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Archive for the ‘Ahl al-Bayt’ Category

I want to remember these two moments clearly.

First moment:

I have been wanting to go to Mashhad in Iran, so that I can make the ziyāra of Imām al-Riḍā عليه السلام. I was speaking with a shaykh in the winter about going this past summer, but it obviously was not possible due to COVID. I try to do things to keep this intention fresh, because it is important to me. But at times I feel despondent, partially because of COVID and partially because of the Trump administration’s belligerent stance towards Iran. At times I have felt overwhelmed and trapped when thinking about this.

Then I was reading in a book about an Iranian shaykh wanting to visit his Iraqi teacher. In telling the story of how they met up in Syria, he casually mentioned that due to Iraq’s belligerence towards Iran in the aftermath of the Revolution, he wasn’t able to go for ziyāra in Iraq for sixteen years!!! At that moment, I knew that my intention has to stay fresh at least for the next 15 years (2035).

Second moment:

At times, I want so badly to see the blessed people of the past, it hurts. I want to see with my own eyes the people to whom we give our allegiance – the same people about whom we debate endlessly. I just want to break through all those words to the people that those words are about. At times, it feels like I just go on waiting and waiting, and it will never happen.

Then I was reading in a book, and a story was told about a man who prayed for 30 years for something. One day, the man meets up with the Prophet Ibrahīm عليه السلام but does not know who he is, and they walk together. Eventually he tells the prophet that he has been praying for something for 30 years and it still hasn’t come to fruition. The prophet replies that, “when Allah holds a creature dear, He delays the acceptance of his prayers so that he may continue to plead and supplicate Him.” So the prophet asks him what he has been praying for, and the man reveals that he has been praying to see Prophet Ibrahīm عليه السلام. The prophet replies, “Now your prayer has been answered. I am that Ibrahīm.”

I knew in that moment that I have only been yearning for maybe 5 years, so I at least have to be prepared to wait another 25 (2045).

The signs are there, even when we aren’t looking for them.

yā Allāh, as long as I can still move about on this Earth, I will want to go to Mashhad, and as long as I still have eyes I will want to see my beloveds. I will ask this of You today and tomorrow as a matter of worship, and will await Your decision with patience. You have taught me in these two moments that I have no right to feel overwhelmed by either of these things.

You have reminded me that things happen in due time

according to Your decision

not mine.

اللهم صل على محمد و آل محمد

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Dear Shaykh Sayyid ‘Abd al-Ḥusayn Dastghaib Shīrāzī,

السلام عليكم و ر حمة الله

I do not know that much about you, but I know that you were assassinated on the way to prayer. And I know your book about sin. I have been reading it as a form of muḥāsaba (taking account of one’s praiseworthy and blameworthy actions and inward states). It is very challenging for me. It reminds me of all the times I failed to obey Allah, and all the inward characteristics that have made me prefer what I want to what Allah wants. Honestly, at an earlier point in my journey, I am not sure I would have been able to handle it. I read it slowly, when I am up for it, so that I can take it as seriously as possible.

But I want to take the time to thank you for writing it. You were writing it for a context very different than my own, but I have benefitted from it. You probably never thought someone like me would end up reading it, but we plan and Allah plans and Allah is the best of planners. May Allah reward you for writing it, and may these rewards comfort you in the barzakh.

I don’t know what your life is like right now. But I think the best about you, because everything that I know about you indicates that you wanted to please Allah and the Messenger of Allah, may blessings and peace be upon him and his family. One day I hope to be able to visit your grave in Shiraz. And I hope to be given the tawfīq (Divinely-granted success) of finishing your book and implementing it, as well as reading more of your works translated into English. Insha’Allah.

If Allah gives you the ability, please pray to Allah for me. Ask Allah to make me someone who never intentionally chooses the ḥarām (that which has been categorically forbidden for Muslims to do), and to forgive me completely for every time I did in the past. That I become someone who does not look at the smallness of the sin that I am inclined towards, but the greatness of the One whom I am turning away from.

