Sometimes we are given exactly what we ask for, as soon as we have asked for it. In such moments, the real question becomes: are we able to see our prayer arrive? Are we able to see it manifest before us? Are our eyes open fully enough to perceive such gifts aright?
God is subtle beyond all understanding, and sometimes that subtlety is hidden in plain sight. So it is that as I travelled to work this morning, I found myself asking God to show me a little of His Divine Oneness, some small token that would reveal His presence in each new thing. A little further down the carriage of my train, a small group of teenagers were noisily engaged in all the loud business of their tender years – laughing, joing and playing around. I found myself distracted by them, finding a flash of annoyance within at their disturbance of the morning quiet. And yet, praise be to God, this faded into the background, as I peered out of the window, writing a short poem and prayer.
As we neared our destination, I finished my writing and headed towards the train door. As I stood there, the three teenagers stood in front of me. As I looked at them, I saw that the tallest (and truth be told, the noisiest) had a large crucifix tattooed upon his forearm. Looking more closely, I could make out the words ‘Only God’ inscribed beautifully upon his youthful flesh. Seeing these words, my eyes widened and I was momentarily lifted from my workaday self: there, before my very eyes, literally written upon his flesh, was the living truth, a sign of the unity that lies behind all our strange diversity. Behind all our differences, there is ‘only God’. After the sword of la, there is only illa Allah!
Let me close by sharing some words of Mevlana:
‘Love is that flame which, when it blazes up,
burns away everything except the Subsistent Beloved.
It drives home the sword of la* in order to slay other than God.
Look closely – after la what remains?
What remains is ‘but God’, the rest has gone.
Bravo, O great, idol-burning Love;
(Masnavi 5.588-90, trans. W. Chittick)
* – This poem is a play on the central Islamic refrain of la ilaha illa Allah (‘there is no god but God’)
May this needy one’s eyes open to ‘only God’ in each new moment. May all that you do this day be blessed.
Wa akhiru da`wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen.
As I walked through a small shopping mall this morning, on my way to work, I found myself standing behind an old couple. The woman laid her had upon her husband’s shoulder, patting it gently in a simple, time-honoured gesture of affection and love. It was such a simple and yet heartfelt gesture that I felt it lift me from myself for a moment.
Seeing this, I realised jusy how much love passes between and among us, almost unnoticed. ‘A blessing!’, I heard a voice within me say. And, as I looked around me, in the light of this new moment, I could see all manner of such small gestures, like tiny bearers of fragile love-gifts. An old woman talked warmly with her friend. A mother and father gently pushed their child’s pram. Two security guards stood together in the sunshine, quietly building a friendship together. As I contemplated this moment, these words of Mevlana came to me:
‘The gifts of lovers to one another are,
in respect to love, nothing but forms;
yet, they testify to an invisible love’
(1.2625-27)
As I write these words I am left with a feeling of peace and of hope. The world we all live in turns slowly towards its own moment of decision, and yet…
And yet, quietly, unobstrusively, just beneath the visible horizon, love is moving, breathing, living. The light of love is leaping silently from heart to heart, and dancing invisibly from eye to eye. Love is stealthily going about its business, like a thief in the night. And, where love goes, there too goes hope, and peace and a blessing – a blessing of possibility, that we do have a chance to turn this world around.
Wa akhiru da`wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen…
In a sense, meanings are indelibly human, insofar as it is we who assign meaning and value to the things around us. We find meaning in the universe. We assign value to it. And yet, we ourselves are a product of this universe. We are, as Carl Sagan put it, ‘made of star stuff’. We are indeed: ‘a way for the cosmos to know itself’.
So, our meanings exist within us, and thus within the wider cosmos. Indeed, we are a universe – a physical universe adorned with the gift of consciousness. We are the univese made conscious. We are a gateway between heaven and earth, a place for the manifestation of wonders! God says in His book:
‘And He taught Adam the Names, all of them’ (2:31)
And elsewhere, Hu says:
‘We shall show them our signs in the horizons and within themselves…’ (41:53)
We live in interesting times, it seems. Patterns are shifting and changing, and the world moves towards a great turning point. As we draw nearer to this moment of decision, we all feel the strain. I know that I do. But, as I travelled to work this morning, a calming truth emerged from deep within.
