,” murmurs Ildari, and kisses her, gently, above her left breast. Right over her heart.
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Your deeds are weighed according to how sincere you are. Don’t waste your good work and effort by putting every bit of it on social media. Don’t fall into the trap.
#mufti ismail menk#muftimenk#muftimenk mufti ismail menk#mufti menk quote#mufti menk#mimquotes#mufti ismail menk quote#don’t flex#don’t show off#niyya#be sincere#sincerity#good deeds
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Das Gebet ist eines der fünf Säulen im Islam und kann nur in seltensten Fällen ausgelassen werden.
Um ein Gebet verrichten zu können, bedarf es der rituellen Reinheit. Diese erlangt man durch eine Gebetswaschung. Wie bei allen gottesdienstlichen Handlungen äußert man zuerst die Absicht des Vorhabens. Der Muslim spricht also innerlich, bevor er mit dem Gebet beginnen will, seine Absicht, die in etwa lauten könnte: Zum Wohlgefallen Allahs, möchte ich nun das Morgensgebet mit dem Fard-teil (Fard = Pflichtgebet) verrichten. Es werden beim rituellen Gebet nur Texte aus dem arabischen Koran gelesen. Jeder Muslim verbeugt sich auf die gleiche Art. Jeder Muslim, egal auf welchem Erdteil er sich befindet, verbeugt sich in Richtung der Kaba, die in Saudi Arabien steht. Jedoch wird nicht die Kaba angebetet, sondern die Richtung dorthin als Einheit eingehalten.
Wann das Gebet FARD (Pflicht) wird:
SALAH: Salat wird Fardh, wenn die dafür vorgesehene Zeit angebrochen ist, für jede Person die sich im Islam befindet, (die den Islam angenommen hat oder in ihn hineingeboren wurde) die gesund, reif und rein von Haiz und Nifaas ist. Sollte ein Kafir ein Muslim, ein Kind reif oder ein Verrückter gesund werden, so wird jenes Salat für diese Person Fardh, für welches noch genügend Zeit vorhanden ist, um zumindest Takbir zu sprechen „die Worte “Allahu Akbar” (“Gott ist am Größten”) am Beginn des Gebets, wobei die Hände bis an die Ohren erhoben werden). Gleiches gilt für die Beendigung von Haiz und Nifaas, wenn noch genügend Zeit bleibt, um ein Bad zu nehmen und Takbir zu sprechen.
ADHAN / EZAN
Es ist Sunna, vor Salat Adhan/Ezan (Aufruf zum Gebet) und Iqamat (zweiter Aufruf, nach dem Salat un-mittelbar beginnt) zu rezitieren (gleichgültig ob Salat rechtzeitig, vorgezogen oder als Kaza verrichtet wird). Für einen Musaafir (Reisenden) ist es makruh, Adhan auszulassen. Für jemanden, der Salat zu Hause verrichtet, ist der Adhan der Stadtmoschee ausreichend. (Der Adhan darf nicht gerufen werden: von einer unreinen (Ghusel notwendig), betrunkenen oder ver-rückten Person und nicht von einer weiblichen Person.)
Die Gebetstexte zum lesen
Bevor man mit dem Gebet angefangen hat, muss man die bewusste innere Entscheidung zum Durchführen des jeweils bevorstehenden Gebetes-Niyya gefasst haben. Also wenn man das Nachmittagsgebet verrichten will, sollte man vorher die Absicht zu diesem Gebet gefasst haben.
Der Koran schreibt dem Gläubigen das Pflichtgebet zu fünf bestimmten Tageszeiten vor. Man unterscheidet die eigentlichen Pflichtgebete (fard), die keinesfalls unterlassen werden dürfen, von den sogenannten sunna-Gebeten, die den fard-Gebeten vorangehen oder folgen. Nafl-Gebete sind vollkommen freiwillige Gebete. Witr ist ein verbindliches (wadschib) Gebet, das nach dem Nachtgebet verrichtet wird und aus drei Gebetsabschnitten besteht. Alle Gebete bestehen aus einer bestimmten Anzahl von Gebetsabschnitten (rak‘ah, siehe unten). Die folgende Tabelle gibt Aufschluß über Zeiten des Gebets, Anzahl der Abschnitte (rak‘ah) in jedem Gebet und über die Art der Gebete (fard, sunna, nafl, wadschib).