The struggle is hard. Long hopes and the pleasures of the world whisper to us who are still here. But where you are, the Truth is laid bare. To be honest, I cannot even imagine it. I know that one day I will be there too, but it still seems so unreal. Maybe that is why I am writing this letter – to remind myself that I am ultimately on my way to visit you.

Perhaps one day you and I will be sitting together in the company of Imam Ḥusayn, upon him peace…just thinking of the possibility makes me want to be there right now.

But I do not get to choose how long this road goes on. All I can choose is what to do with the time that has been given me. And so I am taking the time to write this letter, which I had been thinking about for the last week. Thank you for reading this letter – I trust that the angels will translate its contents if necessary.

If there is any more advice or help you can provide to this weary traveler, please do so. I really need it.

your student,

R. David Coolidge

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People often ask about how to develop a culture of Azadari (mourning commemorations for Imam Husayn) in the English language.

The short answer is that it is a work in progress, and it takes all of us trying out different things, and sharing with each other.

I have written one song to be used in majalis. I know it is not perfect. But I hope by sharing it someone with more talent than myself might improve upon it. Anyone has my permission to recite it without attribution. There is a video at the bottom that demonstrates how I have recited it, but no one should feel that they have to recite it that way. I provide it simply as an example.

Here are the lyrics:

Ameeri Husayn wa ni’ma’l-ameer
Commander Husayn, my allegiance is clear

Standing on this plane
Preparing to die
I have no more questions
No reason to ask why
Your house is my life
My sword is for you
I am ready to do
whatever you want me to

Ameeri Husayn wa ni’ma’l-ameer
Commander Husayn, my allegiance is clear

All of this life
Is for your one breath
All of these men
Will defend you til death
Now the time has come
To stand in front of you
My body is a shield
Just as God wants me to

Ameeri Husayn wa ni’ma’l-ameer
Commander Husayn, my allegiance is clear

This blood in my eyes
Makes it hard to see
I think that is you
Who is looking down on me
I would give my life again
For the son of Fatima
al-salam ‘alayk
Ya Aba Abdillah

Ameeri Husayn wa ni’ma’l-ameer
Commander Husayn, my allegiance is clear

[here is a video I made to accompany these lyrics]

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Tonight is the 27th of Rajab. It is considered a holy night for a number of different reasons, all of them centered around the spirituality of the Prophet Muhammad, may Allah bless him and his family and grant them peace.

It is cause for me to reflect on why I try to align myself with the historical mission of the Prophet Muhammad. What does it mean for me to be a Muslim, to declare that “Muhammad is the Messenger of God (محمد رسول الله)”? On this night, and tomorrow in the day, what will I do because of this belief? In 21st century America, in the midst of a global pandemic, why is this important?

I have never met the Prophet Muhammad, may Allah bless him and his family and grant them peace. As much as I have prayed for it, I have never seen him in my dreams, to answer my questions or give me specific directives for my life. But he is at the center of my life regardless. Is it not strange that someone whose face I have never seen has so much influence over me?

Growing up Christian, it was normal to imagine what Jesus, upon him peace, looked like. When I look at this picture, I am 100% certain that I am looking at Jesus:

Lord-Jesus

Sure, I get it that he was Jewish and that this picture is perhaps too light skinned, but I still know that I am looking at Jesus. No doubt. But show me any reverential painting or Persian miniature or caricature of the Prophet Muhammad, and I will not accept that it is him. It is just an image that exists in someone’s imagination. The only thing that is acceptable to me is his actual face. I trust I will know it when I see it. I really do not like listening to hadith descriptions of him, because it reminds me that I have never seen him. It is a literature of absence.

And yet, this man has more say over my life than anyone.

I never get to sleep in, ever, because he said to wake up at a certain time to pray.

