I have just purged a massive project, deleting every single file and every copy on every backup disk. Gigabytes of data. Months, if not years of work.Continue reading “Sanity check”
If I have a major flaw, it’s that I can be a very impulsive person. A flaw that I thought I had under control, up until the beginning of March when I restarted medical treatment I had been neglecting for at least two years, and likely more. I knew this would happen, and it did, exactly as feared.Continue reading “An impulsive fool”
Yesterday afternoon, I tried to have a conversation with our daughter about chasing likes and followings.Continue reading “Chasing likes”
My ego says to me: “Those people broke you. Go seek revenge!”Continue reading “Conversations within”
This is the thought that shook me awake in the middle of the night: “Yes, I am such an idiot.” Then another thought: “I am living proof that your ego will always make a fool of you.”Continue reading “Such an idiot”
Look at yourself, O soul! You claim to have subdued your nafs, ahankar, your ego, but look how you perform: “Here I am, here I am, here I am!”Continue reading “Resurgent ego”
I don’t know why we travel thousands of miles to Yemen, Syria, Turkey and Pakistan to sit at the feet of a sheikh with problems of his own, thinking he will help us master our nafs, when we have the best tariqa right here, before us: marriage and raising children.Continue reading “Best tariqa”
Man must forever be vigilant to the diseases of his soul. After years of trying, it seems God enabled me to vanquish one set of sins and bad habits that had plagued and harangued me since my youth. Alhamdulilah. But into their place, unnoticed, settled another set. Rancor, the short temper, that shouting rage. All of life is a test, we forget, as our children perpetually wind us up. I am hardly reformed, it occurs to me: I have simply replaced one set of sins with another. May Allah have mercy on me. Be vigilant for your soul.
The months of November to February are always hard, their short dark days drawing a heavy melancholy down on me.Continue reading “Dark days”
Envy, I suppose, will kill the hearts of man. I see it in myself, whenever my gaze falls on what others have achieved. Really, it’s a mental illness. We shun the immense blessings we find directly under our nose, to focus on the apparition of what others have… a nice job, a big house, a life of ease. But of course we only see a snapshot of what others have. Who knows what life is like behind closed doors? Who knows the troubles which afflict them? Perhaps envy afflicts them too. And so to my dua today: asking my Lord to purify my heart, to take away my long gaze and obliterate these inner diseases of my soul. That gaze brings nothing but discontent.
I’ve written a mountain about regret the past few years, particularly through the pandemic.Continue reading “Mistakes make us”
Looking back, I realise that my shyness paralysed me. It prevented me from achieving lofty heights. Instead of encouraging me and edging me out of my shell, teachers back then simply ignored me. Looking back, I wonder how my parents allowed me to make such a mess of my final years of education, but in truth: perhaps we had both given up by then. I remember my intense self-hatred in those awkward days, as I muddled through with zero self-esteem. I never learnt those preeminent skills: to have self-confidence or self-belief. For my own adventures, I know I am a lost cause. But at least this realisation will help me support the next generation. I hope we can encourage our children to achieve starry heights of their own, despite inner reserve. I hope they will develop the self-belief I never did, and live a happy and contented life.
Yes, dear reader, you have just witnessed a full-blown nervous breakdown… a flurry of posts in quick succession, spread over twelve days, which I blame on:
- Withdrawal symptoms from taking a week off work. A sure sign I am a workaholic.
- Rejoining LinkedIn, comparing myself to others and concluding I am an utter failure.
- The dreaded coronavirus visiting our home and giving us bat hallucinations.
I think I am nearly back to normal again, so you can rest easy, certain in the knowledge that I will not start dredging over the distant past again, at least until next time. Hopefully the manic splurge is over. Hallelujah.
My ego protests: “You must be known.”
But my heart responds: “Be content with your lot.”
Yes, be content to be unknown, forgotten.
Vanquish your ego. Worship your Lord alone.
For the majority of my life, I have been driven and dominated by my lower self.
If others knew all that I have done and what I hide inside, they would disown me. I disown myself.
All I have to hold onto now is hope in the mercy of my Lord. “And who despairs of the mercy of God except one who has gone astray…”
Now my only prayer: that He forgives me, guides me and reforms my soul. This my daily prayer. Hope in His mercy, but perpetually in a state of regret, fearful that my remorse can never be enough.
Nightly I recall all I have done. Nightly I call out for His clemency. O Allah, have mercy on this wayward soul who has wronged himself and others.
