As Within, So Without - A look at Jung' Projection idea and Sufi's Tajalli idea.

 

As Within, So Without

According to Jung, what I see outside is often just my own projection. My unconscious is busy painting the world with colors I sometimes don’t even recognize as my own. The anger, the hurt, the stubbornness, the beauty — it’s all me staring back at me through others.

In Sufism, they call it tajalli — the self-disclosure of God. The way the Divine shows Itself through everything and everyone. Mercy, Wrath, Beauty, Majesty… all the Names are playing themselves out in the world around me. Not random, not separate, but a reflection of the Real.

So when I put Jung and the Sufis side by side, I find myself nodding. Different languages, but the same truth: what I see outside is a mirror of what’s inside. The Hermetic folks said it best a long time ago — “As within, so without.”

Jung would say it’s my psyche projecting itself.
The Sufi would say it’s God revealing Himself.
I stand somewhere in between, wondering if it’s not both at once.

The question that lingers for me: am I looking at my own shadow, or am I looking at the Face of God? Maybe the answer doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters is learning to see, really see, without blame, without clinging, without turning away.

As Ibn ‘Arabi wrote:
“He who knows himself knows his Lord.”

And so, every encounter — with strangers, with my children, with the passing moods of the day — is a chance to look into the mirror. To see my self, and beyond my self.

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#PersonalReflections #Jung #Sufism #Tajalli #HermeticWisdom #AsWithinSoWithout #MysticalJourney

Lesson from the Unseen -The Essence of Ma‘rifah

 The Essence of Ma‘rifah

In Sufism, ma‘rifah means inner knowing — a direct recognition of Allah that goes beyond words, rituals, or doctrines. It is not the knowledge one gains from books, but the intimate unveiling of the heart. Scholars speak of ‘ilm (knowledge) as what the mind understands, while ma‘rifah is what the soul realizes.

Yet this quest for inner knowing is not unique to Islam. In Christianity, the mystics called it union with God or theosis, as when Meister Eckhart wrote: “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.” In Judaism, the Kabbalists meditate on the Divine Names to reach da‘at, mystical knowledge of the Ein Sof — the Infinite.

Hindu sages call it jnana, the realization of the Self as one with the Absolute, while the path of bhakti mirrors the Sufi’s path of love. In Buddhism, prajna is the deep insight into reality as it truly is — much like the Sufi unveiling (kashf). Taoism whispers of the Tao that cannot be spoken, known only through silence, surrender, and flow.

Across traditions, the distinction remains:

• Outer knowledge informs the mind.

• Inner knowing transforms the soul.

For the Sufi, however, ma‘rifah is always framed within Tawhid — the certainty that there is no reality but Allah. To attain ma‘rifah is to see with clarity that all is but a reflection of the One, and that the knower, the known, and the Knowing are never separate.

As Ibn ‘Arabi once wrote:
“He who knows himself knows his Lord.”

And as Rumi sang in longing:
“The lamps are different, but the Light is the same. One matter, one energy, one Light — nothing else.”

Ma‘rifah is not learned; it is lived.
It is the heart opening its eye
And seeing only the Face of the Beloved.

#Sufism #Marifah #InnerKnowing #MysticismAcrossFaiths

 

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When in Doubt, Listen to the Drums

Sometimes the mind resists silence, sometimes the heart returns to it. Between distraction and remembrance, there is always rhythm — guiding us back to the One.

Returning to the Silence

I woke up around 2:15 this morning. Instead of drifting back into half-sleep, I sat up on the bed in quiet meditation. The silence of the hour invited zikr, and soon I found myself whispering prayers of forgiveness, mercy, and gratitude to the All-Mighty.

Afterward, I rose to make wudhu. On the way, I noticed the kitchen sink had been left a mess, so I cleaned it. Somehow that small act felt like part of the practice itself. With the sink shining again, I mixed my little tonic of honey, apple cider, and olive oil, and sat down with my earphones on, shamanic rhythms in the background, free at last from my son’s gentle snoring.

Now, here I am at the computer, sharing thoughts with my spiritual brother. And the thought came: how am I doing so far?

The Parasite of Thoughts

Even in my quiet moments — meditation, zikr, prayer — thoughts creep in. They slip into my awareness like parasites that refuse to give up. To rest in complete absorption still feels almost impossible. And in this aspect, I sometimes envy those who seem to sit so naturally in pure silence.