I never get to drink Jack Daniels, ever, because he said to stop doing that.

I don’t get to just do what I want – I have to do what he has told me to do.

Before I was confined to my house by the orders of the governor, my egotistical self was confined by prophetic orders.

He wants me to honor the old people in my life, and be merciful to the youngsters. He told me to give my money away for the sake of others who need it more. He expects a lot, and sometimes it is really hard.

In short, he is like a father to me.

He is larger than life, and better than I can ever be.

He has made such a difference in so many people’s lives, so I sometimes wonder what I mean to him and where I fit in his life.

And for the last 20 years, I have tried as best I can to make him proud of me.

And so on this night I want to say to him that I hope you are proud of me, yā Rasūl Allāh.

I know that I have screwed up a lot, and that I am not as strong as I should be, but I am trying.

And tomorrow I will keep on trying.

I will wake up early to pray just like you want me to.

I will try to put others before myself as you have taught me.

I will remember that Allah has everything in control, just as Allah did at Khandaq when you were surrounded.

And I will carry on.

For every 27th of Rajab to come, I will carry your flag as best I can.

So when I can no longer walk with these legs

and my arms cannot carry your flag anymore

at the moment my days come to an end

please be there to carry me home

no matter how well I performed in comparison to others who love you too

for you will always be like a father to me

and I will always seek the safety of your embrace

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This post was written during the month of Ramadan 1440 AH.

As a white American, I have gone through a decades-long process of unlearning the white supremacy that was engrained in me in the formative years of my life. The pillars of that unlearning have been:

1) developing substantive encounters with non-white people
2) listening to non-white narratives with as much empathy as I can
3) being in non-white spaces even when I wasn’t fully comfortable
4) having real-life role models who were not white

There is no doubt in my mind that the ways of engaging with others that I have struggled to embrace by this ongoing experience have had a central role to play in my unlearning the dominant Sunni narratives of Islamic history, thought, and practice. Even though I read about Shi’ism fairly soon after converting, it wasn’t a real thing to me. It took going through the same 4 pillars of unlearning for me to experience Shi’ism as real. I even remember asking Najam Haider and Tariq al-Jamil for book recommendations when I first got to Princeton in 2002. In the course of the exchange, they said, “Give it 10 years, and you’ll become Shi’i.” I thought they were totally wrong, but more than 10 years later I was sitting in Najam’s office admitting that they had been right. It was one of the hardest things, to admit that for years I just couldn’t see it.

I was frustrated with God when this process began, because it began with simply wanting to rectify my state with God. And I thought that meant I was going to be led deeper into the study and practice of the Maliki madhhab and the suhba of Shadhili and Qadiri shaykhs with whom I already had a close relationship. But instead it led me to the majalis of Imam Husayn, which completely upended my life. I made new Shi’i friends, listened to alternative Shi’i narratives, was uncomfortable at times in Shi’i spaces, and started to embrace Shi’i role models. At times, I worried that Shaytan had me in his grasp, and began praying for protection from Shaytan more fervently than I ever had done. And almost every single du’a I uttered became about guidance. “O Allah, just guide me to what You want. I don’t care what it is anymore, because You know best.”

And over and over again, this process led me away from what had once seemed perfectly natural and normal. But because it had happened once before with whiteness, it wasn’t a complete shock. The only difference was that I had explicitly chosen Sunnism whereas I was born into whiteness. But over time I realized that wasn’t quite true. I had chosen Islam, and the only real option at the time to learn and practice it was through a Sunni modality.

For me, a real turning point was fajr prayer in Kadhimayn in Baghdad. The night before I had visited the 7th and 9th Imams buried there, along with many notable Shi’i scholars. The shaykh leading the prayer was an old and knowledgeable scholar, the congregation was probably 1000 people, and the masjid was large and beautiful. And I remember thinking, “Oh my God, if this was what I was introduced to as Islam when I first converted, I never would have questioned it!” I think it was the first real moment in my life where I saw Shi’ism as just plain Islam, the same way I had thought about Sunnism for many years.