Beginne mit der Niyyah (Absicht zum Gebet)
Bevor man das Gebet beginnt MUSS man vorher Wudu oder Ghusl (je nachdem welches erforderlich ist) vollzogen haben. Achte darauf das deine Kleidung und Umgebung sauber ist. Stell dich so hin das dein Gesicht in Richtung der Qibla (Richtung des Gebets – Makkah) ist. Es ist wichtig das du nun leise oder innerlich deine Absicht fasst, welches Gebet du nun verrichten möchtest. Dir muss klar sein das du z.B das Morgengebet beten willst und mit 2 Rakat Sunnah beginnst, danach wenn du das Fard (Pflicht) Gebet machst, die Absicht fassen das du nun das Fard Morgengebet beten willst. Das gilt auch wenn man in einer Gemeinschaft betet hinter einem Imam. Richte nun am beginn des Gebetes dein Blick auf dem Boden, an dem Punkt wo du deine Sajda (Niederwerfung) machen willst, solange wie auf der Anleitung die Gebetshaltung erklärt wird.
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K-POP&걸스힙합｜비기너 (Begginer)｜Little mix - Power｜NIYYA Choreography
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female arab forenames + english words borrowed from arabic
Aamina Aanda Abarah Abarda Abda Abiama Abiba Abilah Ablahra Adija Adijam Adilaira Adrasma Adya Adyascan Afarra Affeen Afida Afiqa Afridan Afriya Ahriah Aiba Aifatin Aiklaani Ailah Aiza Akam Akayya Akia Akira Akiyarah Alah Alalwaf Aled Aleil Aliayda Alifa Alil Alila Alimah Alimat Alimatin Aliyas Alma Ameemali Amidah Amila Amilah Amiram Anaida Arah Ardood Arizi Asha Ashirana Asihanya Asmilah Ayarifa Aynawa Ayzah Azarda Azebet Azeya Azizizza Azmath Azmira Azzarda Babarah Banida Bardool Bariah Barimara Bariyam Baseen Basira Batima Baylaaf Bayna Bibahra Blaikhah Blalili Bleila Buthaki Buthiya Caled Candaida Canindy Chad Chadiva Charahan Chen Cohakira Coheck Cottona Cottoon Dafsa Daila Dala Dalida Dhah Diha Diva Domah Doos Dufia Dufiya Dufizzak Duhada Erbila Erema Ereshada Faafat Faaimah Faan Faana Fadil Faina Faisma Fara Farama Fard Faria Farra Fatel Fath Fathifar Fathsafa Fatinna Fatuna Fayba Fayda Fayya Fiam Fida Finabah Fisada Fiyazen Fukhan Fukhsam Gebah Gebeh Gebra Gera Ghah Gira Guitaria Haba Hadika Hadila Hadilah Hadjah Hady Hadyahra Haffeen Hafrah Hahruzi Hahsa Haima Haira Haiza Hajam Hakilah Hakira Hakra Halaifat Halia Haliha Halya Hamah Hanah Hanidah Hari Haride Harra Hasine Hask Haza Heya Hibeema Hura Huro Husaba Husra Iess Ililah Imah Isir Jamira Jarda Jaysuna Jayya Jenabida Jenana Jenna Jida Jujumni Jumal Kalina Kalwah Kamira Kardoma Khab Khabatun Khad Khadila Khalinah Khar Kharia Khshen Khsira Lagda Laima Leinda Leshabi Leylah Lifay Lima Linah Liyya Loell Luba Lubibet Lujoosos Mahafiqa Mahah Mahla Mahra Mahrusa Malah Malihaz Malilah Mara Marah Marde Maridah Marikari Marra Matel Mathiyah Matima Mayna Moos Mounina Mufisaw Muna Mundah Mundu’a Mundya Muniya Nableh Nadan Nady Naibia Naina Naisah Nama Nana Nandya Naniya Nanyask Nimah Nisra Niya Niyya Nohol Nour Nuhasmee Numnida Nuriya Nuro Nusni Omar Orajideh