If the light were truly gone, then the end of all things would already have come. If the light had truly gone, then no one on earth would speak of love and truth and mercy; no one would strive to swim against the tides of our times. No, the light does not fade, nor is it ever diminished. It is we who turn away and we who close our own eyes.
Allah says in the Quran:
‘Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves’ (13:11)
There is hope in these words. There is life in these words. A change in our attitudes, orientations and priorities can only come from within. We are called in these days of ours to look inside ourselves with Truth, bi al-Haqq, that a way forward might be shown therein.
May every eye and every heart open. May a new dawn emerge. Ya Nur!
We are always travelling, from place to place and from state to state. ’Die before you die’, says beloved Mustafa (alaihi al-salatu wa al-salam): travel to that place of stillness before a greater ending overtakes you. But, death is not an end, nor is stillness truly without movement. For when we die, we merge once more into the totality of all things and when are are stilled, deeper spaces open out before us.
‘Be in this world as though you were a traveller or a wayfarer’, says Habib Allah (alaihi al-salatu wa al-salam). In all truth, this is what we are, travellers forever returning home, atoms of dust forever swirling around the Sun of All Being.
‘Indeed, in the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the alternation of the night and the day are signs for those of understanding’ (3:190)
One of the most pleasurable aspects of Spring is being able to pray in my garden. After zuhr prayer this afternoon, I sat on the lawn (such as it is), taking pleasure in just sitting there amidst the peace and stillness. I was simply breathing, not thinking of anything in particular – a rare thing in itself.
As I sat there, I found my eyes drawn to a small plant, swaying gently in the breeze, with shadows dancing playfully on the tiny green leaves. I gradually became aware of a thought bubbling up from somewhere deep inside: the constant dance of light and shade is slowly nurturing this fragile plant. If there were too much sunlight, the plant would be exhausted before it had had a chance to fully mature. If there were too much shade, the plant would never grown forth from its seed. As I sat there, I suddenly realised that both light and shade are each, in their turn, an expression of mercy. Indeed, it is precisely this subtle balancing of energies that expresses this mercy most completely.
Interestingly, the following Quranic verses came to mind as these thoughts whirled around in my head:
‘He has raised up the sky. He has set the balance so that you may not exceed in the balance: weigh with justice and do not fall short in the balance’ (Surah al-Rahman, or the Chapter of the All-Merciful, 55:7-9; translated by M A S Abdel Haleem)
The balance (al-Mizan in Arabic) is thus established through and maintained by, justice (the word used in this context is qist). The root from which qist is derived conveys notions of equity, fairness, justice, fair distribution, correctness, balance and scale (source), all of which seem particularly relevant.
More broadly, the Islamic tradition understands justice as the ability to put things in their proper place, in the correct proportions, at the proper time. The balance of justice, which upholds all things, is thus exquisitely proportioned Divine mercy. It is God’s rahma (‘mercy’) that bestows the necessary energies for growth and transformation – in just the right amount, at just the right moment. That these verses should form a part of Surah al-Rahman is no coincidence it seems. Firstly, the entire chapter calls us to reflect deeply on the natural world, and the Divine Reality (Haqq) upholding it.
Secondly, the central refrain of this chapter runs thus: ‘Which, then, of your Lord’s blessings do you both deny?’ (first occurring in 55:13, and then throughout). In other words, we are called to respond to the natural world, and the One sustaining it. And, the appropriate response to this finely balanced mercy can only be gratitude. Thankfulness (shukr in Arabic) is the essential key by which these meanings are unlocked. Moreover, if we cannot deny this deeply embedded balance and appropriateness, we should therefore strive to embody it, to become it. Reflecting on the natural world is thus to reflect on God’s own ‘adab‘, so to speak. We are thus taught, albeit implicitly, to model this divine adab, to let it fill us and become us, all the while realising that it is God’s own action within us that makes such human balance possible.
al-Rahman, meaning approximately ‘the All-Merciful’, or ‘the Compassionate’, is one of the most important Divine Names. Interestingly, the surah begins with the proportion inherent in our own creation:
‘al-Rahman, taught the Quran, created man, and taught him eloquence’ (55:1-4)
The anfas al-Rahman (or ‘Breath of the All-Merciful’) is the life-giving spirit which causes all things to exist. The Prophet (alaihi al-salatu wa al-salam) said: ‘Do not curse the wind, for it derives from the Breath of the All-Merciful’ (quoted in William Chittick’s The Sufi Path of Knowledge, p.127).