O Allah, shower me in mercy, rectify for me all of my affairs and set me on a straight way.
Without the One who created me, time, the universe and every atom, all I am left with is regret.
Once more, it is the week before Ramadan, where by tradition the scheming nafs will summon ideas and plans from deep within, intent on knocking us off course. Be vigilant. Do not succumb to those whispers from within, calling us back.
For a few months we have been moderately successful in taming those nafs. Don’t squander all we have gained in submission to our private tradition. Be vigilant. For if we are not, that seed will grow into a vicious weed, corrupting our fast. Do not answer the call from deep within. Leave the nafs’ contrivances. Close the door tight. Be strong against its petitions.
O my soul, I plead you: stand strong against the scheming nafs — and my eyes, tongue, fingers, ears too. All together: vigilance. Let us not squander yet another year. Leave those ideas and plans.
It turns out that I am probably a workaholic. The blues hit me when I was not working. I often fall sick when I take a day off. Or perhaps that is too simplistic.
Perhaps joining a professionals social network heightened my feelings of inadequacy. Comparing yourself to your peers and friends of old is clearly unhealthy for mental wellbeing and a sense of self-worth.
Perhaps it was a momentary blip, caused by the stresses of lockdown, amidst the rivalries of children, the daily warfare, riots, tantrums and raised voices. Perhaps it was just cold weather and grey skies. Perhaps just whispers into my soul on a sleepless night.
Whatever it was, for now the blues have lifted. I have deleted the networking app. I have reminded myself to be grateful. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. I am learning, slowly, to let go of the past. Trying to hold a better opinion of myself.
One day I will overcome these blues.
The lies we must tell to feed our nafs. I shudder now, how my domineering nafs dominated me so completely. Numbed now, perhaps, only by minor melancholy, or an endocrine deficiency deliberately mismanaged in the pursuit of sanity. For years and years I led my own soul astray. Nightly, these recollections keep me awake. I fear my return to the One. I have failed completely. Lies upon lies upon lies. Can reform really obliterate all that went before? Can I repent enough? Can I become sincere? Can I make amends?
“He has succeeded who purifies the soul, and he has failed who corrupts the soul.”Quran 91:9-10
Ya Allah, purify my heart. Without You I am lost.
I have conversations with myself all the time, mostly in self-reproach. It is the natural order. In my writing too, I converse away, opening my inner ramblings to passersby, even as daily I almost delete it all.
I don’t really know where to go, and who to hang out with anymore. But then, on reflection, I realise I never did. I’m just an older, greyer version of the kid at school who would wander round and round the school grounds, aimlessly, alone, pretending to go somewhere, though fully conscious that I was going nowhere at all, for I had nowhere to go, forever the outsider.
He rebukes us for not disappearing, as we rightfully must. He cannot stand bloggers who write unceasingly, he writes unceasingly on a public forum, granting himself permission to do the opposite of what he says, for his own sentiments are profound and important and true. If only we would just disappear, when we say we will, instead of continually swinging from pole to pole, like manic depressives shunning benzodiazepines. If you are going to go, he yells, just go. Don’t return to pen another epistle when backs are turned, deciding not to become a hermit after all. Leave the about-turns to wise sages, whose gold embossed volumes decorate the homes of the truly enlightened, with their spiritual quest and authentic faith, that we modernites could never comprehend. Go, he demands, and leave us in peace, and purify your heart, and vanquish your attention-seeking ego, and disappear for good, and don’t come back, and remember your place, and be silent. Yes, cease, he urges unceasingly, returning to the forum he promised to abandon once more, to rebuke the returning writers who cannot keep their promises when they say they will put down their pens. Cease.
Every night when I head to bed, a voice within says, “Be quiet.” Speak good or remain silent. Restrain your tongue and typing fingers. As I lay my head on my pillow, these inner thoughts recur: “Disappear. Withdraw.” And each morning when I arise, I ask myself whether today will be the day when I respond to the inner petition: will I find the courage to vanish; to keep my thoughts to myself; to be like the commoners of old who had no reach or influence beyond their village or family.
But then the day wears on, and another voice says, “Express yourself. Speak good. Say what needs to be said.” And once more I am hammering on the keyboard, convinced for a moment that my words are important. That my words must be freed. And for a while it seems to be so. But by nightfall, that inner voice will return, petitioning me to withdraw. To free myself of these burdens. To become the nobody who walks unknown, influencing only his family and close companions.
Day and night, it has become a heavy weight on me, rending me in two.