Orbee Qubra Rahiba Rajam Raki Reena Remi Ress Restima Riamong Rikam Riyamina Rubna Ruzi Sabatifa Sabda Sabibah Sabilah Sada Sadah Sadija Sadil Sadima Sadir Sadram Safatifa Safaya Safida Safiyah Saibah Saifa Saimas Sair Saira Sairah Saizada Saleena Salgebah Salia Salifal Salila Saliya Sama Samah Samimara Samina Samindah Samine Samna Sanahrup Sang Sange Sanir Sanira Saniya Santara Sarda Sari Sarima Sawsah Seebet Sema Semida Shadira Shah Shakir Shal Shala Shaliah Shalmala Shamin Shamira Shamon Shanda Shanhara Shar Sharwah Shebah Shibida Shida Shikila Shir Shirukha Shiya Shrup Shur Shura Shurizak Shuro Sima Simar Sina Sira Siya Sodayzah Sorah Sososo Suba Subila Subra Suhadiha Suhah Suham Suhar Suhard Sula Sulleah Suma Sumalifa Summara Suna Suniya Syrubna Syrukala Syruz Taana Tabi Talikar Talina Taline Tama Tamira Tara Tarda Tarwa Ulaybah Uleah Ultaa Umasmin Wafaifa Walileen Waline Wida Widah Wisafsa Wisdomah Yaha Yaharama Yahir Yusa Zadila Zadiram Zadiva Zady Zahla Zakira Zakra Zakrah Zayya Zebeenna Zebeh Zebrana Zeikama Zeil Zeinajla Zeli Zell Zelmahma Zennajwa Zera Zerbeena Zeyahma Zeyla Zubia Zuhar Zuka Zukhada Zukhalwa Zuleylah Zull
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حكاية بدات في مكسيكو اهو اهو هو تورخناها في قطر اها...Dirou Niyya - Moro...
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#hijrah -- Kalaam by Sheikh al-Fawzān :
Q(uestion) :
The one who died in Balad-ul-kufr, will he be resurrected with the Kuffar (disbelievers) on the Day of Resurrection ?
Answer :
Allah knows his niyya (intention) and his circumstances (preventing him from leaving), but if he is living there by choice, residing there in their country by choice, caring and giving importance to their Dunya, preferring it to the Balad-ul-Islam, so this one he is in great danger, he is resurrected with them. Na'am (yes).
Sheikh Salih Al Fawzān
🔹Official site "Fatawa corner"
#ahlulhadith#islamicreminder#manhaj salaf#ahlulsunnah#islampost#sunnah#quran&sunnah#salafi#salaffiyah#fatwa
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*Kar mu manta da Lokacin tashin dare idan mun sami iko....🕰*
*ko yanzu idan kana da iko ko kina da iko tashi ka yi wutri idan baku yi ba😊..*
📌 Idan har baka sami ikon haddar Al-Qur'ani gaba daya ba, to kada ku yi kasa a gwiwa wajen yin abin da ya sawwaka daga gare ku.
📌 Daga Suraratul Q zuwa Suratun Nas, wacce ke kusan bakwai daga cikin Alkur’ani ta wadatar...
📌Mu sani ba dukkan Sahabbai ne suka haddace Al-Qur'ani ba, amma dukkansu suna da rabo daga gareshi ta hanyar tsayuwa da shi..
📌 Kai dai ka sabunta niyya, ka yanke hukunci, ka nemi taimako wurin Allah, ka fara aikin, domin sanin Allah yana cikin zuciyarka da gaskiya, kuma tabbas za ka riske shi insha Allah.
وَالَّذِينَ جَاهَدُوا فِينَا لَنَهْدِيَنَّهُمْ سُبُلَنَا وَإِنَّ اللهَ لَمَعَ المُحْسِنِينَ}
Kuma wadanda suka yi qoqari domin Mu, haqiqa za Mu shiryar da su zuwa ga hanyoyinMu, kuma Allah yana tare da masu kyautatawa.
