We do not know what we are writing, of course. We do not know whether we write or not. Are these our writings or is the whole article already determined? Do we even know what we are going to write next or how much of it?

In hurifizm, each letter is a path. Hurufism is an art that captivates souls like mathematics that is hard, and if you ask me, that is imperative and makes people happy at the end. Do not underestimate it. Another beautiful aspect of it is that no one knows how they become a hurufi. Those who know won’t tell how. I guess, hurufizm, in other words, accepting letters as paths and guides, has its own secrets just as any other science does. These secrets are hidden on their own. So, it is a secret within another.

You should go easy on a secret. A secret cannot be hurt or unveiled but a human can. Is it possible to capture the secret of letters or writings? Letting them be, sensing the secret in writing, going on your path with this pleasure… Wouldn’t that be more beautiful?

Going on a path, going on writing. You might run into similar expressions in my other articles. In this case, one should keep telling that to himself. I do not know, maybe this is a state of anxiety not to get out of the path or the writing. We do not know where the writing is going to take us, just as we do not know where the path is going to take us. The path might go on its own, so as the writing. Let them go, but do not let them forget about me! What would one do without a path or writing? The writing would go wild and the path would become remote.

Maybe, one shouldn’t pack so many things before going on a path, keep the load light, keep it good so you can be loaded slowly on the path. This path would sometimes fill one’s eyes with tears and sometimes would fill one with words. Tears open up sometimes as a hurufi alphabet and the writing wakes up from a sleep and opens up its eyes. There is path in writing, and writing in path. As if, it is crossing gardens, seas, mountains, lakes, and deserts to go up to the ninth heaven and will gain a blueness there and will be read in a blue alphabet.

Human ascribes celestial features to writing, starts a dig from earth-writing to celestial-writing. Not only paths, but also writings can be dug. Path comes to light from under once again. Path is a state of human. It is in human. Going on a path means going out in public, human goes out in human. Path, when is it? It is when you stop, when you keep thinking, when you keep writing, when you love. It does not happen all of a sudden! What would anyone not do all of a sudden, some things of course. What kind of things? What wouldn’t one do? We are talking about a human. A human’s eyes are always on path, staring at it. Not going is unacceptable. Going, leaving, returning, preparing, going again… How else would life go on? Therefore, human doesn’t stop all of a sudden. Maybe, human stops for the past, the lost ones, their memories, their words, their faces. For childhood the most. Where writing stops is where the childhood is. Where the letters stop is where the childhood is.

Childhood is the heaven of this world… Maybe, it is the only reward of coming to this world. If it wasn’t for love and childhood, why would anyone want to come to this world. If you see the world as a place of suffering, than there is no problem. Who knows, maybe, the worldly life has two sections, the first one is childhood and the second one is suffering.

We are on a path as we stop, as we write, as we think, as we keep going and coming. We write not to forget childhood, we go on a path to write, we go back to childhood to go on a path, when we go back to childhood we dive into the sea of letters to get the words out. We want to love others and ourselves through them.