COMMERCE & SPIRITUALITY - Between the enjoyment of consuming, and the happiness of giving and sharing...

Abbot: Mine is made in China. What about yours?
Muslim Dude: Golly! Even my 'little Kaaba' is made in China.

Holy Days and Holy Wastes

Romantic love rules the airwaves,

Anniversaries and Valentine’s Day,

Motherly love rules on Mother’s Day,

Fatherly love rules on Father’s Day,

Friendly love rules on Birthdays,

And thankfully... Godly love is celebrated

On the His Holy Days, 

But every day the love is ruined

By over-commercialization

And exploitation, the message

Lost in a morass of holy waste

And religious haze.

……………….

COMMERCE AND SPIRITUALITY. Actually, even before the Prophethood of Muhammad (pbuh), commerce and religion has always been intertwined. You need only visit the Muslim holy cities of Mecca and Medina, to see pilgrim-tourist businesses thriving along the Masjid Nabawi and the Masjidil Haram. And Jerusalem too, the shared holy city for the Jews, Christians and Muslims. Everywhere you can find faux relics of saints and prophets, the Hand of Fatima, the Turkish Ward against the Evil Eye and all sorts of rosaries, tasbihs, clay and china figurines of the Virgin Mother, Verses of the Quran and Bible framed and sometimes etched on sheep skin, miniature little Kaabas, whirling Mehlevi dervishes and etc. The beauty (or crassness, let’s be honest here) of the spiritual souveniers is only limited by the imagination of the artist or the prolific factories in China, where all these religious bric-a-bracs appear to come from.

Jerusalem, present day. This procession of the Christian Nuns
have been going on for the longest time.

SPECIAL ……… (insert your religious festival here)……. PROMOTION! So I am going to be realistic and not proceed to condemn the commercialization of religious holidays and festivities. But like all things in life… it ought to be done in a measured and sensible level. There was once a time in Malaysia, when the Muslims tend to scorn the commercial exploitation of Christmas – you know, all that glittering Christmas trees, Santas and Santarinas on hire, and the give-your-loved-ones-Xmas-presents-though-you-will-max-your-credit-card kinda promotional ethos of the big super malls of Malaysia (oh yes. We have them aplenty). But now, alas, I do not really see that much difference between the Muslims and Christians. Muslims too can be guilty of unparalleled consumerism during the Eidul Fitri celebrations - New curtains, new sofas, new cellphones, new laptops, new TVs and even new cars sometimes.

Jerusalem, 1915. The last recorded procession of the Ottoman's
Feast for the Prophet Moses. 

A FINE BALANCE. And I shan’t be a party-pooper or Mr. Killjoy. After all, we are not saints. Nor are we Christian, Hindu, Buddhist or Sufi hermits. But I think there must be a fine balance we can strive towards... between self-gratification and philanthropy, between the enjoyment of consuming and the happiness of giving and sharing. 

CONCLUSION. Whether you are a Muslim or Christian (or Jew, Hindu, Punjabi, Wiccan… etc), I think we shall all benefit from focusing more on the giving bit, rather than the consuming bit. And the first 'giving' flavor for the day? - Let us give each other, of whatever race or faith we may be, the benefit of the doubt. The benefit of our tolerance and understanding. The benefit of our compassion and mercy.  And I do not think we need a special day or event to to give voice to such humanity. Not when we are aware that everyday is a blessed day from God... 24 never-to-be-gained-again hours especially created for you and for me.

Don’t you agree, sunshine?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

I am in love with a man and I am not ashamed of it - actually several men. How faithless am I!?

I am in love with a man

I am in love with a man

And his beautiful ways,

I am in love with a man

And the way he smiles,

I am in love with a man

And the way he leads his life,

I am in love with a man

And I honour and respect his wife,

I am in love with a man

Who moves my heart to tears,

I am in love with a man

And I do not care what people think,

The whole of me I feel open to him

My life, my heart, my soul, my everything.

..................

The fond affection and love that the friends, followers and groupies of al-Marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah ibni Sultan Azlan Shah (Ku Ash) has for him is sweet to behold. And it is also sometimes a little difficult as they wrestle with their emotions before my very eyes. It often moves me to pity. But it also moves me to envy... ahh, to have such a love for someone. How lucky they are!