If this is so in the physical world, it is also true in the spiritual world. Light and shade, ‘good’ and ‘bad’, are for our own inward growth, so that the rose-bush of the soul might also become like this small leaf. In the past, I imagined the darkness as a subversion of the universal order, but now I see that both are necessary. Both light and shadow are God-given; perhaps this is because duality is a necessary part of the physical universe. But, as I am learning, this duality is only apparent: it is only our limited perception that sees this way, dividing what is in fact an indivisible whole. In reality, this duality is an expression of a deeper unity – light and shade, and every other pairing of opposites, come from God, and both are held in exquisite balance by overflowing, transcendent rahma. Perhaps this is why, at this weekend’s retreat, as we spoke of the Divine Nameal-Nur(the Light), I realised that this is not merely physical light, but the light of all things that shines in amidst the deepest ‘night’ of this world.
Here is a beautiful rendition of this wonderful surah, with accompanying text.
Surah al-Rahman, recited by al-Ghamdi
In closing, let me offer a beautiful quatrain of Mevlana, appropriately from this weekend’s Threshold Society retreat.
‘I am a mountain echoing the Friend.
I am a picture painted by the Beloved.
I am just a lock, but you hear His key turning.
Do you think any of these words are mine?’
(Quatrain 207, trans. Shaykh Kabir Helminski)
Eid Mubarak! My family and I have just returned from my in-laws just outside London, where we spent a lovely Eid weekend. Praise be to God in every condition and state. It was lovely to be able to celebrate this blessed day with family.
As Eid fell on a Friday this year, I went to the local mosque twice: once for the special Eid prayer in the morning and again for the regular Friday prayer at 1:30pm. As I listened to the Mu’adhdhin (prayer caller) offering the adhan (the call to prayer), I had a sudden insight. Tradition dictates that as the prayer caller recites each part of the adhan the congregation quietly repeats each phrase to themselves. So, when he recites ‘I testify that there is no god but God’, the assembled congregation repeat the phrase to themselves. However, when the prayer caller recites ‘Come to prayer!’ and ‘Come to success!’, tradition directs us to intone: ‘there is no power or might except with God’ (la hawla wa la quwwata illa billah).
Quite why this specific phrase should be said at this specific moment has long intrigued me. At any rate, as I was listening I had a sudden insight into why, though of course Allah knows best (Allahu A`lam). These phrases require our active response; that is they ask us to act. Whilst the other elements of the call to prayer ask us to affirm a metaphysical reality, these two phrases direct us to respond. La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah is an appropriate phrase in such a context because it underlines the fact that true agency rests only with the Divine. As human beings we only a very limited, derivative ability to act. We possess no intrinsic power of our own, we merely borrow it from God, for a short time. The power to do things, either good or bad, is merely lent to us.
I find this particularly important where specifically religious acts are concerned. We are often apt to forget that our acts of religious devotion are in themselves a gift to us from God. Moreover, we can also sometimes feel a certain sense of misplaced pride whenever we perform a supposedly ‘religious’ act: ‘look at how religious I am!’ I have certainly fallen into this trap myself in the past. Indeed, I still do at times, I am sure. Being reminded of my utter dependence, even as regards my ‘own’ acts, is a useful corrective to this kind of unhelpful attitude.
I am reminded of some powerful verses in the Quran, from Surah al-Insan (the Chapter of Humankind – surely an important ‘coincidence’):
‘Indeed, this is a reminder, so he who wills may take to his Lord a way. And you do not will except that Allah wills. Indeed, Allah is ever Knowing and Wise’ (77:29-30; source; see also 74:53-56 and 57:23)
Here is a beautiful example of the call to prayer, with accompanying text.
There is but one Way. There is but one Truth. And yet, the means by which this way, this truth, is realised are as numberless as the grains of sand upon the shore. There are as many one ways as there are people to walk them. There are as many one truths as there are eyes to see, and hearts to feel.
In this realm of multiplicity, the singular, unique and living truth is filtered through all the minds, hearts and voices of creation. That is, language is a function of duality, of multiplicity, in that languages are attempts to strike a balance between personal and shared meanings. The truth itself is wordless, in that its origin lies beyond our human world. As truth descends into this realm it needs must be expressed in a given time, in a given language, in a given context. And, because each human ‘filter’ may be more or less obstructed in their ability to see and hear, so the amount of ‘pure truth’ they can perceive and express differs.