••┈•┈••✦✿✦••┈•┈•••
Sabis na shawarwarin girbi 🌾
*✍️Abou Khadeejatu Assalafeey*
23/11/1443.
22/06/2022.
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Pay Attention To Your Intention
Muḥammad b. Yūsuf reported that (Sufyān) al-Thawrī said: “There are no actions better than seeking (knowledge of) ḥadīth, as long as the individual's intention is correct.”
وعن محمد بن يوسف الفريابي قال الثوري: ما من عمل أفضل من طلب الحديث، إذا صحت النية فيه
Aḥmad al-Ṭayyār, Ḥayāh al-Salaf 1/65
أحمد الطيار، حياة السلف ١/٦٥
http://shamela.ws/browse.php/book-17505/page-62
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Pour écouter le morceau, cliquez ici : القناة الرسمية - سماع الطريقة القادرية البودشيشية
Renouveau du samaa’ ou retour à la source ?
L’exemple du groupe officiel de la Tariqa Qadiriya Boutchichiya
« Gloire à Toi ! Nous n’avons de savoir que ce que Tu nous as appris. Certes c’est Toi l’Omniscient, le Sage » Coran, Al Baqarah, 32.
Pendant cette période de confinement, le monde musulman soufi a été lui aussi inventif pour contourner la distanciation sociale et continuer le cheminement sur la Voie d’Allah, le Tout-Généreux, le Vivant, Celui qui pourvoie à la subsistance de la Création.
Plusieurs initiatives ont vu rapidement le jour : connexions via internet aussi bien pour les réunions d’invocations de Dieu (dhikr) que pour des conférences, présentations et autres initiations au tassawwuf (soufisme), Lives Instagram/Facebook pour les psalmodies de Coran et le samaa’ (audition spirituelle), soirées Live de commémoration (soirée du 15 Cha’ban, Ramadan, soirée de Laylat al Qadr, ‘Aid Al Fitr…).
Je me souviens encore de la joie immense que j’ai ressentie lors de l’annonce du début des réunions d’invocation via Zoom, ou encore mon enchantement lorsque j’ai assisté au 1er live Instagram sur le thème du samaa’, où j’ai eu le bonheur d’écouter pendant quelques heures, des musammi’ines (chanteurs de samaa’) faisant partie aussi bien de ma confrérie que d’autres confréries soufies. Une brève immersion technologique à chaque fois dans cette ambiance si particulière, un mélange de soumission sérieuse et de joie enfantine, une atmosphère indescriptible, spécialement dans les confréries au modèle d’éducation jamali (issu de la Beauté ‘’Al Jamal’’, un des attributs de Dieu, Le Doux Le Tout affectueux. L’alternance de rigueur et de discipline avec un lâcher-prise teinté d’amour et d’empathie est une caractéristique des voies soufies jamalies dont je fais partie).
Récemment, le groupe officiel de samaa’ de la Tariqa Qadiriya Boutchichiya a diffusé une nouvelle œuvre musicale sur la plateforme Youtube et sur les réseaux sociaux. Il s’agit d’une version polyphonique a cappella du poème ‘’La Petite Al Buraqiya’’ (Al Bouraqiya As-soughra), ce poème de louange (Qasida madhiyya) sur Sidi Mohammad, le meilleur des cheminants, le bien-aimé, le vertueux, écrit par le poète soufi marocain Ayoub Belmekki Al Fassi (ou Al Makki Al Fassi) au 19ème siècle J.C.
J’affectionne particulièrement ce poème pour la beauté du texte et la langue utilis��e. Il s’agit ici de ‘’malhoun’’, poésie chantée écrite en arabe dialectal marocain, dont le sujet peut être aussi bien religieux que profane, voire même frivole, traitant de divers sujets de société. Il appelé aussi zajal en langue arabe de l’époque d’Al-Andalus. Le malhoun est considéré comme de la musique populaire, il s’inspire énormément de la musique arabo-andalouse, notamment pour le système musical et la liberté d’improvisation accordée aux musiciens. Quand au texte, la langue arabe est une langue chantante et imagée, rythmée et rimée, avec un vocabulaire riche, lyrique, transfigurative, à mille nuances, à même de transmettre le sens et la sensibilité du propos, et de provoquer l’émotion de l’auditeur.