When you grow up white, you never talk about people or things as “white,” although you qualify many other things with ethnic adjectives like “Black people” or “Indian food.” Similarly, my experience of Sunnism was where we rarely talked about things as Sunni, and instead used the word “Islam,” “Islamic,” or “Muslim.” So “Islamic literacy” really just meant “Sunni literacy,” and “Islamic law” really just meant Sunni law. But we rarely saw it that way.

The privileging of a dominant category is perhaps an unavoidable part of life. By privileging the Twelver-Shi’i narrative of Shi’ism, for example, one underplays the narratives of Isma’ili communities. However, what is not unavoidable is being completely blind to them. Just as I expect my own white sisters and brothers in humanity to open their eyes to whiteness, I expect my own Sunni sisters and brothers in faith to open their eyes to the dominant Sunni narrative of speaking about Islam.

At the end of the day, we are all going to die. Today we have to act on what we believe pleases Allah, manifesting the balance between hope and fear. But tomorrow we might revise what we believe pleases Allah most, and thus we will act differently. As Shaykh Rizwan Arastu taught me, we are not held accountable today for what we will find out tomorrow. Each day we try to do our best with what we currently have. Life is a continual process of change, and we hope that change leads to positive growth.

But the past is always with us. I am still white, and I am still culturally Sunni in many respects. I don’t know what day during Muharram Pakistanis talk about which figures from the Karbala narrative (is it ‘Ali al-Akbar day or Qasim day?), nor do I understand the reasons why some Shi’is seem to dislike other Shi’is so much. When I lead people in prayer, I have had to learn how to pray according to Ja’fari fiqh in a way that doesn’t alienate Sunnis who aren’t used to praying behind Shi’is. After 40 years of being white in America, and 17 or so years of being Sunni in the Ummah, I can never have the social experience of a Shi’i kid growing up in LA or NYC. And that is okay.

When I look back, the only real reason I became Muslim was to prepare for death. It was only the Qur’an that convinced me that I would live after my death, and have to face Perfect Judgement. That is the main motivating factor for trying to neutralize my contributions to white supremacy. And maybe that is the secret of the Shi’i tradition for me – that it is the most hopeful of all narratives. That even if one is of the greatest people who ever walked this Earth

that even when one’s mother and father were from the greatest people to walk this earth

that even when one’s grandfather was the greatest person to walk this earth

that the people who claim to practice the same religion as you

that the people who claim to honor the same prophet as you

that the people who memorize the same book as you

that they can still chop your head off, alone in the desert, surrounded by the bodies of your family and friends who died defending you

and it can still all be okay

in some miraculous and completely radical way

it can still work out beautifully in the end

if we are of those who stand with Husayn

even when the Ummah is united against him

actively and through tacit consent

that we can look death and evil and oppression squarely in the face

even when it is done by the Salaf

and see nothing but Beauty

because we know what Islam really is

by the Mercy of the Most Merciful

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i am spiraling out of control

i need you

please please don’t leave me

how am i to make it through these tests

without your name on my lips

and your love in my heart

how am i to survive in a world of lotus eaters

if you are not calling me back to Ithaca

it sounds so nice to eat

and forget

and get lost in a dream

but i need you to wake me up

i need you to pull me back to the ship

even if i am kicking and screaming

even if i

in a moment of forgetfulness

scream at you and say that you are not my commander

please forgive me

and overlook

and pardon

i was not in my right mind

and i take shelter in your wisdom and strength

because at my best

i am just one of your men

so whatever it takes

just

don’t

leave

me

just don’t let me be anything other than yours

so that my life is not more precious than your life

my dreams are not more worthy than your commands

and my today is not more valuable than your eternity

for i am with you

i am with you

and i am not with those who struggle against you

فَمَعَكُمْ مَعَكُمْ لا مَعَ عَدُوِّكُمْ

but i can’t do it alone

so please please don’t leave me

but fasten me securely to your ship

and row me away from this land forever

ya Husayn

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because of you

i can see the light in the darkness

when a people are surrounded by their oppressor

when a loved one’s body is wasting away from disease

when the wrongdoer goes free and the patient suffer

when a tragedy wipes away the happiness of a family

 