After nearly two years in a Zen monastery, you’d think I’d have it covered. But no — the mind still does what the mind does. Perhaps that’s the point: we never “conquer” it once and for all. We learn to walk with it.

Gentle Discoveries Along the Way

So I remind myself of what I already know but often forget:

• Thoughts are like weather: they come and go, while I remain the sky.

• Label them gently — “thinking, planning, remembering” — and let them float by.

• Anchor the zikr to the breath, letting rhythm and body carry me deeper.

• If a thought refuses to leave, let it live its short life like a wave rising and falling.

• Sometimes I place it in a box, promising to return later with pen and paper.

These are not new lessons, but rediscoveries. Each time I stumble on them again, they feel fresh, as though the path keeps revealing itself in small steps rather than in one grand revelation.

The Hidden Ingredient

And yet, there’s one ingredient without which all this becomes heavy, almost like making meditation into a cancer case: enjoy the moment, no matter what.

Yes, the mind chatters. Yes, the sink fills with dishes. Yes, my son snores in rhythm. And yes, sometimes I lose the thread of prayer. But here I am, alive in this moment, able to sit, to breathe, to bow my head in gratitude. That, in itself, is an accomplishment.

Step by Step

So I keep walking — step by step, breath by breath, zikr by zikr. Not chasing perfection, but welcoming each return as a victory. The path is not about silencing every thought forever. It is about remembering, over and over again, the One who is always here.

And perhaps, if I can smile even at my distractions, then the journey itself becomes the destination.

A Verse of Gratitude

Alhamdulillah for the breath that returns,
for the silence between thoughts,
for the chance to bow in remembrance.
Even in distraction, You are here —
And in each return, You are nearer.

#Meditation #Zikr #Gratitude #SufiPath #ZenAndIslam #ReturningToSilence #SpiritualJourney #Mindfulness #Alhamdulillah

Lessons from the Unseen - Nūr al-Aswad – The Black Light

 

Nūr al-Aswad – The Black Light

In Sufi mysticism, the Black Light (Nūr al-Aswad) is not the absence of light, but the overabundance of it. Just as staring at the sun blinds the eye, the radiance of Divine Reality overwhelms the heart until it perceives only darkness. This darkness is not despair, but the veil of God’s majesty. It is the threshold where the seeker, stripped of all forms, enters the state of fanā — the annihilation of self — where nothing remains but God.

Mystics describe the Black Light as both terrifying and liberating. It is the moment when all knowledge, images, and certainties dissolve, leaving the seeker suspended in the mystery of pure Being. It is not the end of the journey, but the womb of a new birth — a rebirth into the Real.

The Black Light Across Traditions

This paradox is not unique to Sufism. Mystics across traditions have encountered the same reality:

• Buddhism speaks of the Clear Light of the Void, where the mind dissolves into infinite radiance that can seem like darkness because the ego cannot comprehend it.

• Hinduism describes Brahman as “darker than the darkest night, yet brighter than a thousand suns.” Shiva as Kāla, the Black One, embodies both dissolution and creation, a cosmic womb of being.

• Taoism calls the Tao the Mystery of Darkness within Darkness, the nameless source of all things, hidden yet ever-generative.

Each tradition recognizes that the ultimate truth cannot be captured by the senses. What seems like darkness to the limited mind is in fact the fullness of the Infinite.

The Black Light in Modern Science

Surprisingly, modern science too brushes against this mystery:

• Black Holes appear as voids of darkness, but in reality, they are places where light is trapped by immense gravity — containing unimaginable energy and bending space-time itself.

• Quantum Physics reveals the so-called vacuum is not empty but seething with invisible energy, the zero-point field, from which particles emerge and vanish.

• Neuroscience shows that when the eye is flooded with too much light, the optic nerves can register it as darkness — echoing the mystic’s claim that infinite radiance appears as blackness.

• Cosmology tells us the universe began from a singularity, a state of formless density where neither light, space, nor time could exist — a scientific mirror of the mystical womb of creation.

A Universal Mystery

Whether in Sufi devotion, Buddhist meditation, Hindu insight, Taoist wisdom, or scientific discovery, the message is the same: what appears as darkness is not absence, but hidden fullness. The Black Light is the paradox of the Infinite — unseen because it is too near, ungraspable because it is too vast.