For me, this means several things. Firstly, it reminds me of my duty to listen lest I inadvertently spurn some particle of truth. Secondly, it underlines the necessity for humility. My words and ideas and meanings are limited; I do not perceive truth clearly. Therefore, others may well understand things with far greater clarity than I do. Even these words I now write are partial, limited, temporal. They mark out this moment’s attempt to understand and speak truth – they do not capture Truth Itself. Thirdly, multiplicity exists within unity, within oneness. In our own unique ways, we all attempt to express this oneness.
And may that Oneness be forever exalted.
Wa akhiru da’wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen.
I recently found myself watching the Catholic TV channel, EWTN, and as Allah willed, I tuned in to a discussion of the book of Ephesians. In particular, the presenter (an elderly priest) was discussing Ephesians 4:22-25:
‘Put off your old nature which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful lusts, and be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and put on the new nature, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness’.
This passage hit me like a thunderbolt, as if it were speaking directly to me, as though were in all truth the very voice of God moving in the deep waters of my soul. ‘I hear and obey’ is the only possible response in such situations, ‘Here I am at Your service’ (labbayk Allahumma labbayk).
A number of sayings of Imam Ali (may God ennoble his countenance) that I had then been reading feel relevant, and hence I wanted to share them here. The Imam is reported to have said:
‘He who is lowly in poverty is great in God’s sight’
And again:
‘He who is without knowledge [literally adab] is without merit’
And finally:
‘With sincerity, a man can reach the stations of the great’
May God always open me, and may all who pass by be blessed.
Life exists beyond us, out there in the world, just waiting to be seen and felt and tasted. Life exists beyond description, beyond our ability to capture and define through words. And though we might name the stars, glorying in their light, still they exist beyond us. They have their own life; they have their own purpose.
As above, so below. Thus, we are our own stars of life and meaning. Others might, for a time, glory in the light we send forth but we too have our own meanings, our own destinies, our own lives. As I am slowly discovering, a truly human being participates in that life, adding to it the unique joy of their living soul.
Life thus exists within us. The same force that moves the stars, moves within us. The same song that causes leaves to dance upon the wind, calls out to us too, inviting us to life’s strange and wonderful dance once more.
O Great and Merciful God! O Beloved Allah! Numberless are Your hidden friends. Beyond count are all those who cling to You and who love Your healing Name.
Ya Allah! I am humbled to the very core.
And my last prayer is in praise of God, Sustainer of All Being.
The beginning of knowledge draws to a close in the art of relationship. That is, intellectual reflection leads on to the realisation that our actions impinge on others, and that therefore we have an obligation before the face of others. Ethical action is both the fruit and the testing-ground of knowledge. Furthermore, knowledge and action, understood within the all-encompassing context of God, produce `ilm, or spiritually-informed praxis. Thus `ilm should guide our hand in all that we do, and in all that we seek to honour.
Because of this, honouring the ‘other’ cannot truly occur unless and until that other is allowed to present themselves and their reality, in their own way. ‘Honouring’ as a metaphor must therefore be a dialogue of contexts, as the ‘other’ context and my own come together as fully realised, independent wholes. In a sense, they must become parents to a new, mutually shared context. This move towards interdependence becomes relationship, which is to create something new, a third space of newly shared meanings.
Lover, beloved and love itself move in a never-ending relationship to one another. Sometimes I am the lover and sometimes I am the beloved. In other words, these are roles which each person, each world, must take on for the uncovering of life in all its fullness. Lover and beloved come together and a child is born to them: love itself, pure and gleaming. This child of love transforms lover and beloved, freeing them from the specificity of their assigned roles, allowing them thereby to also become love itself. Love is the child, it is also the parent, in that it guides and liberates those it touches.