when death finally comes

as it always does

 

in all situations

my Imam

i see you

i see your headless body on the ground

i see your sister crying over you

i see your son carried away in chains

and i know

that your Lord hears all prayers

and is always with us

forever

 

because of you

hope can never die

ya Husayn

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Now that we are approaching the middle of the month of Ramadan, it is a good time to candidly reflect.

Shaytan hasn’t whispered in our ear for almost two weeks, and our nafs ‘ammārah (selfishness) is weakened by the rigors of fasting. In the last third of the month, many of us like to disconnect and find more privacy, but before we do that, it is a good time to take stock of ourselves in relation to the wider community of which we are a part. If we can’t speak purely and clearly and honestly at this time of the year, then perhaps we should all live lives of silence.

For this reflection, I want to highlight the disunity of the Muslim community and one of its primary causes. Many otherwise pious Muslims have isolated themselves within imagined communities of sanctity and grace. Whether it is the Sufi who is at home in Istanbul and Abu Dhabi, or the Shi’i who shuttles between Qum and Karbala, or the Salafi who only finds comfort in Makkah and Madinah, we create boxes of who is “in” and who is “out” and only spend time with those we believe are “in.” We speak about how pious so and so is, how Shaykh such and such wrote some great text, and refuse, either through silence or avoidance or just plain ignorance, to engage the Other.

I have benefitted from Shaykh ibn Uthaymeen (one of the most respected Salafi scholars of the 20th century), from Shaykh Habib Ahmad Mashhur al-Haddad (one of the most respected Sufis of the 20th century), and Ayatollah Khomeini (one of the most respected Shi’is of the 20th century). More than that, I have benefitted from Thomas Merton (a famous Catholic monk of the 20th century), A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami (a famous Hindu monk of the 20th century), and Carl Sagan (a famous atheist astrophysicist of the 20th century). They are all “my teachers,” one way or another, and for their role in my life I am grateful, even though I never had the opportunity to meet any of them.

Deep down, I may have some sort of imagined hierarchy in my mind about who is “closest” and who is “farthest” from The Creator (al-Khāliq), The Originator (al-Bāri’), The Fashioner (al-Muṣawwir). But when I get real with God, I know that I don’t know. All I know with certainty is that God created them and us, and will perfectly assign all of us our next-worldly situations. All I know is that they are human beings who live on the planet Earth, I am a human being who lives on the same planet, and we are all going to die just like they already have. I have met good people who are absolutely convinced that one of them, or a group of them, are certainly better than the others. So much so that it would actually cause a type of physical discomfort to imagine that they might be wrong, and the person they see as misguided is actually the closest to God.

The fact of the matter is that each of us are bound by material conditions to act. And that imagined hierarchy is what determines, to a certain extent, how we choose to act. So if I think that so and so is the highest, I will try to emulate them, and if I think such and such is the lowest, I will avoid them. That is something we are bound to do, and The Merciful Benefactor (al-Rahmān) is not going to judge us for it. But we err when we unjustifiably make claims about “our teachers” that give them a status in eternity that they may not have. And we compound that error when we use that claim to set ourselves off from others in the belief that we are “in.”

I say this because I have seen really good people do it. As far as I can tell, it is a spiritual challenge especially for those who have committed themselves to serious study and practice of Islam. It often comes from people who, in the next breath, will say that they know nothing and everyone is better than them. But their actions speak louder than their words. It is very clear who they think is the salt of the earth, and that they are honored by their connections to them.