To enter it is to step beyond knowing, beyond self, into the embrace of the Eternal.

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Poetic Reflection

When the light is too bright,
it hides itself as night.
What the eye calls empty,
the heart knows as full.
In the womb of darkness,
all suns are born.
Lose yourself there,
and find the One
who was never lost.

AlRumi.

“Behold! Let there be Light!”

#NurAlAswad #BlackLight #SufiMysticism #MysticalWisdom #UnityOfTraditions #LightBeyondDarkness #InfiniteMystery #SpiritualJourney #ScienceAndMysticism 

America’s Quiet Turn Toward Islam

“Disillusioned by corruption in politics and the neglect of the working class, many Americans are searching for truth beyond the system—and Islam appears to be a possible remedy.” 

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America’s Quiet Turn Toward Islam

Having lived in the United States for twenty-one years, I carry with me a sense of its people and their spirit. What I see today gives me a strong intuition that America may, in the future, become one of the largest Muslim countries in the world—not only in numbers but in sincerity of faith.

The pressures of modern America—political division, economic hardship, social unrest—are driving many, especially the younger and educated, to search for something deeper. They are not content with slogans, nor do they blindly accept the doctrines of inherited traditions. Americans are by nature curious and investigative. When it comes to matters of faith, they want to explore, question, and test until they find what resonates as truth.

For many, modern-day religion has become disappointing. They find in it more politics than prayer, more division than unity. Yet this very disillusionment becomes fertile ground for the heart’s longing. It is here that Islam often enters quietly, not through compulsion, but through study and discovery.

Islam speaks plainly of the Oneness of God, the discipline of prayer, the cleansing of fasting, the justice of community, and the equality of all souls before the Creator. For the American mind, this clarity and structure holds great appeal. And when an American embraces Islam, it is rarely by chance—it is through conscious choice, after investigation and reflection. This makes their faith strong, rooted not in inheritance but in conviction.

In this way, I believe Americans make good Muslims: honest in their search, sincere in their practice, and committed when they embrace the truth. The seeds of a future transformation may already be here, visible in small signs—like the growing curiosity reflected even in my own blog readership.

History shows us that Islam often spread not by force, but by the quiet encounter with truth and the example of those who lived it. Perhaps America is now entering such a chapter in its own story.

Gaza as a Catalyst for Spiritual Awakening

In recent times, the genocide in Gaza has shaken the conscience of the world. In America especially, it has forced many to question not only politics and foreign policy but also the deeper values of justice, compassion, and truth. For a growing number of young Americans, Gaza has become a mirror, reflecting both the failures of modern power and the resilience of faith.

They see a people under unimaginable hardship, yet holding firmly to their prayers, fasting even under bombardment, uttering Allahu Akbar in the face of death, and teaching their children hope when the world seems hopeless. For many seekers, this raises the question: What gives them such strength?

The answer often points to Islam itself—not as an abstract religion, but as a lived reality of surrender to God. For Americans disillusioned with materialism and tired of hollow institutions, this encounter with authentic faith can become the spark that awakens their own spiritual journey.

Thus, even in its tragedy, Gaza has become a silent teacher. It shows that Islam is not about theory but about living with dignity, patience, and unwavering trust in the One God. For America, this may prove to be a powerful catalyst in the rise of Islam—not only through conversion, but through respect, understanding, and a recognition of shared humanity.

Conclusion

The future is never certain, but signs often whisper before they speak aloud. I believe America is quietly turning toward Islam, guided by disillusionment with falsehood and inspired by encounters with truth. Whether through the resilience of Gaza or the sincere search of its own people, the seeds are being planted. And in time, they may grow into a faith that reshapes not only the heart of individuals, but the soul of a nation.

#AmericaAndIslam #SpiritualAwakening #IslamInTheUS #GazaTruth #FaithAndJustice #SearchingForTruth #RiseOfIslam #IslamicReflections #JourneyToFaith #SilentTeacher

 

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Lessons from the Unseen — Journey Through the Sirr

The Sufi path speaks often of the sirr — the innermost secret of the human being, a subtle point where self and Divine meet. It is said to be the chamber where only God and the servant converse, a sanctuary no other can enter. Through history, the masters of the path revealed different dimensions of this secret. Their voices are many, but their source is One.

