Swap the Perils for the Pearls of 'Allahu Akbar'

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Swap the Perils for the Pearls of ‘Allahu Akbar’

What’s the betting these days on the chances that if a bearded bloke wearing a fat padded jacket ran into a supermarket or  cafe in Paris and yelled ‘Allahu Akbar’ all the shoppers would duck and hit the floor? Or in any city for that matter?

It seems all these ‘jihadi’ attacks are preceded by invoking the name of God most High in the Arabic language.

This distresses me.  I feel robbed. Sickened. They are making this profound phrase  - ‘Allahu Akbar’ – hateful and to be feared. The circumstances in which Allah’s beautiful name is invoked to such violent and misdirected ends distress me beyond words.

Yet this simple phrase lies at the core of Islamic understanding into what it means to be human. For now it has been wrenched from its ontological root bed and is being used to herald inhumane actions of the most despicable kind. 

To any Muslim worldwide the words ‘Allahu Akbar’ state a truth of belief: Allah is Most Great, greater than whatever can be seen or imagined, greater than any other power or force. It gives comfort to Muslims who strive to do their best, who may err, who need forgiveness for their errors, who need to remind themselves that at all times, in all places and circumstances, ultimately Allah prevails over all existence. No matter how sublime or special, vast or deep, astonishing or powerful, marvelous or wondrous are any of our individual or collective achievements, or any of the delights of this planet, Allah is yet greater than all these qualities.

We recite ‘Allahu Akbar’ several times a day in our ritual prayers to punctuate each movement. When we first stand in prayer and raise our hands up level to our ears, palms facing outward in a show of surrender, and say the takbir ul-ihram, we are placing ourselves firmly in a position of surrender and reverence for the power that created us, shaped us, endowed us with consciousness and conscience and will hold us accountable for every action, thought and breath.

When we say ‘Allahu Akbar’ we announce our recognition that our individual power and ability is conferred upon us by a higher force, and it is to align ourselves to that force that we utter it solemnly and with relief. Above all this force is one of mercy and compassion: Kataba ‘ala nafsihi ’r-rahma – ‘Allah has inscribed or ordained upon himself Mercy’ (6:12 & 54). In one sacred hadith (hadith qudsi), He declares ‘My Mercy predominates over my wrath.’

‘Allahu Akbar’ shares with ‘la ilaha illah’Llah’ the same power to negate at a profound level the dualism that underlies our experienced existence, and return us from a state of apparent separation to integrated unification.

What kind of god is it that the destructive ‘jihadi’ serves? A god of nihilism? Who appointed them as the apocalyptic arbiters of a truth that even Allah (subhanahu wa ta’ala) did not prescribe or demand be testified to by such savagery? By what right? By what authority? To pin the name of God onto acts that are blatantly ungodly is devastatingly cynical. Such terrorism is born out of a culture of despair, hate, rage, outward-looking blame, a cankered victim mentality and a frighteningly distorted understanding of how a Muslim should uphold Islam. Equally this horror story inversion of Islam did not come into existence without the assistance of an unholy communion between spiritually moribund architects of jihadi nihilism in concert with modern industrial powers playing God, funding and training these murderous creatures and setting them loose from Pandora’s box.

Give me back the pearl I know is in ‘Allahu Akbar’. Humanity is one in origin and end. Animated by one common soul energy, we are manifested through an infinitely dazzling kaleidoscope of humanity. Let the light and lustre of ‘Allahu Akbar’ shine, through me, through all who love Allah, who love goodness, beauty, compassion, cooperation, tolerance. In the paraphrased words of our Prophet Muhammad (S) – which echo so many other sages throughout the ages -  no man fulfills his purpose unless he loves for his neighbor what he loves for himself.

Ramadan Closing In

Ramadan is closing in. This year this month has sped by. For the first time in years I've been away from home base, though in homes away from home - how blessed am I? The pekoras and samosas have followed me, however, as I've tried to ensure my son gets his daily quotas of desi iftar fare. The open plan layout of the house we are in reeks of fried food for hours afterwards, uncorrected even by wafts of cloying incense. After years of resistance to the semiotic symbolism of food, I have yielded to the perceived reality that food frames culture (or culture frames food?) and that culinary culture is one hugely influential anchorage of religion. If savoury spicy treats help keep my boy connected to his Deen, then so be it!

