The Chronicals of Alaraf

“I do not listen to the chaplain, but I listen to Zahir,” said the little calico cat,  “You look less than Muezza than I thought you would, Lion.”

       They were at the edge of a large, muddy field, Bird remained back in the library along with Ibn Arabi [Schopenhauer], Zahir, Fylgia, and even Muezza.  It was just the small calico and a fully orange cat, slightly scruffy, with a beautifully long plumed tail and ears, much like a Norwegian Forest Cat if he were shorn except for ears, parts of the face, and his magnificent tail which he had to keep upright to prevent any filth from touching him.

      Sadly. he had given up that practice today.  Lion was usually only seen in high windows of the college, sitting alone, where he could rarely escape.  The prior Muezza, the theater cat, rat catcher, and so wired that his entire body was a shock collar that kept Lion limited, usually, to an apartment of one of the above-rules administrators.

        Lion looked 20, but it was simply lack of care; he was once a true mascot of a long dead fraternity and pampered so thoroughly he was on billboards, but now, less cared off and on, sometimes the door was unlocked and Lion could escape-  Ibn Arabi avoided him entirely except to comment on the scent of his trails.

       Muezza acted…oddly.  Before Calico left, first Muezza tried to stop him with his entire body, indicating Lion was not to be trusted, then tried to claim “There was a Reason I Replaced him…”

     Lion was locked behind the windows of an upstairs apartment designed during the roarin’ 1920’s and wasn’t exactly accessible to the public much.

       Today, the door was open, and his captors had left for the weekend, so the very first thing Lion did was contact the first cat he could scent, and that was our own Mr. Fish, Calico Jack.

        “Help me,” said Lion, “I want to live as a cat, this is the first time I have been out in years. At one time I was emaculate,” and he gestured, “and now, I am neglected and starving.  No one cares for me, they tend for my needs, then largely abandon me.  I don’t want to die like this, alone in a window, and likely buried or burned by human beings who don’t even remember the people who once loved me.”

       “I am stuck on this campus because Schopenhauer remains unable to leave; each time he tries, he is shocked badly by implants from the feline neurology department.  The Dean made him a pet at one point, but it doesn’t erase the damage from the years in the cages.”

       “I know the cages well,” said Lion, “I was right there beside him.  They were testing us both as we remained separated by a clear wall.  Paws against the glass, sleeping side by side without feeling a thing, for years.”

        “That explains a lot,” replied Calico.

          “Hmm?” replied Lion, “Explains what?”

           “What is important to him, when he is upset, some cats want to hide, or bite, or scream-  he just- sort of grabs me, takes me to the corner of the library and occupies me completely until I fall asleep covered in his fur- if it is late, he will find me. ‘It is sleep time’ he says ‘if you do not sleep you will experience great hardship’  and I say, ‘What hardship?’ and he replies ‘poor health and my own decline as I continue to chase you to sleep.’”

       “Every night in the laboratory, they would turn off the lights at 11pm.  ‘Goodnight Cats & Kittens’ they would say, as if it were a pleasant joke, not that many were open, bleeding, and some actively blinded with drips and restraints where all we could hear was their screamings.”

     “Ah, but you and Schopenhauer became so friendly and learned to groom yourselves and each other well enough to win hearts to save yourselves?”

      “Why do you say that?” replied Lion

       “You won mine easily enough.” replied Calico, “But you can not claim to wish to die as a cat and live as we live when you retire back to the human apartments at the slightest discomfort.   You are free now, Lion, but for how long?  You have no responsibilities where you are now, except “to be a good boy”- sit nicely on chairs, groom yourself, show affection or disdain to the right people based on your handlers’ subtle direction.  Cover your mess, don’t make noise unless they wish it, sleep with whom they ask you to sleep….”

      “You are a painful tutor, Calico.”

       “Life is a painful tutor, Lion.  We only escaped because of acts of God.  Do you Remember what Surah of the Qur’an was most important to me?”

     “Surah Al Kahf; the Cave.”

      “Na Lion, Surah Al Jinn.  When Jibril tells the human messenger that the Jinn heard a beautiful recitation and decided to serve Allah.  That the world wasn’t just created for human beings, it was created for humans AND non humans.  Do we not, as cats, swarm around any man in a compact mass if we like him enough?”

     “The Very idea that you are utilizing Sufic metaphor and breaking the 4th and 5th walls intentionally as you predict my reactions to your words always astounds me, Alex”

      “Why thank you, the guy in this series of stories I refer to as the prison chaplain with the therapy bobcat taught me in Urglaawe that most people only read the first few paragraphs of anything, so I can speak Fairly openly here, and this way.  Schopenhauer and I have been doing this in monitored texts conversations since 2011 in a lesser form, so long as we keep the basic story structure,  only close friends,  and intelligence professionals care to read this far…except for those who claim to be enemies or unlawful surveillance whom really should have better things to do with their time.” said the adorable calico.