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Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya — The Fire of Love

Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya, mother of Divine Love, prayed not for Paradise nor from fear of Hell, but for God alone. She taught that the sirr is a flame that burns away motives until only the naked fire of love remains.

She declared: “O Lord, if I worship You for fear of Hell, burn me in it. If I worship You for hope of Paradise, exclude me from it. But if I worship You for Your own sake, withhold not Your Eternal Beauty.”

Her lesson: when the sirr burns with pure love, nothing false can survive.

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Bāyazīd Bistāmī — The Wine of Intoxication

Where Rābiʿa’s fire consumed, Bāyazīd Bistāmī overflowed. His cries of ecstasy — “Glory be to me! How great is my majesty!” — scandalized some, yet they revealed a self emptied, drunk on God alone.

For him, the sirr was a wine cup: filled, the seeker staggers with Divine intoxication; emptied, he longs for another taste. His lesson: the sirr is vast enough to hold both ecstasy and silence, laughter and tears.

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Junayd of Baghdad — The Still Water of Sobriety

Junayd of Baghdad, Sayyid at-Ta’ifa, offered the counterbalance: sobriety. He taught that the color of water is the color of its container — meaning the sirr is pure, taking the form of the one who carries it.

He wove the harmony of opposites: drunkenness and sobriety, silence and speech, inward fana’ and outward service. The true master is inwardly consumed by the Beloved yet outwardly calm, ethical, and trustworthy.

His lesson: the sirr is not only fire and wine — it is also clear water that nourishes daily life.

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Mansūr al-Ḥallāj — The Cry of Unveiling

Then came Mansūr al-Ḥallāj, whose cry “Ana al-Ḥaqq” (I am the Truth) unveiled the secret too openly. For some, it was blasphemy; for others, the deepest fana’ where only God speaks through the emptied self.

His blood testified that the world is not always ready for unveiled sirr. His lesson: what is shown in the innermost chamber must sometimes remain veiled. The seeker must learn when to speak and when to remain silent, carrying both humility and awe.

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Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī — The Axis of the Path

All these voices converge in Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī, the Ghawth al-Aʿzam — the Great Helper. Jurist and mystic, guide of the law and master of the unseen, he became the axis around which the Sufi path turns.

He said: “Be with the Truth without tongue. Be with creation without self.” This is the balance: annihilation inwardly, service outwardly. In him, fire and wine, ecstasy and sobriety, concealment and proclamation, all found their harmony.

His lesson: the sirr is a trust (amānah). It is not a private treasure but a responsibility — to walk as servant of the Beloved, helper of humanity, and mirror of Divine mercy.

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The Harmony of Opposites

Thus the journey of the sirr is not a straight path but a weaving of flames and waters, cries and silences, intoxication and discipline. Each master carried one note of the symphony. Together they point us back to Unity — the One who is the source, the secret, and the seeker Himself.

In the end, it is not the voice of Rābiʿa, Bāyazīd, Junayd, or Ḥallāj, nor even the guiding hand of Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī that matters most, but the eternal echo within the sirr:

Allāh, Allāh, Allāh.

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#LessonsFromTheUnseen #Sirr #SufiMasters #DivineLove #IntoxicationAndSobriety #HarmonyOfOpposites #AbdulQadirJilani #MysticalHeart #PathToUnity

 

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Lessons from the Unseen — Conclusion: Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī and the Axis of the Path

From Rābiʿa’s fire of love to Bāyazīd’s intoxication, from Junayd’s sobriety to al-Ḥallāj’s dangerous unveiling — we have traced different lights shining through the sirr, the innermost secret of the seeker. Each master revealed one face of the jewel, and each face was true.

But the path does not end in fragments. It seeks an axis — a balance point where ecstasy and discipline, love and law, concealment and unveiling, all turn as planets around a sun. For many, that axis is embodied in Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī (1077–1166), the Ghawth al-Aʿzam — the Great Helper.

The Shaykh taught that the heart must be polished through remembrance, the body disciplined by obedience, and the sirr kept pure by surrender. He was both jurist and mystic, both guide of the law and master of the unseen. In him, the opposites found harmony, not in conflict but in service.