It is better to simply do our best and leave the rest to Allah. If you believe following Habib ‘Umar (a contemporary Sufi leader) is necessary for you to prepare for the Last Day, then Allah bless you and guide you. If you believe that following Ayatollah Sistani (a contemporary Shi’i leader) is the best way to emulate the Sunnah, then Allah bless you and guide you. If you believe that following Shaykh Salman al-Ouda (a contemporary Salafi leader) is the safest way to Allah, then Allah bless you and guide you. If you believe that Seyyed Hossein Nasr (a contemporary Perennialist leader) has it all figured out, then Allah bless you and guide you.

But just please please please don’t highlight your personally necessary choice of teachers in communal settings where it is not necessary. And please please please be willing to try something different. Try studying with someone else’s teacher. Read someone else’s books. Go on someone else’s pilgrimage tour. Speak in someone else’s masjid or summer program.

And if you are fearful of the repercussions of this, both in terms of income and reputation, ask yourself this – “Am I sincere enough with God that if I lost this position and no one listens to me anymore and I make no income from it, I will still carry on because I am doing it for God?”

If the answer is yes, then you have nothing to fear.

If the answer is no, then you shouldn’t be opening your mouth to teach Islam in the first place. Go get another job, and figure out your heart before you die.

When Musa came back from the mountain and grilled Harun for allowing the community to build the golden calf while he was absent, Harun said:

“I was afraid you would say, ‘You have caused division among the children of Israel!'” (20.93)

If a prophet himself was afraid of breaking up the community over idol worship, then what exactly are we afraid of by increasing our engagement with those Muslims who have different teachers than us as their sanad (link) to the Prophet Muhammad and wasīla (means) to understanding the Holy Qur’an?

اللهم صل على محمد و آل محمد

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a life in preparation

to take one sip

from 14 oceans

 

drunk on God

soul struggling to be freed from body

willing to trade life away

 

drink again

and again

and again

 

each satiation

follows into a new thirst

which is again satiated

 

from 14 oceans

upon whose shores i wander

unable to fathom

the depths of what they contain

 

“Truly, the Prophet (S) cannot be described, and how could a servant be described whom God, the Almighty and the Glorious, has concealed with seven veils and made obedience to him in the earth like obedience to God in the heavens, declaring, ‘And whatsoever the Messenger gives you, take it. And whatsoever he forbids, abstain from it.’ And ‘Whoever obeys him assuredly obeys Me, and whoever disobeys him disobeys Me.’ Hence, God has delegated authority to him. And we cannot be described…” -Imām al-Bāqir عليه السلام

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This poem follows in the wake of the poem “My Guide”  by Aqeela Naqvi.

al-Askari Shrine after

men with evil ways tried to bury you

but did not know that you were a seed

planted in my heart before i was born

to answer my deepest need

 

uncovering secrets unfolding in time

becoming who i am decreed to be

a servant of a servant of your servant

no higher place am i meant to see

 

confined to your house in Samarra

waiting for years and years on end

what fear drove men to hide you away

for your erasure how much did they spend

 

but God made you a shining light

before creation of heaven and earth

to manifest in your body and words

the nobility of the human’s worth

 

though they took you away from your blessed city

and surrounded you with spies all day

you only increased in love for your Lord

and in the depths of the nights would pray:

 

Your gifts overflow and Your door is swung wide

Your merciful glance is like rain

You encompass all things, we take refuge in You

for a safety that melts every pain

 

and so we walk, live, cry and fight in our times

to keep the darkest from filling our heart

and you are where we are

connections rooted in God will never part

 

so i ask you to grasp these hands that bleed

and hold them close in your sacred trust

and walk with us and show us the way

to a love beyond objects of lust

 

my Lord, so please bless Imam al-Naqi

my guide and the guide of my friend

and create a gathering place near rivers that flow

so we may be there when all things reach their end

 

اللهم صل على محمد و آل محمد

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