To see a flower open into sun, To hear the crack of dawn in sparrow's tweet, To breathe the sounds of children having fun Through syncopated pats of toddler feet; And then to leave that all behind to join The wheel that swallows everything it finds To spin its labor straw into a coin As shiny as its meal of chewed-up minds; It's hard upon a silent, weary eye That misses hearts long dead and longer cherished, That knows no inability to cry And cries so long as longing hasn't perished. The solemn rite of weeping in the rain Is all a fool for love can hope to gain.
Why The One Thing Suicide Bombing Cannot Be Is Islamic
Let me begin with a definition of Islam.
Islam is…
I’ll give you a second to complete that sentence in your head.
If you said peace, then you’re likely getting your knowledge of Islam from main stream media and Muslims who really want to make Islam synonymous with the idea of peace. And that’s all very good.
The only problem with it is that it waters down the discourse of Islam as a religion followed by an individual for his/her individual salvation, that being the whole point of the Islamic faith.
From an Islam 101 standpoint, Islam does not mean peace. Islam can include a rich discussion of peace. Morphologically, it is very closely linked to the Arabic word for peace. That word is Salaam. In fact, it is so closely linked to Salaam that some say it may as well just mean Peace.
But the fact remains: Islam does not mean peace.
The word, Islam, is classified as a masdar in Arabic grammar. That is the equivalent of a gerund in English, i.e. a verbal noun. For instance, the verbal noun of “to sleep” is “sleeping”, as used in the sentence: “Sleeping is my favorite pastime.” Islam comes from the verb: As-la-ma.
Aslama means to submit. The gerund of Aslama is Islam. Hence Islam means submitting.
This works better than submission because submission has a quality of being a bit discrete, as in point-in-time. But submitting is a perpetual state of mind and soul. A Muslim (one who does the act of aslama) is always submitting.
Now let’s be honest here. To be in a state of perpetual submission is a rank attained by the prophets and the saints. That being said, perpetual submission is the gold standard.
It is the state in which the Muslim strives to be. It is the rope which the Muslim holds on to. When he or she loses grip (and that is expected), the Muslim struggles with regaining a hold. To a Muslim, Islam means submitting your everything to God. This includes the physical, mental, intellectual, and spiritual facets of submission.
As a Muslim, if you are afflicted with an illness in body or mind (or your spouse or child is), you submit to God’s will.
You do not resent your state.
You certainly do not argue with God.
If anything, you recognize that both difficulty and ease come from One indivisible God. That is why the Muslim draws close to the One who ultimately is the source of the affliction.
It gets better. You submit your body and your mind.
Not easy.
As a Muslim, if you apply your intellect and arrive at a conclusion that is in direct conflict with a tenet of the faith, or that is irreconcilable with a conclusive precept, you submit to God’s will. For instance, adopting intellectual recourse to “prove” that pork is acceptable for consumption by a Muslim would reflect a total lack of submission. This level of submission weighs hardest on scholars and thinkers. To submit your intellect is even harder.
The Muslim is ever submitting to Divine will and command. Sometimes, the word submitting tends to have a passive connotation, often times in the English language. It is worth noting that Islam is a state of active, deliberate and conscious submitting. It takes strength and, oddly, will to put one’s own will second to that of an unseen God.
My favorite story is that of the great wali (saint) Shaykh Abdul Qadir Jilani who once had a vision wherein he sensed a presence that claimed to be divine. It informed him that he had attained greatness and purity, and that he was absolved from having to perform his obligatory prayers any more. The Shaykh cursed the presence and sought refuge from the devil before he proceeded to make ablution and say his prayers.
Total submission.
What is permitted by God (halaal) is permitted. What is forbidden by God (haraam) is forbidden. And that is where submitting comes into the picture. If nothing were forbidden and everything were permitted, then there is nothing left to submit to begin with. And that is fine if it’s what you’re looking for, but it would be a different religion than Islam.
Regarding suicide bombing
It is ludicrous in the most unfunny way that given the above primer on Islam, an act that involves careful and deliberate planning to take one’s own life and with it the life of innocents, can in any way be associated with a religion that by its most intrinsic definition and self-defining name means submitting.
The act of planning and executing the destruction of one’s own life is in effect one saying to God:
You are Al-Mumit (The One Who Takes Life) but I will stand between you and your Divine attribute, and I will end my own life of my own free will. I will not submit my body and my mind to you.
To take the life of others along with your own life is in effect saying to God: You forbid the taking of innocent lives, but I have thought about this and after due deliberation, I have concluded that killing innocents is actually quite justifiable. And just to be more unsubmitting, I will take the life of others even as I take my own life of my own free will. I will not submit my intellect and my spirit to you.
Suicide bombing is the most glaring manifestation of everything that is the opposite of Islam. It comes from a flat-out unwillingness to submit to God’s will. The fact that the ideology driving and extolling this heinous act claims to be Islamic in any form is a great trial and tribulation. It is a trial for those who truly strive to submit their everything to God, actively and consciously. It is a tribulation for us all.
And God knows better.
Based on a recent reading of Mishkat Al-Masabih at Darul Qasim by Shaykh Mohammed Amin Kholwadia.