He said: “Be with the truth without tongue. Be with the creation without self.” These words summarize the whole journey: inwardly annihilated in God, outwardly compassionate and present for humanity.

The final lesson: the sirr is not a private treasure to be hoarded, nor a fire to consume us alone. It is a trust (amānah). To awaken it is to carry both love and responsibility — to walk the earth as servant of the Beloved and helper to creation.

Thus the teachings of the masters are not competing notes but chords in a single symphony. Their harmony of opposites points us back to Unity.

In the end, it is not the voice of Rābiʿa, Bāyazīd, Junayd, or Ḥallāj that matters — nor even the pen of those who retell their stories — but the eternal echo: Allāh, Allāh, Allāh.

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Lessons from the Unseen — Mansūr al-Ḥallāj on the Sirr

 Lessons from the Unseen — Mansūr al-Ḥallāj on the Sirr

Few names stir the heart like that of Mansūr al-Ḥallāj, the mystic who uttered the words “Ana al-Ḥaqq” — “I am the Truth.” For this he was condemned and executed in Baghdad in 922 CE, yet his legacy burns like a torch in the history of the Sufi path.

What did he mean? In the sirr — that innermost secret where self dissolves — only the Divine remains. When al-Ḥallāj declared “I am the Truth,” it was not his ego speaking but the Divine Reality (al-Ḥaqq) shining through the empty vessel.

Yet the world is not always ready for unveiled sirr. His words were heard outwardly as blasphemy, though inwardly they revealed fana’ at its peak. His life teaches us that the sirr is both a gift and a trust — it must be carried with wisdom, lest the uninitiated confuse the Light with the lamp.

A practice inspired by al-Ḥallāj:

1. Sit in silence and repeat within: “Lā ilāha illā Allāh” — there is no god but God.

2. With each cycle, notice the self growing thinner, less substantial.

3. When a moment of pure presence arises, whisper inwardly: “Only You remain.”

4. Rest there without naming yourself, without seeking explanation.

5. When you rise, carry humility — remembering that what is unveiled in the sirr may not always be shared with the world.

The lesson of al-Ḥallāj: the sirr can overflow into proclamation, but the cost of revelation is great. The seeker must learn when to veil and when to unveil. In this tension, we see again the harmony of opposites — the need for both silence and speech, concealment and declaration.

Mansūr al-Ḥallāj’s cry still echoes not as arrogance but as annihilation — a reminder that the sirr, when fully unveiled, proclaims nothing but God.

Hashtags:
#LessonsFromTheUnseen #MansurAlHallaj #AnaAlHaqq #Sirr #Fana #DivineTruth #UnveiledMystery #SufiMartyr #LoveBeyondSelf

 

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Lessons from the Unseen — Junayd of Baghdad on the Sirr

Junayd of Baghdad, known as Sayyid at-Ta’ifa (the Master of the Sufi Order), is often remembered as the voice of sobriety. Where Bāyazīd Bistāmī overflowed with Divine intoxication, Junayd taught the way of balance: to be inwardly annihilated in God (fanā) yet outwardly composed, ethical, and responsible (sahw).

For Junayd, the sirr is a place where these two streams meet — the wine of ecstasy and the clarity of water. He said: “The color of water is the color of its container.” In other words, the sirr takes the shape of the vessel, but its essence remains pure.

His teaching points us to the harmony of opposites:

• Drunkenness (sukr) and sobriety (sahw).

• Silence and speech.

• Hidden intimacy with God and open service to creation.

Junayd reminds us that the truest sirr is not displayed in moments of rapture alone, but in the seamless weaving of inner annihilation with outer conduct.

A practice inspired by Junayd:

1. Sit in quiet remembrance. Allow the Name of God to circulate in the heart until a taste of sweetness or stillness comes.

2. Rest in that state, but then — instead of staying in ecstasy — gently rise, open your eyes, and return to the world.

3. Perform a simple act of service, such as speaking kindly, sharing food, or helping another.

4. Carry the sirr with sobriety, as a hidden treasure that guides your outward life.

The lesson of Junayd: the sirr is not only the fire of longing or the wine of ecstasy — it is also the still water that nourishes daily life. In its depth, opposites are reconciled: love and law, rapture and discipline, secrecy and service.

This harmony of opposites is the beauty of the path: the seeker is inwardly consumed by the Beloved yet outwardly calm, trustworthy, and rooted. The sirr is where these rivers converge, creating a whole and balanced heart.