Without fail, every time I resolve to reform my soul, I almost immediately become preoccupied with new matters that do not concern me, which become an obsession, undermining my good intentions. In short, I replace one set of sins with another, and find myself entangled in a completely new web of my own making. It is a constant struggle.
A compulsion regularly comes over me which insists: “Write!” But in my heart, after all has been said and done, there is disquiet, regret, remorse: my writing betrays arrogance. After the fact, I wonder to myself: would silence not be better for you? Would it not be better not to release these words? Are you not only portraying your ignorance? Would it not be better to recognise your station and withdraw, to unpublish and retire? Each day, these are the thoughts that follow every essay. Am I merely just poisoning my own soul? And yet before I have had time to respond, there comes yet another compulsive urge to write down all that is on my mind. Once more I spill my soul onto the page, momentarily thinking it urgent, as if my words had any impact on the world. And then once more the regret and remorse: what an arrogant, conceited fool.
It occurs to me with increasing frequency, that all the words that have been flowing from my fingers of late are merely a substitute for all the transgressions that passed before them. It took me an age, but eventually I fell down in repentance, resolving to make everything right and not return to those wicked ways. I closed the door, though it pained me. But all of a sudden this: opinions, essays, thousands of words. Have I merely been hoodwinked into exchanging one set of sins for another?
I have a habit of burning bridges and sinking boats. My impetuous nature causes me to make hasty decisions. To leave a group suddenly. To delete a hundred files. To speak my mind too freely. To be cynical in the midst of a frenzy of adoration. And ultimately, at my turning away, all my companions turn away too, tired of my abrupt reversals. In the end, there is no love lost: better to abandon the impulsive one and his frequent about-turns, as he burns yet another bridge and puts up another wall. Why invest any more time in our ferocious friend, they ask themselves, when he will ultimately just let us down? My friends have my sympathy: I can barely tolerate myself either.
Stuck in the moment of his own despair, he carelessly says to another no longer stuck in their own moment of despair, “You have absolutely no idea what we’re going through”, absolutely oblivious to the fact that they know exactly what they are going through. The one who complains that others judge unfairly judges unfairly and refuses to acknowledge that he is not alone in the world, nor is his situation unique, and that his own words and assumptions hurt just as much as those he complains about. Empathy is a two-way street.
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Others are tested by their circumstances. I am consistently tested by myself. And consistently fail. The battle with the nafs is unending. Success always illusory. Disappointed by myself but evidently not disappointed enough to change.
So I have withdrawn once again – or at least I have closed the door to Facebook. So I am heading for the hills once more – metaphorically speaking. It used to be that in times of crisis we would pull together and seek refuge in like-minded company. But on the internet this time, all we encounter is extreme polarisation. I don’t want to be a part of it. The perpetual cascade of news, opinions and stupidity is too much. The flood of excuses, conspiracy theories and discovered double-standards helps nobody – it just makes us reactionaries.
It was a tough decision. There are those I benefit from immensely, who I will miss. They have become true friends, although thousands of miles may separate us. But sometimes it is necessary to pull the plug – to go Cold Turkey, if you will – when the harm seems to outweigh the benefit. For me, the internal agitation to constantly check for updates, feedback, responses and the latest news. The new micro-rituals of reaching for a phone, or tablet, or switching tabs on the web browser to just quickly check, fifty times a day. A habit first thing in the morning and last thing at night. A growing dependence – an egocentric urge to be always connected to others elsewhere. No time for a break, for quiet reflection, for pause for thought, for silence. It is said, “A wise person once said nothing.” Social media makes no space for nothing.
For me, it was becoming like an addiction, preventing me from venturing out for the evening prayer. Or from making time for supplication and reflection. I could spend hours every evening doing very little, except follow a steady stream of articles, videos and unfounded, spurious claims. There would be no time to read a book. No time to study or learn something. In short, perhaps I have wasted two years of my life.
Yes, I make it sound so bad. What an incredible exaggeration! In truth I have benefited from the experience. I have made new friends. I have benefitted from others. But there is a balance, and sometimes it is hard to get that balance right. Years ago I took the same approach to another addiction. Some people viewed my response as an extreme reaction, but for me it was one of the best decisions I ever made. If you lack the self-restraint which allows you to act with moderation, sometimes the only course of action is to shut down the avenues to return to it completely.