I seek relationships based on equality and so I must confront issues of power and control, of inequality, both within and beyond myself. I must realise that life is not mine to conquer, to control or to own. All of us are gioven opportunities to hold the initiative for a while, until the time comes to pass it on once more. Injustice is thus an attempt to hold on to that power, that movement, beyond right and to the exclusion of others. As I am discovering, the unregenerate human soul is a slippery customer – maintaining control even as it strives to appear meek and selfless. So it is then that control is, at best, a fleeting illusion, a misunderstanding of the way things really are. Like King Canute, I stand upon life’s shore and like that king of yore, I have no control over the tides of the sea. Life obeys its own laws, and not my imaginings. The world marches to a different drum altogether: la hawla wa la quwwata illa bi Allah (‘there is no power or strength except in God’)
Wa akhiru da’wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen.
The fields of knowledge are wide and hidden within them are many gardens to beguile the eye and delight the mind and soul. We are charged with entering those fields, and with bringing forth a good and useful harvest. We are charged with learning, so that we might thereby become more than we are. We are charged with learning so that we might become what we are truly meant to be.
Learning is a blessing and a treasure: it is our human birthright and also a privilege, a visible sign of God’s mercy. Through knowledge we grow. Through knowledge we traverse these fields of life. And yet, when we have reached the end of the very last field, we come to another shore entirely. We are confronted there by the infinite oceans of feeling, of spirit, of love.
As I am slowly beginning to discover, knowledge is like the earth and love is like the sea. Sometimes, that sea strides to earth and snatches us away from ourselves. And sometimes, the sea carries us back to the place we began from, transforming the road ahead into a pilgrimage of love. It is as though the whole of knowledge were a billion miles wide and yet merely the first step on love’s never-ending road!
Wa akhiru da’wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen.
Self and Other are the two central pillars of the human world. Human life turns endlessly around these two opposites, as though they were the magnetic poles of human existence. And indeed, so they are, in all truth.
Human understandings of life are based on dualities, on the analysis and assimilation of opposites. At the fringes of each person’s knowledge lies an indistinct and uncertain realm, where language fails and meanings shift: however much we might learn and know, we cannot be anything other than fundamentally human. In other words, self and other only take us so far, because reality is ultimately based on another principle entirely – on overwhelming oneness, on radical wholeness. This is why human knowledge falls short, because it is based upon an incomplete understanding of the nature of things. This is also why human beings themselves mis-apprehend things, because beneath the last layer of ‘self’ and beyond the last veil of the ‘other’ lies the oneness and infinity of the Divine.
Wa akhiru da’wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen.
True freedom is not the ability to fulfill my every passing whim. True freedom is the ability to choose a course of action without compulsion. After all, God says in His glorious book: ‘there is no compulsion in religion’ (Quran 2:256). Freedom is the ability to make full and open choices, without being driven by the physical, mental, social, political, economic, religious and cultural contexts in which I live and move. True freedom is the ability to act and to accept the consequences of that act, whatever they might be.
True freedom is not therefore external. It does not come from outside of ourselves. Rather, it emerges from deep within. Nor does the existence of external law necessarily inhibit our freedom. A law is only a law if we choose to follow it. Not that law necessarily equates to compulsion (which is something I have begun to learn only recently). True law is thus guidance in our dealings with one another. That is, law (like freedom) must be put into practice if it is to live. Law must be engaged with as a living force; it cannot maintain its vigour if it is treated as merely a set of dry, poorly understood rules.
Strangely, the more I move towards freedom, the more conscious I become of my limitations, the more aware of consequences I become – especially in the inter-personal realm. I could act in that way, but actions bring questions: what are the consequences of that act: who do they affect? Who do they injure? Am I expanded or lessened by this deed?
Wa akhiru da’wana an il hamdu lillahi rabbil alameen.
Relationships are part of the essence of life. The older I get, the more fundamental I understand relationships to be. The more I learn, the more I realise just how much I can learn from the relationships I currently have, as well as those I seek to develop. I have learnt so much about myself during the past few years by simply observing myself as I relate to others. I have also learnt much by watching how others relate to me.
Every relationship I strengthen helps me strengthen my relationship with God. And, every time I strive to develop my relationship with God I learn a bit more about relating to others. In an important sense, relationships are like a dance, in which both partners move in harmony, whilst each allowing the other space within which to express their uniqueness, their individuality.
There is a relationship I hope to develop more fully, one in which a great sharing of hearts beckons. With God’s help, this relationship will blossom and flourish. But then, even if it doesn’t, the very fact of desiring such a bond has much to teach me.
May God allow me to learn every lesson He wishes to teach me. And all success comes from God.