Je reprends ici une description de la poésie arabe par la musicologue Amina Alaoui : « Si la poésie déclamée exalte la joie de l’auditeur par la justesse et la précision d’une belle formule, imaginez-la soutenue en musique par la voix, c’est l’extase, le tarab en arabe, une vibration émotionnelle intense et imprévisible qui surgit des profondeurs de l’âme au moment où l’on écoute le chant, et où le chanteur est face au défi de l’émotion et de l’inexploré. » (in Cairn). Et je ne peux empêcher mes larmes de perler sur mon visage en écoutant ces paroles, cet aimé a ravi mes sens et a déchiqueté mes entrailles d’amour.
Tout d’abord, au niveau musical, J’ai été agréablement surprise par cette œuvre. Le ton de la production artistique apparaît clairement dès les premières notes : tout sera placé sous le signe de la polyphonie.
Le volume sonore du chœur de l’ensemble des chanteurs monte crescendo, sur des tonalités graves et mi-aiguës et en remplissant progressivement l’espace musical, tel une litanie des saints, psalmodiée par un chœur grégorien ; pour aboutir à deux mouvements musicaux :
Le premier est exécuté par l’ensemble en mode polyphonique et presque à mezza voce ; on entend des mélodies différentes se juxtaposer pour produire un ensemble sonore surprenant au premier abord. En effet, la musique arabe (de manière générale), s’appuie sur un système d’homophonie, où, généralement, les voix (et les instruments) chantent à l’unisson les mêmes mélodies.
L’ensemble restera mezza voce pour dévoiler une première voix soliste, au timbre fin et doux, psalmodiant un vers de saluts et de bénédictions sur Taha, le Cavalier d’Al-Buraq, l’inestimable Trésor et Capital, avec élégance et sobriété, une sorte de mawwal chanté (un solo non mesuré), un peu à la manière de Al Jalala (la formule d’unicité psalmodiée en général pendant les séances de dhikr). Un sentiment d’apaisement me saisit à ce moment. Cette force tranquille me fait oublier le contexte actuel et me rappelle que l’amour du seigneur des humains est bien ancré dans mon cœur.
Le deuxième mouvement est lancé quand le volume sonore augmente. Une ligne homophonique mezzo forte apparaît au 1er plan et nous chante le refrain (qui est en général le début de la chanson, utilisé comme refrain dans ce type de musique). Il y a là un déluge de virtuosité, de puissance sonore et d’harmonie. Chaque voix brode un motif qui complète cette œuvre d’art à plusieurs mains, pour offrir une nouvelle tenue d’apparat, faite de brocart et de mousseline, à l’auditeur attentif capable d’en comprendre le sens.
Commence alors le ballet des solistes au milieu de cette polyphonie sonore, chacun avec un timbre différent, du plus doux au plus chaud et puissant ; avec des registres différents, du plus grave au plus aigu. Chaque couplet est interprété de manière personnalisée, avec toute la liberté que la musique arabe donne à l’improvisation, en y apportant autant d’ornementations et d’embellissements que nécessaire. Chaque voix soliste est entourée de couches successives de voix qui l’enjolivent et la mettent en valeur. Tous scandent l’apparition de la Lune, ce pur à l’éthique irréprochable.
Le résultat est une ode d’amour à l’Essence de l’Existence, un parfait délice pour les oreilles musicales, aussi bien pour les puristes, que pour les adeptes de fusion des influences. Ils argueront volontiers que les fausses notes font légion dans ce morceau. Je le concède mais je rappelle que le concept de fausses notes doit rester associé à la musique savante uniquement, ces petites faussetés d’exécution font le charme de toute musique populaire. C’est une aubaine exquise pour une oreille tiraillée entre son amour pour la musique arabe et sa passion pour la musique occidentale.
La production artistique a joué le rôle de chef d’orchestre dans cet ouvrage ; on devine la masse gigantesque d’heures de travail passées à répéter, enregistrer, réenregistrer, découper, mixer, harmoniser l’ensemble, à distance les uns des autres. La sobriété du graphisme de la vidéo ajoute un cachet élégant et raffiné à cette œuvre authentique.
