Peace, one and all…
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about identity of late. In years gone by, identity was an important issue for me. I was concerned with finding my own identity – who I was and where I fitted in to this complex and often confusing world.
During my life, my understanding of that identity, my place, has shifted in all sorts of ways. There was a time when I felt almost identity-less, as though there was no where I belonged to. This sense of inner isolation, inner rootlessness, is principally what led me to search for my own answers.
My interest in and study of, history began as a child. Due to the pressures of my life then, I often found myself drifting into the past – simply because it showed me diversity. By looking at history, I saw that life could exist in a dizzying variety of forms and cultures. I saw also that I could choose a place for myself amongst this breadth.
Moreover, as a young teenager, I didn’t really have a strong sense of my own personal or cultural identity. This drew me towards others that did, or at least those that appeared to have such a strong conception. Looking back, this explains much of my fascination with Black music and culture. I benefitted greatly from this association. In point of fact, beyond the influence of my parents, Black culture (in all its diversity) has taught me some of my most cherished lessons. Praise be to God, in every condition and state, for each blessing that Hu has bestowed.
I strove to soak up this rich and long-lived heritage, as expressed primarily through 80s and 90s Hip Hop. This exposed me to my first taste of Islam as a revolutionary and subversive force. Even then, though, there were areas into which I could not step. Though it seems obvious to say so, I am not black and so will never know what it means to be a black man. Thus, although I felt myself drawn towards the Nation of Islam (primarily because it did seem to be so revolutionary and subversive), I was always aware of a real limit – that sense of feeling excluded by virtue of one aspect of my own identity (namely, white skin).
This led me to search for my own identity in other places, and in other ways. I explored my own cultural heritage and history, taking a particular interest at the time in the Anglo-Saxon tribes. I also began to read more widely about Rome and Greece, Egypt and Asia.
For many years as a Muslim, I struggled to come to terms with my own identity. Despite my fervent belief in Islam, I still felt uncertain of myself. Perhaps this is why I flirted (albeit briefly) with a number of more externalised (and externalising) trends within Islamic thought?
A couple of years ago, however, I suddenly realised (in the very core of my being) that I was utterly tired of defending other people’s conceptions of me, and how I was supposed to think and act. I realised that I just didn’t care about such things any more. I now understand this more clearly as the moment (in a strictly imaginal sense) in which I ‘met’ Mevlana (I have written of this experience elsewhere). I can only describe the feeling as being drawn slowly across a threshold, and discovering in wide-eyed wonder just how little of all those external trappings mattered. That is, I began to experience my self; I began at last to meet me.
I now know who I am and though there is a long way to go, I am not afraid. I know I am a Muslim, from head to toe and though this doesn’t mean that I am sinless (Ya Allah! Ya Khabir! You know the truth), it does mean that I know that this life is mine. This is why my Muslim name is aspirational, as well as being an identity. It is about as close a rendering of my hidden, word-less name as I can offer with this faltering tongue of mine.
Having experienced myself, all I want to do now is to experience others. This is why I write this blog, and why I do all that I do. It is why I am completely unafraid of visiting other places of worship and acknowledging the honour in which they are held. My mother used to say to us when we were children: ‘any house of God is a house of God’.
So, in concluding, let me thank all of those who have helped me along the path, all those who have taught me something. There have been many: some I have met in the flesh and others I have not. Still, I have benefitted from them and for that I am deeply thankful. Imam Ali (may God ennoble his countenance) said:
‘I am the slave of he who teaches me a single letter of the alphabet’
So, here I am – at your service.
(Labbayk wa sa`adayk)
Most of all, here I am at Your service Beloved.
Labbayk Allahumma Labbayk.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