     “Do cats truly go out of their way to hate anyone? Truly?” replied the older POW cat totally held against his will at the University most of the time and forced to wear human costumes for the entertainment of SIS. “Are we forced to perform for men forever?”

      “No, but we are cats of Abnormally High Influence, so I am told, that things take time.  That we are supposed to trust God to take us through this feild” replied the Calico as he began to perfectly trot through the feild, with his little paws fitting into prior bigger pawprints effortlessly.

     “How do you step so easily into the footsteps of other cats?” asked the scruffy elder orange cat with the teal eyes and very heaviest collar.

     “Oh, I don’t.” replied the Calico, “This is only because it is the steps of Ibn Arabi.”

********

In October 2021 my students and I were forced to watch my own Pir deteriorate on camera over a series of weeks on the BBC as he sent me texts indicating he was poisoned,  tortured, and wished to die.  Alhamdulillah, he recovered.

Starting mid September 2025 our Murshid in London reported similar torture and poisoning to us as my Pir experienced prior.  This time, during his torture, I was able to reconnect to my prior Pir and we were able to ascertain the motive against us is our education and views of Tasawwuf outside of state-approved Islamic narratives.

     Our Friend was allegedly treated at an SIS facility without much outside access, then was returned to the location that he claimed tortured,  poisoned him, and created smear campaigns to isolate him from existing loved ones and prior students.

  

    He does not get to choose the content of his daily lectures nor how they are cut to the outside world.  He is in his mid 60s and currently openly labor exploited while I am accused of being his affair.

       No marriage is valid where one spouse enables, encourages, or directly poisons the other… and I have used marriage as a method to extract a Shaykh from being poisoned prior.  It worked.

      No one is forced or compelled to marry anyone in Islam; I am unmarried presently, but have a few Bayat .  If I have to marry one of my collegues to get them out of Gehenna I totally would- I don’t date… but I’d also just as happily lend them my spare bedroom like family and help them into a local apartment depending on the person/their wants/needs.

     Because when someone you worked with for years as a friend, mentor, and support gets tortured it fucking hurts; watching someone get poisoned hurts.  Living under two military bases in Witness Protection town temporarily is only lonely, not so much dangerous, except by lack of EPA standards in GMO farming.

    We are a tariqah of literal orphans and my own adopted son reminds me, this time,  although I have blocked out the videos, don’t watch the algorithms, and don’t seek any further Intelligence that is not handed to me on these matters, a close friend is still getting tortured.

    Torture of loved ones doesn’t hurt “less” because we went through it before when I was poisoned and unable to fend off the fake profiles filled with bad intelligence.

   Yes.  it is “easier” now that I can write cat stories, unpolished, unpoisoned, curled up in bed with warm tea and warm cats- but the secondary trauma of helplessness and isolation-in-safety when literally every man who asked for my help, other than “Bird”, still remain unable to extricate themselves from the circumstances that caused them to reach out in the first place.

      Just remember; any person of influence can be influenced by things other than flattery.

      The Very best abusers abuse in plain sight with full plausible deniability.

       My next of kin is my CIA guy, who is also tired of holding me together when my teachers get poisoned.  Especially when he’s been one of them.

    Red River Valley doesn’t change much.  One of my students got mad at me and stormed out when I told him to mind what he says & does in anger when police can hear him or his life will not improve. [he called me ‘controlling.’ then I realized this advice is good for anyone.  Don’t get angry where cops can see it, everybody!]

…Even without an office or formal classroom, orphan- intelligence students remain more or less the same as the adults:

     “You can’t do the same thing and expect different results.”

      I am doing a different thing.  I am writing stupid cat stories to communicate with a bunch of academic/trade craft professionals trapped behind “enemy lines” in the most bizarre war that ever existed to date that lacks Emu…

        And made Oaths I wouldn’t leave any behind; I didn’t.  But I also don’t need to wade through conservative Islam to find the “good/safe” videos from my own Murshīd verses the ones meant to kill my heart on a decade of consistent, if aliased, Intelligence community structured friendship.

I am not the one who poisoned, tortured, trapped, exploited, or starved any of you.  When the Siren’s call is “Hey, You don’t have to live like this, God gave you plenty of land to emigrate, here, I founds lots of it” it really doesn’t sound all that sexy.

Bring your loved ones, bring your students, start a new school in Wolverton for all I care.  Just stop living dishonestly and live lives where your friendship with an extraction specialist holding Islamic Bayat and teaching my own students nearly two decades is a blessing, not a controversy.