Even now I am feeling the cravings for the news feed, but I am determined to turn back the clock a little, to that era before permanent connectivity. Who remembers the 1990s, or a time before that when we could exist without this perpetual narcissism? Yes, we should live in the age we find ourselves in, not in an imaginary past. But so too must we discover a way of living that provides equilibrium. For me, right now, the way ahead is to make time away from the glowing panels of glass. To make space for paper, driving rain and nothingness. An interlude away from the noise which populates too much of our lives.
There’s nothing new about these insecurities. Perhaps what’s different is that the folklore of this generation – the standard narrative in novels, films, TV shows and magazines – provides a hopeless caricature of relationships, reducing them to animalistic mating rituals: man and woman meet in a bar/restaurant/post-nuclear holocaust/alien invasion, and an hour later jump into bed together.
In my time, at university, nearly 20 years ago, those same insecurities were bubbling away in every dorm. As they leafed through their copies of FHM magazine, 3 out of 5 students in every flat were in despair, wondering what was wrong with them. Mostly they’re all now happily married or in long-term relationships. They probably look back on their naive, impatient youth with a mixture of self-loathing and tragic embarrassment.
But here, in the Muslim community, we have our own set of insecurities, or uncertainties, in the simplest of human relationships, such as a greeting on the street or a conversation on a public forum. When does a lowered gaze become I’m ignoring your existence? When does a greeting of salam become a huge faux pas? I admit that after 18 years navigating the Muslim Community, I’m largely none the wiser.
No new resolutions for me, but a reminder for my daily living… What does it mean to believe?
“And vie one with another for forgiveness from your Lord, and for a paradise as wide as are the heavens and the earth, prepared for those who ward off evil;
Those who spend of that which God has given them in ease and in adversity, those who control their wrath and are forgiving toward mankind; God loves the good;
And those who, when they do an evil thing or wrong themselves, remember God and implore forgiveness for their sins — Who forgives sins except God alone? — and will not knowingly repeat the wrong they did.
The reward of such will be forgiveness from their Lord, and Gardens underneath which rivers flow, wherein they will abide forever — a bountiful reward for workers!”
In summary, those who believe should be:
- Charitable (generous in giving money or other help to the needy / mild or tolerant in judging others; lenient)
- Composed (serenely self-possessed; calm)
- Clement (inclined to be lenient or merciful)
- Contrite (feeling regret and sorrow for one’s sins or offenses; penitent)
If we can try to act on these daily, then perhaps we too can be counted among those being referred to. The best of resolutions, inshallah.
Our senses, notably our eyes and ears, are gateways to our hearts.
In an interview, recorded just hours before his execution in 1989, serial killer Ted Bundy, spokes of the pervasive influence exposure to extreme, violent pornography had on him. While not abdicating responsibility for his actions, he nevertheless acknowledged the power of an addictive force. It is an incredibly important observation for our times, for what is being said here applies not just to this type of extreme media, but to numerous other influences from the benign to the dangerous.
On the benign end we have shiny gadget syndrome, Technolust and obsessive devotion to a football team. Each become all-consuming because we choose to expose ourselves to images, words and sounds which reach into us.
But as to the dangerous: I have absolutely no doubt about the internal processes that occur in those who expose themselves to the gratuitous violence of warfare. The shock of a solitary photo on Facebook depicting horrific destruction in Gaza, followed by the stream of ever more extreme imagery, gradually, stage by stage, transform the viewer’s heart.
Responses are not uniform. The natural reaction of some will be to avenge for the wronged, to send aid to the oppressed or even to fight on their behalf.
But others, who expose themselves to the actions of other avengers, may be to perpetuate such horrors themselves. If you expose yourself to the actions of the supposed liberators, as they execute their prisoners and meet out punishment on those who oppose them, will a time not come in some, when a line is crossed, somewhere deep within?
This is an extreme example, but we are living in extreme times. We have witnessed once sensible, polite, kind individuals suddenly thrust upon us in the newspapers as terrible supporters of barbarity.
It is crucial that we recall the wisdom of Lower Your Gaze in a time of all-pervasive imagery.
Nobody in 1989, could have imagined the world as it is today, with such extreme imagery on tap. The days of debates about the effect of the video tape, satellite TV and the arcade game are long gone. All of that seems tame now — although it wasn’t of course. We have just lost touch with reality.
The poor young visionary — once champion of social justice, investing heavily in health, social welfare and the minimum wage — drank from the poison chalice. From a brave new dawn, when things could only get better, to babbling fool, driven to madness by his own deceit. Never thirst for power, for it will consume you.
