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Archive for August, 2021

Dear God

i guess You created me in a time where writing on a computer would be the way that I speak to You so often

it would be so much more romantic if i had a quill and inkwell, sitting by candlelight, as i wrote my munājāt in beautiful calligraphy

would You like me more if i sat cross legged on the floor as i do this?

would it be more authentic?

or is it okay that i am sitting on the couch?

i have to believe that You are more interested in the substance than the form

all i have to give You is my faqr

that raw, sheer need for You

that aching desperation that only You know

and i am nothing

i hate being responsible for myself

i hate having to be the one who has to decide

i just want You to lay it out for me

“write your dissertation about this topic!”

ok, if You say so

“follow this historical intellectual tradition!”

sure, good to know that is the one You prefer

“raise your children this way!”

allright, let’s do it

but instead it is me, with my books, and my blog posts, and my searching out critical discourse

listening to other fuqarāʾ like me

hoping for an insight

seeking the way

but how can i actually complain to You

how can i not feel like You have answered my prayers

that seems like the height of ingratitude

but am i never not in desperate need of You

no

there will never come a time

no matter how learned my mind becomes

no matter how pious my body can be

no matter how sincere my heart is

where i am still not a beggar after Your Mercy

You are my mother

no

You are so much my refuge

that i seek refuge in You for the wellbeing of my own mother

the one who nursed me

the one who has shown me love my whole life

only You i beseech to give her eternal happiness

and only You can grant it

there is no god but You, transcendent You are, surely i am from the oppressors

there is no where to turn, except You are there

and so i turn once again

seeking everything i have always sought

willing to change for You

over and over again

i know i can change for You

i have left that which i have loved

i have left those whom i have loved

i have come to Your doorstep because

how can i do otherwise

the one who has caught a glimpse of You

tasted one drop of the nectar of Your ḥamd

reached the mental point of ḥayra

and understood a bit of You as al-Ghanī al-Mughnī

how can there be any going back

but there is one thing i do ask of You

i ask what your Prophet reportedly asked

do not leave me to myself

for i know i am not the authority

You are

and i cannot find my way

if You do not guide me to You

yā Ḥayyu yā Qayyūm

bi raḥmatika astaghīth

wa min ʿadhābika astajīr

aṣliḥnī shaʾnī kullah

wa lā takilnī ilā nafsī wa lā ilā aḥadin min khalqika

tarfata ʿayn

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One of the unique aspects of the place where I am commemorating Muharram is that it is surrounded by other houses of worship.

Right behind us is a Protestant Church for Taiwanese-Americans.

A few doors down is a Protestant Church for Korean-Americans.

Across the street is a Vaiṣṇava Hindu temple rooted in the Puṣti-marg school of Vallabhācārya, serving an Indian-American community.

Next to that is a large multi-ethnic Evangelical megachurch.

A little farther down the street is another Hindu temple for Indian-Americans, this one focused on a more Advaitic approach connected to Śaivism.

I am not sure how aware of each other these communities are, but I appreciate that they all exist in a shared space in San Jose. Given that I moved to California to reflect on the reality of human diversity, it is all the more poignant. It helps me connect my academic work of studying the Hindu tradition with my lived reality as a Muslim seeking to practice his faith to the fullest extent possible.

Our center is multi-ethnic too. Arabs, South Asians, Iranians, and a smattering of other folks such as myself, gather each night to express our love for the Prophet Muhammad and his family, may blessings and peace be upon them. We use English, Arabic, Urdu and Farsi to convey our thoughts and feelings. It is a beautiful experience of unity in diversity.

But at a deeper level, the reality is that every prayer that is made by everyone in all these houses of worship is heard by the same All-Hearing (al-Samīʿ) All-Seeing (al-Baṣīr) Lord. What our Lord chooses to do with all of our prayers is up to the Lord who created all of us.

If the people from these other communities would ever like me to come share with them my faith perspective, I would be more than happy to do so.

But even if we never meet, I would like them all to know that I wish them good in this world and good in the next, and pray that they are all covered in the mercy of the Most Merciful Lord.

برحمتك يا أرحم الراحمين

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The genocide of Native Americans.

The enslavement of Africans.

The dropping of atomic bombs on Japan.

The genocide of the Rohingya.

The Holocaust.

The reigns of Saddam Hussein/Idi Amin/Joseph Stalin/etc.

The Settler-Colonialism of Zionism.

The destruction of the Amazon rainforest.

The plastic that fills the oceans.

The decimation of biodiversity.

The unreported rapes.

The unconvicted murders.

The unaccounted for detentions and unknown torture.

These are some of the things that I carry with me into Muharram,

ya Husayn.

On March 8, 1782, a group of Pennsylvania militiamen slaughtered some 90 unarmed Native Americans at the Moravian mission settlement of Gnadenhutten, Ohio. Although the militiamen claimed they were seeking revenge for Indian raids on their frontier settlements, the Indians they murdered had played no role in any attack.

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