But in recent days, a figure of less prominence is gathering significance. And I do not know about anyone else, but he has become a salve, a potion, a mixture of love, smiles, hope and affection. A healing balm for those who have been perhaps a little despondent after the passing of Ku Ash. A brother of Ku Ash - in this dunya and akhira (here and hereafter). He laughs, he jokes, he makes fun of himself in self-deprecating humour. But in his coffee-talk he is gathering significance, drawing attention like a gathering cloud of mercy looming over the landscape. And already, little droplets of compassion is falling on the window of our soul. Now where is that umbrella of mine!?

So I am happy. Share my happiness with me, sunshine. His name is Bahauddin Adil.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Tahlil Speech That Did Not Happen - Dreaming. Thinking . Feeling . Part 1

As I mentioned earlier, my late mother's Tahlil (traditional prayers for the dearly departed) for the 10th Anniversary of her passing happened today. As I was driving to pick up Heche in the morning to help out with the prep, I was thinking. And I was dreaming...

...dreaming...

I looked out at the sky, and I thought "Hmm.. beautiful. I hope everything will be as beautiful throughout the Tahlil.."

...thinking...

In the short five minutes drive, I wrote a speech in my head for the Tahlil. I did not recite it in the end, but I still remember the emotion, etched as it is in my memory. So I would like to share the prose with you, though those who attended the small function did not. Here it is, aptly called...

THE TAHLIL SPEECH THAT DID NOT HAPPEN

The world distracts me with its jewels and baubles,

With its fine trinkets and beautiful stones,

But ever since my mother has passed on,

This world is not truly my home…

I follow those who are attending

To the affairs of the dead

And those yet to be born,

For they are the ones who

Are truly alive in this moment

Which is here and very soon gone!

We are nothing but a wisp of thought

In the Cradle of God’s Imagination,

Not fit for His estimation but saved

By the prayers of our ancestors,

And the prayers of those

Who are destined

To come

After

Us.

My mother who loved you all,

Died with her love undiminished,

And as I look at each one of you here,

And at each one of you who are not here,

MasyaAllah… now I know how she loved you so!

For you appear to me so beautiful,

So sincere and wonderful,

From the top of your heads

To your pinky little toes!

…………….

You are defined by your relationship with people. But perhaps there are few relationships that are more defining than the relationship you have with your mother. I do not consider myself a good son while she was alive. But she was a wonderful mum to me and my brothers.

...feeling...

As I walked Mikhail up to bed early tonight (he has a slight temperature, poor guy), I asked him, "Well, did you see Tok (grandma) today?" He replied, "Tok? But she is in the grave, Papa." Good point. So I asked again, "Did you feel Tok then?", to which he said, "I felt a tingle inside me during the du'a (prayers). Was that her?"

And I answered, "Yes, Mikhail."

Thank you for coming to this 'online' Tahlil, sunshine. You are my guests, and I am your humble host of the Sinners' Almanac. Welcome, welcome, welcome!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way.

The Lord, The Shepherd and the Sheep

The Lord, The Shepherd and the Sheep

I was alone with my sheep,

In the high cliffs by the sea,

The fire was slowly dying,

Its embers glowing like rubies,

The dogs were resting quietly

And all was deathly silent...

When suddenly, feeling so lonely,

I asked nobody in particular,

“Oh Lord… will only the sheep

And my dogs keep me company?

If I die here, who will wash me

Pray over me and bury me?”

Not long thereafter

I heard an answer,

“Do not worry, I will keep you company…

And If you are to die now,

I shall send My angels to wash your body,

Pray over you and bury you

With honour and mercy.”

………………………………..

It appears that when God wants to appoint a Prophet, one of the more common qualification is - "Must have experience herding sheep." Many prophets, at one time or the other, were shepherds. This experience in handling sheep and goat are useful because they are one of the most difficult animals to care for. They will get up trees and refuse to come down until they have had their fill of the succulent leaves. When you are not watching they will climb right up to a precipice and get stuck, expecting you to rescue them. Often the sheep would innocently wander into a wolf's territory. They will eat whatever they want and sometimes get sick with over-eating the berries. In other words, they are almost as difficult to handle as Mankind. I bet Prophets of old would look over their human flock and reminisce about their youthful days, out for weeks on end with the sheepkind, and thinking "Oh boy... to think I thought that was difficult!"

No Shepherd? No problem! No pesky dogs? No problem!
Waaait a minute... is that wolves I hear?

Going back to the old traditional ways of our ancestors, some of my friends have started rearing a couple of cows and dozens of goats in their land. It is not an easy job. Feeding them and mucking out early in the morning, while the rest of us are just getting up. Checking for diseases and having to crouch in the daily back-breaking chore of milking. But they do not complain and appear to enjoy working with the animals. 