Cela me rappelle la qualité spirituelle et musicale des enregistrements fabuleux de Feu Sidi Hamza Shakkur avec son alter ego Sidi Jalaluddine Julien Weiss (L'Ensemble Al Kindi). Il y a là de la matière spirituelle, de la musique savante et populaire orchestrée avec beaucoup de goût (que ce soit avec ou sans instruments, même si je considère la voix comme le plus puissant instrument musical, capable d’interpréter des émotions sans intermédiation technique), une interprétation brillante et inspirée du chanteur musammi’ qui emploie pleinement le madad (soutien spirituel) de son maître éducateur (cheikh morabbi) détenteur du secret d’éducation (Siir) et ses connaissances musicales pour déclarer sa flamme.
Pour l’aspirant mutassawwif (disciple soufi), l'osmose entre la musique et le poème est tangible dans cette œuvre. Le travail musical a permis de mettre en valeur la puissance spirituelle du poème et la beauté des mots de cette déclaration d'amour, tout en produisant l’effet attendu du samaa’ (de la réceptivité spirituelle, des émotions extatiques, une ivresse spirituelle qui aboutit à l’extinction dans la présence divine).
En effet, le samaa’ est porteur de sens spirituels (ma’aani) et de significations subtiles qui facilitent la compréhension de concepts soufis. Il contient des messages éducationnels subtils qui ne peuvent être compris et goûtés que par des cheminants sur la Voie. C’est la parole des gens d’Allah Le Protecteur et Le Monarque qui ont suivi ce chemin d’initiation spirituelle et qui ont produit une littérature riche par inspiration divine, afin de décrire leur expérience intime de proximité divine et leurs états spirituels.
Corollaire du Dhikr qui constitue le pilier et l’identité spirituelle des confréries soufies, le samaa’ est une porte vers la Connaissance divine ; ses effets curatifs sur le cœur du disciple cheminant sont visibles, la fonction cognitive du samaa’ étant indéniable.
Quant à son impact psychologique et énergétique, il est juste de constater son effet positif sur le cerveau humain. Il produit ce qu’on appelle généralement un état de nachatt (de l’entrain et du dynamisme). Ne dit-on pas que la musique est la nourriture de l’âme ?
Pour Mawlana J. Rumi, la fonction idéale du samaa’ est de conduire l’âme jusqu’au septième ciel :
Bien que le faîte du septième ciel soit élevé,
L’échelle du samaa’ passe par-dessus son toit.
(In Divân-e Shams)
Pour ma part, je vois cette œuvre magnifique comme un fruit de la science du tassawwuf, qui est la station de l’excellence dans la foi et le comportement (cf. le hadith dit de Jibril).
Tous les bons ingrédients y sont :
Une intention sincère et pure (niyya), uniquement pour la Face de Dieu, le Grand Créateur, l´Omniscient.
Une supplique d’amour au gracieux Rédempteur et un hommage au Paraclet qui nous fera accéder à la Proximité par son intercession.
Un projet pour permettre aux auditeurs d’apprécier la beauté du morceau et d’en saisir les sens spirituels.
Un dévouement dans son exécution (ikhlass).
Une fidélité au pacte (‘ahd) qui lie le disciple à son maître éducateur, par lequel on le reconnaît en tant que médecin traitant, qui le guérit de toutes ses affections de cœur.
Une symbiose parfaite entre chanteurs qui reflète la réussite du modèle éducationnel basé sur l’abondance du dhikr et le compagnonnage (As-suhba). Ce modèle éducationnel a pour objectif la purification des âmes (tazkiyat an-nufuss), et pour y arriver, le disciple doit suivre le modèle de son maître éducateur spirituel et revêtir ses nobles qualités afin de transformer son cœur et son comportement.
Puissiez-vous vous abriter sous l’Arbre de la réunion spirituelle à Madagh, sous le règne d’Al Jamal,
Puissiez-vous boire de ce Bassin dont l’eau étanche la soif éternellement,
Puissiez-vous suivre la bannière du Cavalier couronné.