Shorter days and clement weather of a southern hemisphere's winter have reduced Ramadan wipeouts. I felt for my UK friends - heatwaves and long 18 hour days. May the reward be commensurate with the difficulty! No Ramadan rage threatened here. The dry, high atmosphere introduced me to a new form of 'Ramadan brain': the suction cup effect where your grey matter feels like its dessicating and sticking to your skull interior.

That most delicious gift of Ramadan, the fleecy blanket of inner silence, has also been gratefully received. At times the white noise percolates and penetrates the precariously porous and amorphous presence of consciousness - and peppers my vocabulary with purple passages (so who cares?) - but the sheer weight of the fast makes it easy to relocate the mute button on the inner monologue function. Can it really be so simple a matter of blood sugar? That its dilution beings inner peace? There's a hadith that alludes to this (sic., 'Shaytan flows through the sons of Adam as blood flows through his veins")... Or is it the special grace that comes from the sacralized intention of the fast ('Fasting is for Me and I am its reward'  - hadith qudsi)? After all, of all the obligatory ritual obligations due from a Muslim, fasting is the most invisible. Allah alone knows whether you are fulfilling its tenets or not.

The remembrance of God heightens, as with each breath conscious awareness of one's inner state increases. In Ramadan it becomes easier to give up and give in as one notices the degree of dependency one has on means - food, water, indulging desires, loose talk. Its quite humbling to see what a hold habits have on us. One evening, during some frisky dinner time banter, I got my hands slapped for wittering on in what really amounted to gossip, the type of gossip where irrelevant news about someone amounts to frivolous talk, even though no malice had been intended. What had been the purpose of my verbal drivel? Was I conscious of every word? No. Blood sugar had begun to rise once again and those satanic impulses started slithering around in me too. Shudder!

Ramadan is commonly thought of by Muslims as the month par excellence to devote to the Qur'an. Our Noble Book gets a thorough dusting as tradition encourages us to read a juz' a day. For me, quality over quantity is my preference - I can bask for hours in commentary and etymology, entering into an imaginarium of endless and deepening delight. The beauty and majesty of the Word of God once again thrills me with its multi-dimensionality, speaking in time, beyond time, allegorically, emphatically. All signs point to the one underlying truth: la ilaha illa'llah - there is no god but Allah. And it is the fast that enables us see this Oneness better than at any other time of the year. Day after day the ego-self's hold is weakened as a new strength starts to beam through. The soul's light starts to illuminate our beingness, and states of grace descend, moments of deep tranquillity stretching in all directions through one's innermost.

The last ten nights - according to an Islamic tradition offering us freedom from the fires of hell - coincide with the Night of Determination, or Destiny, or Power, the Laylat ul-Qadr. We are protected from knowing exactly which night it might have been that the Qur'an in its entirety was revealed to our beloved prophet Muhammad (S), merely that it is one of the odd numbered. Because of various traditions, the Shi'as prefer one of the earlier odd nights, the Sunnis preferring one of the latter ones. Those who would hedge bets try to observe them all. Regardless, the importance of this night is indicated in the chapter in the Qur'an by the same name, in which it is declared that it is 'better than a a thousand months'. One night...better than a thousand months?! However unfathomable, who isn't going to want to try to witness this event? The moment in time it alludes to is a deep and unending mystery.

The traditions of night vigil practised by Muslims in different ways helps push us out of our comfort zone. Even if it is but a portion of the night, the baraka of Ramadan ensures a benefit is gained. In Karachi those fortunate to belong to distinct communities have ready made opportunities to gather and pray together, whether to read 10 raka'at, or 100, whether to recite 99 Names of God or the 1000 of the incrementally intoxicating beautiful litany of Jawshan al-Kabir.

Already stripped and polished by the fast, staying up in prayer and contemplation loosens the subtle rust on the heart's mirror. Our sense of time is ruptured, and small portals into timelessness start to shiver into the landscape of consciousness. Through fasting of the senses, we can taste the feast of what lies beyond the limitations of these senses, an infinite, expanding universe that encapsulates time and space, precedes it and follows it and rolls it all up in its Presence.