The keyboard warriors are doing battle, clashing on all frontiers. With rage they tap ever faster on keyboards of glass and plastic, outdoing their opponents with snippets of sentiment, oblivious to the weight of their words. All is fair in love and war, they believe, unconscious of the cautious wisdom of old that sought to restrain the tongue from its visceral temper.
With unrestrained brutality, their opponents will be vanquished, indignation seething through their veins. It is a battle that must be won, right now, right there on a tiny screen, for all to see and witness. It is a battle that must be won at all costs, no expenses spared — work may suffer, a prayer might be missed, real life companions might sit neglected — all must wait, for in the heat of war, everybody must know of the rightness of the warrior, and every other view, opinion or passing thought must be defeated.
He who forsakes argument, even when he is right: a sunnah unheard. Speak good or remain silent: another sunnah ignored. Be just even against your own selves: a command unpracticed. He does not utter a sentence except that an angel is near him ready to record it: an observation unobserved. The most excellent are those from whose tongue and hands other Muslims are safe: the best of advice unheeded.
Isn’t it strange that war is so easy and peace so difficult, because peace just requires everyone to do nothing, while war requires them to do so much? Peace costs nothing, while war costs all.
On physical battlefields great armaments are fired, lives squandered, money dissolved, emotions crushed, innocents obliterated, passions heightened, humanity aborted.
On virtual battlefields words are weapons, emotions are bullets, anger bombs, but in the rage of the battle it is the soul of the attacking combatant that dies; it is his heart which shrivels up, his ego inflated. Incline to peace remains unrecalled. On this battlefield his words must reign victorious, and all others must be vanquished.
And so the battle rages on. Into the night and the following day. These words can never be exhausted. There is still so much more to say.
To me, it is remarkable that the progeny of a community which invested so heavily in the sciences of verification and authenticity to preserve the teachings of our religion will nowadays forward and repost every piece of unverified nonsense, malicious junk and political propaganda that appears before us on a slab of glass, without a second’s thought.
In the age of the internet everything and nothing is true. Whatever serves a purpose will be true for the moment. A lie become insignificant; it is all part of the push for truth.
We have forgotten, or are ignorant of, a verse of guidance: “And do not mix the truth with falsehood or conceal the truth while you know it.” –Quran 2:42.
But as we have discovered, it has always been so. Political machinations will trump even the sacred if it serves the agendas of the greedy and untruthful. Cruel and corrupt men often set us upon a path of their own design, heedless of the demands of truth, goodness and light.
We must resist. We must return to the way of truth. That is the true rebellion of our age.
We disappear, pretending to head for the hills, secretly hoping that somebody will miss us, or wonder what happened to us, or ask after us, until it becomes patently clear that nobody gives a damn. So all of a sudden we reappear, prancing around like clowns, yelling, “Here I am. Here I am. I’m back, and I have so much more to say.” But still nobody gives a damn. “Go, leave us,” comes the collective retort. And at last, perhaps, the ego will finally mope away, humbled, without constantly wondering what everybody thinks. Without the perpetual refrain, “Me, me, me.” Disappear.
If you hold everyone in contempt, don’t be surprised if everyone holds you in contempt too. If you can see no good in those around you, don’t be surprised if those around you see no good in you. If you have concluded that you are always right and everybody else is always wrong, don’t be surprised if people always turn away repulsed.
Be grateful for the blessing of you Lord and walk humbly on the earth with patience.
Oh soul, God dislikes contemptuous bitterness. Overlook the shortcomings of others. Have mercy on your companions. Display true gratitude for the blessings showered upon you. Put away your repugnant scorn. Faith is goodness, love and light. Be as those “who walk on the earth in humility, and when the ignorant address them, they say, Peace!”
I think I am too English to embrace public displays of piety — a tasbih always in hand, salutations always on the tongue, eyes glazed over, intoxicated by the presence of the One.
But I know it is wrong of me. Theirs is a faith more courageous than mine, more willing to be seen in the world. God alone knows what hearts contain; only He knows our intentions. As to us mere mortals: our mission is to think the best of our companions.
I regret that when I meet the outwardly pious one, my initial feelings are of aversion. But that is a disease of my heart. And so the inward mutterings begin. “He is better than you,” I tell myself, recalling my many sins. “He doesn’t care what people think,” I whisper, remembering my shy and timid faith. “His character and actions speak volumes,” I remind myself, “while yours are just like dust.”
Faith comes in many forms, revealing itself in many ways. I regret that I have become so judgemental and so intolerant, when it is my words, thoughts and deeds which fall so short. May the One purify our hearts and grant us the best of character.