Ekphrasis of Meghan Tutolo’s “Young Night”
My free verse entry for Rattle’s November 2015 Ekphrasis contest. On Meghan Tutolo’s Young Night.
Hand in hand, we take it all in:
The babble of the river,
The whisper of the wind,
The fading scream of a police siren
Somewhere on the other side of town
Making a play for the night’s attention,
But the night only has eyes for us:
You and me,
Standing hand in hand,
Taking it all in.
I squeeze your hand,
You smile that I’m not going to smile smile
That you often wield on nights like this,
And I squeeze your hand,
Again.
The night is young
And ours,
All of it.
Before And After
Two halves of a freshly baked bun
Sandwiching your #moment patty.
Savor it, my friend.
Dawn
Dawntime in the fall:
When beauty spies you
Admiring its bare, silent splendor,
It whispers,
“And you thought you knew me.”
The Ghazali Children’s Project by Fons Vitae & Hamza Yusuf
This is an awesome venture. Support this effort by the amazing Aisha Gray Henry and her team at Fons Vitae. I just did!
I would love this for my kids. Getting them exposed to the Ihya at a young age will help prepare their hearts to receive this knowledge more comprehensively in a classroom setting when they’re ready for it – one that immerses them in the great Imam’s magnum opus. I know Darul Qasim has this on their radar. This is such a great service by Fons Vitae and Shaykh Hamza Yusuf.
Here’s a poem I wrote some years back, inspired by a lecture delivered by Shaykh Amin in an Introductory Theology class at Darul Qasim in which he alluded to Imam Ghazali’s ingenious allegory for tauheed (divine unity).
THE ANT AND THE QUILL
Behind a generous well of ink,
There stood an ant so wee,
And nothing was around him that
Was littler than he.
He watched with great amazement as
A giant feather quill
Descended into blackness, then
Remained to drink its fill.
And thus the quill withdrew before
Returning for its sips,
Which made the ant to wonder what
Transpired tween the dips;
He ventured round the glassy well
And out his head did poke
To find the quill make strokes on what
Reminded him of oak,
And marveled at the written work,
Extolled the feather quill:
How utterly magnificent
Was its creative skill,
But as he watched, his eye did catch
Five fingers, slender, long
That grasped the feather quill with care:
A grasp so firm and strong,
And so the ant was overcome
With admiration true
For how the hand did wield the quill
To all its bidding do;
But short lived is such wonderment
For soon the ant did see
The subtle motions of an arm
That moved about so free.
The arm he traced to what he deemed
The body of a beast
With head and face that comely seemed
And noble at the least.
So turned he from the noble face,
Content he would not find
What underlay the vast of space
That leaves the seeing blind.
But man, unlike the ant, can see
Much more than just a face,
For knowledge of the intellect
Is with the human race;
The guided eye may even see
Beyond the intellect
Where inspiration is the light
That hearts of men reflect.
And so beside the inkwell of
Divine creation, we
Extol the means, but turn away
From what we cannot see.
But even did the little ant
Acknowledge with a sigh,
That all creation springs from One
Well hidden from the eye.
There stood an ant so wee,
And nothing was around him that
Was littler than he.
He watched with great amazement as
A giant feather quill
Descended into blackness, then
Remained to drink its fill.
And thus the quill withdrew before
Returning for its sips,
Which made the ant to wonder what
Transpired tween the dips;
He ventured round the glassy well
And out his head did poke
To find the quill make strokes on what
Reminded him of oak,
And marveled at the written work,
Extolled the feather quill:
How utterly magnificent
Was its creative skill,
But as he watched, his eye did catch
Five fingers, slender, long
That grasped the feather quill with care:
A grasp so firm and strong,
And so the ant was overcome
With admiration true
For how the hand did wield the quill
To all its bidding do;
But short lived is such wonderment
For soon the ant did see
The subtle motions of an arm
That moved about so free.
The arm he traced to what he deemed
The body of a beast
With head and face that comely seemed
And noble at the least.
So turned he from the noble face,
Content he would not find
What underlay the vast of space
That leaves the seeing blind.
But man, unlike the ant, can see
Much more than just a face,
For knowledge of the intellect
Is with the human race;
The guided eye may even see
Beyond the intellect
Where inspiration is the light
That hearts of men reflect.
And so beside the inkwell of
Divine creation, we
Extol the means, but turn away
From what we cannot see.
But even did the little ant
Acknowledge with a sigh,
That all creation springs from One
Well hidden from the eye.
Wisdom
Wisdom is the father of intelligence:
Indulges and disciplines child
Till it rebels and runs away
Leaving him without a say.
Vanity
You can help
By keeping out of the way,
But vanity is to stand out
While doing so,
Like a pinky tilted up
At afternoon tea.
Lukey, Slurp!
Lukey, slurp!
Lukey, nibble!
Lukey, burp!
Lukey, dribble!
Slurping, nibbling,
Burping, dribbling,
Doings of my
Youngest sibling.
Daisy Muzaffer Susannah the Third
Have you ever heard of that fine hummingbird,
Miss Daisy Muzaffer Susannah the Third,
She hummed and she minged, oh the joy that she bringed
To the tulips that smiled and the bluebells that ringed.