As Muhammad Habibullah (saw) is the Seal of the Prophets, there are no more prophets expected in the future. But I am told that the Veterinary Science is not exactly an area that young people are falling over themselves to study. So perhaps the Universities and Colleges should advertise their farming courses this way - "Qualify yourself as a Prophet! Study Sheep/Goat care, breeding and rearing!"

Hehehe.

'Tis a lovely Sunday and in a couple of hours time, my mother's Tahlil (traditional prayers for the deceased) will begin, and thereafter we shall have a nice lunch. If you are around Bukit Damansara, sunshine, do drop in.

Well, here is Arbayah herself, almost 30 years ago, with her own precious flock of sheep.
Alas, my mother won't be around for her tahlil (obviously). But we will not allow
this tiny technical detail to deter us from connecting with her living memories.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Best Truths are Hidden... Adab will lift the Veil

THE BEST TRUTH(S)
The best truths are hidden…

Hidden in the eye of the beholder,
In the salty sweat of the labourer,
In the embrace of the teacher,
In the tears of the mother,

Hidden in the smile of the children,
In the tender kisses of lovers,
In the rainbow and the birds that sing,
In the honey and the bees that sting,
In the light of a lamp
Raised high upon a niche in heaven,
In the ponderous tired gait
Of a beast of burden,

Hidden in the unfolding of patience
Through years of mother's honest toil,

In the bullock that drag father's
Beaten frame over the unyielding soil,

In the earth that covereth
Over the seed,

In the hand the counteth
Over the rosary beads.

……………...........

Knowledge is a wonderful thing, my friend says. But knowledge can be used for a good or bad purpose. And in the context of 'spiritual' lore, how the dice falls is even more subtle. Not that there is anything wrong with knowledge itself, because the attainment of knowledge, be it spiritual or temporal, is a duty of all men and women. It is the wavering and uncertain passions of the student, Man himself, who would often corrupt the knowledge - becoming of no use to himself. Indeed, he can become a spiritual danger not just to himself but to others around him.

I asked my friend how to lessen the risk of such thing happening. And I shall always remember his three words refrain... "Adab, adab, adab." Adab is the courtly courtesy and beautiful manner required of Man in his interaction with God, his fellow man, other creatures and the whole of creation. "With good Adab, you will not only find knowledge." He continued. "With good Adab you will find beautiful truths sprinkled like angel dust across the whole Universe. What a wonderful world it will be for you, if you have good Adab."

And I think that is lovely. So thank you kindly, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Mureeds, Mureeds, Mureeds Everywhere! - Where is the Shaykh?

Angel 1: There he goes again. Making spurious remarks about the
Saints and the Mureeds!
Angel 2: Don't you mind him, brethren. He is nuttier than
an Ark full of nuts.

The Nation of Mureeds

There are soft Mureeds,

Hard Mureeds, Happy Mureeds,

Sad Mureeds, Warrior Mureeds,

Singing Mureeds, Dancing Mureeds,

Scholarly Mureeds, Silent Mureeds,

Noisy Cockroach-stamping Mureeds,

Mureeds that shoot arrows off the back of horses,

Mureeds that operate the hearts of the sickly,

Royal Mureeds, common Mureeds,

Bright intelligent Mureeds, silly ridiculous Mureeds,

Mureeds that question, Mureeds that answer,

Mureeds that have no opinion and does neither,

Mureeds with a mustache (even some women Mureeds),

Mureeds with a goatee, Mureeds with long hair,

Mureeds in crewcut, Mureeds with no hair whatsoever.

Thin Mureeds, Fat Mureeds, Gym-going Mureeds,

And couch potato Mureeds,

Mureeds who can cook,

Mureeds who can only eat,

Flashy bling-bling Mureeds,

Mureeds that looked like they spent

The night in a dumpster,

Poor Mureeds, Rich Mureeds,

Mureeds in flashy sports cars,

Mureeds on motor bikes,

Mureeds wearing turbans,

Mureeds wearing a ready-smile,

Mureeds, Mureeds, Mureeds!

..................

(Mureed - Student)

I don’t actually write much about direct experiences with the Masters for the simple reason that I have oh-so-few. I find them awesome and kinda daunting actually. Especially the smiling, easy-breezy ones like you-know-who. So disarming and charming. Oh no… it is those whom I dread most!