Qu’Il soit béni autant que de fois que de mots dans le Livre,
Autant que le nombre de ses lecteurs, autant que les habitants de tous horizons,
Autant que le nombre de ceux qui foulent le sol de la Terre,
Autant que les éclairs qui zèbrent le ciel et les étoiles qui brillent dans le crépuscule.
Gloire, pureté et louanges à Allah, Celui qui a établi les ténèbres et la lumière.
Planète soufie, 28 mai 2020
#tkb#tqb#sidijamal#sidihamza#madagh#alburaqiya#dikhr#Soufisme#tassawwuf#islam#guidance#al buraq#malhun#groupe officiel de la tariqa qadirya boutchichiya#rumi#ihssan#ikhlass#niyya#Samaa#samaa'#samaa' chants soufis#beaute#amour#music#musique#musique soufie#chantsoufis#poemessoufis#poesie soufie#poeme soufi
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im not including the well known ones like miralda cause it would tank the results. go forth and vote.
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Your good deeds won’t guarantee you Paradise. So don’t become complacent. There’s no such thing as auto-acceptance from the Almighty. With social media, things get tricky. Are you doing it for Him or for the likes & accolades from people? Examine your heart. Purify your intent.
#mufti ismail menk#muftimenk#muftimenk mufti ismail menk#mufti menk quote#mufti menk#niyya#intention#purify your heart#ikhlas#social media#good deeds#hasanat
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Reminder: Mending Your Intentions 🗣
So my brothers! Focus on mending your intentions (islāḥ al-niyya) and refrain from showing-off to people, and let your main pillar (of support) be straight with Allāh. This was how the salaf gained elevation and fortune.
[Book: Captured Thoughts by al-Ḥāfiẓ Abū'l-Faraj Ibn al-Jawzī, p. 569 | Translated from the Original Arabic | Dār as-Sunnah Publishers]
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Mending Your Intentions
So my brothers! Focus on mending your intentions (islāḥ al-niyya) and refrain from showing-off to people, and let your main pillar (of support) be straight with Allāh. This was how the salaf gained elevation and fortune.
[Book: Captured Thoughts by al-Ḥāfiẓ Abū'l-Faraj Ibn al-Jawzī, p. 569 | Translated from the Original Arabic | Dār as-Sunnah Publishers]
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'Kira Ga MUTANENMU👇 ...Bisa Dukkan Alamu Dai Wannan Emefelen Abin Nan Da Yayi Niyya Sai Ya Tabbatar Da Shi(Ba Fashi) Na Daina Kar6ar Wadannan Kudaden(200, 500, 1000) Daga 31 Ga Wannan Watan, Saboda Ya Samu Mummunan 'Daurin Gindi Daga 01 Mai 'Kasa. Saboda Haka Muke Shawarartar Al'ummarmu Da Cewa; Fad'an Da Yafi 'Karfinka, Mai Da Shi Wasa Shi Yafi, Mu Yi Kokari Mu Yiwa Takardun Kudadenmu Dake Bankade(Hannayenmu) 'Kiranye Zuwa Bankuna a Narka Mana Su Zuwa Lambobi Tun Wuri, Zuwa Bayan Lafawar 'Kurar Mu Gani, Don Gudun Asara, Da Aikin Da-Na-Sani. Muna Fada Muku Haka Ne; Don Kar Tarihi Ya Maimaita Kansa, Abinda Ya Faru a 1983, Ya Sake Faruwa 2023, Wanda Yayi Wancan 'Din Dai, Shi Ne Har Yanzu, Shi Ne Dai...! In Kunne Ya Ji.......👏 Kuma a Isar Da Sakon Nan Ga Dattijai Da Mutan 'Kauye Wadanda Basa Ta'ammuli Da Kafofin Sadarwa, Don Su Gaggauta 'Daukar Matakin Da Ya Dace. ALLAH Ya 'Kara Kiyaye Mu Daga Asara, Da Aikin Da-Na-Sani, Don Albarkar SHUGABA(S.A.W)❣️🙏🙏 https://www.instagram.com/p/CnfMFkgIxNW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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