I am much more comfortable with their Mureeds. And I guess I write quite a bit about these strange fellows. But you know… one day student, tomorrow master! One day, the Mureed, the next day the Shaykh! Like Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader.

Darth Vader: Once, I was your student... now I am your Master!
Obi Wan Kenobi: Master? If you are a Master, my uncle is a Wookie!

I would like to be able say to one future Shaykh – “When nobody noticed you, when everybody thought you dull / crazy / bland like potato soup / mad as a hatter / conniving / manipulative / a great pretender of no spiritual significance whatsoever, I the Sinner, saw the potential in you and quietly thought to myself already, YEARS ahead of everyone else – “Hmm, this is an especially crazy one, with potential for even greater craziness...”

Hehehe.

If you have ever had the bad luck of being mentioned anywhere in the Sinners’ Almanac, masyaAllah… you might be in line to great spiritual stations (maqam), to rise higher than the highest flying condor in the spiritual Andes. To become the next great Shaykh!

Or alternatively, you might simply just be plain-old-ordinary-crazy.

Hehehe.

Have a lovely day, sunshine. Bless you.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

In a small village I found Gems of the Heart and Salt of the Earth - proud in the most noble sense of the word

Back here again.

Yesterday morning we made our way back to Kak Mutiah's house, a wooden kampung (village) home, standing solitary in acres of paddy fields. She is coming back with us for my late mum's tahlil (traditional prayers for the deceased) this coming Sunday. As it always happens, a visit to the little hamlet in Tanjung Karang is always wonderful - amongst familiar and friendly friends, generous and humble, yet proud in the most noble sense of the word...

The two coconut trees are still there, standing tall in front of the house. Flowers of their garden
are in bloom and feels so familiar to me. It should, because Kak Mutiah used to bring home some
of the plants from my mother's own garden. So the DNA of the trees, leaves and flowers
surrounding her familial abode is the same as mine. This leaves me feeling somehow happy. 

Last I was here the Hibiscus was not flowering. Now its magnificent red petals are
floating in the gentle afternoon breeze. It is Malaysia's national flower. Many long
years ago her father and mother migrated from the island of Java, Indonesia to make
a honest toil as gardeners. Then an opportunity opened for them they became paddy
farmers in Tanjung Karang, as pioneers in this rural area of Selangor. They still speak
Javanese and hold to their customs, but they have become Malaysians and are salts
of the earth. It was not easy, being paddy farmers.

After lunch my auntie, Mak Ndak and Kak Mutiah's mother are resting in the
living area. After 3 visits, I have become particularly fond of her mother whom I
simply call Mak Cik (little or middle auntie). She is tough as nails and kind as a cloud
that passes over the Sun. She doesn't speak any unnecessary word, but is attentive
to her guest's comfort and food. You know... the sort that makes you feel like a Sultan.
When we said goodbye I had to kiss her hand and hug her.

The inner rooms are much more cooler during the day.  After the amazing lunch
cooked by my kindly hosts, I fell into a contented slumber. I am not the sort that can
just fall asleep anywhere. My heart is fussy where I rests my head, I guess. But after this
third visit, I have lost whatever inhibitions I had and  when Mak Cik told me to 'rest',
I did just that. "Ooh... this is too nice..." I remember
thinking, before losing consciousness.

When I woke up later, I explored the kitchen and I found an ancient-looking cabinet where the family keeps the dry goods. Kak Mutiah noticed me pondering over the beat-up old furniture and said, "This is very old. A reminder from the time when we really had nothing whatsoever. My father built it himself when I was maybe 5 years old (she's in her fifties now). You know how it is in those days, we were very poor and couldn't even afford a simple cabinet. Even for the wood my father had to scrounge about for spare or unused planks."

Later as we were leaving, my cousin, the indomitable Ramlah (I call her Kak Lah) succeeded in giving Kak Mutiah's mum a token gesture of money. I was sitting at the backyard when I saw her practically scuffling with the old lady and then chasing her into the rooms. Kak Lah later came out looking a bit breathless but victorious, "She always does that! I literally have to wrestle her down to give her a little gift! How I wish for once she would not put up such a struggle..."

Deep, abiding, sincere respect. That was how we all felt for Kak Mutiah, her father and her mother. They are Gems of the Heart and Salt of the Earth. And as I said, proud people in the most noble sense of the word. 

I feel so lucky to be able to share with you a little of their story. Thank you for coming by, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way