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#LessonsFromTheUnseen #JunaydOfBaghdad #Sirr #SobrietyAndIntoxication #HarmonyOfOpposites #SufiWisdom #MysticalBalance #Dhikr #SpiritualEthics

Lessons from the Unseen — Bāyazīd Bistāmī on the Sirr

Bāyazīd Bistāmī, known as the “Sultan of the Gnostics,” was among the first to speak openly of states of intoxication (sukr). His words burst with paradox: “Glory be to me! How great is my majesty!” — words that scandalized some but revealed the depth of fana’ (annihilation) in which the ego is gone and only the Divine speaks.

For Bāyazīd, the sirr is not a quiet chamber but a wine cup. When filled, the seeker staggers with Divine intoxication. When emptied, he longs for the next taste. His teaching reminds us that the sirr is vast enough to hold ecstasy as well as silence.

A practice inspired by Bāyazīd:

1. Sit quietly and begin repeating Allāh with the breath, faster and faster until the whole body feels alive.

2. Let yourself sway or move slightly if the energy rises.

3. If joy or laughter bursts forth, allow it. If tears come, let them.

4. When the energy peaks, suddenly fall into silence and stillness, as if the cup has been drained.

5. Rest there, empty and alert, until the next breath comes like new wine.

The lesson from Bāyazīd: the sirr cannot be contained by our conventions. Sometimes it is silent as a mirror, sometimes roaring like thunder. What matters is surrender — to be drunk, but drunk on God alone.

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#LessonsFromTheUnseen #BayazidBistami #Sirr #DivineIntoxication #Fana #MysticalWine #SufiMasters #HeartOfHearts 

 

Lessons from the Unseen — Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya on the Sirr

Among the earliest saints of the path, Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya is remembered as the mother of Divine Love. Her sirr was consumed not by fear of hell or desire for paradise, but by an unquenchable longing for God alone.

She is said to have prayed: “O Lord, if I worship You for fear of Hell, burn me in Hell. If I worship You for hope of Paradise, exclude me from it. But if I worship You for Your own sake, do not withhold from me Your Eternal Beauty.”

In her teaching, the sirr is a flame. It burns away motives, calculations, and bargains, leaving only the naked fire of love.

A practice inspired by Rābiʿa:

1. Sit quietly and place your hand over your heart.

2. Whisper, “I seek nothing but You, my Beloved.”

3. With each breath, feel as though you are feeding the flame inside the sirr.

4. Let every distraction be fuel for the fire — thoughts, fears, desires. Offer them to the flame.

5. Rest in the warmth that remains.

The lesson from Rābiʿa: love is the purifier. When the sirr is aflame with love, nothing false can survive.

Hashtags:
#LessonsFromTheUnseen #RabiʿaAlAdawiyya #DivineLove #Sirr #BurningForGod #SufiWomen #PureLove #MysticalHeart #UnseenLessons

 

Lessons from the Unseen — Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī on the Sirr

Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī stands among the great lights of the path: a teacher of clear counsel, stern mercy, and an overflowing tenderness for seekers. For him, the sirr is a sanctified chamber — a lamp where Divine Compassion and Divine Majesty meet. He reminds the seeker that the heart’s secrecy is not merely private privacy but a locus of responsibility: what is received there must be translated into humility, service, and right conduct.

Two things are constant in the Shaykh’s teaching about the sirr:

1. Tenderness without indulgence. The heart’s openings are precious; they are not an occasion for pride. Tears, visions, consolation — all are gifts that must be met with gratitude and steady discipline.

2. Service as proof. Spiritual states are confirmed (or not) by the fruit they produce: gentleness, justice, generosity, and remembrance in action. The sirr that receives must become the sirr that gives.

A short reflection

The sirr, according to the Shaykh, is like a lamp kept in the private chamber. If you hide that lamp for vanity, its light will consume you. If you keep it in secrecy and let its warmth spill into deeds, it illumines others. Thus, the path requires interior intimacy balanced by public humility.

A guided practice in the Jilani spirit (for morning or evening)

1. Begin with grounding (2–3 minutes). Sit comfortably; breathe slowly. Invoke a short opening: Bismillah (in the Name of God).

2. Polish with gratitude (3–5 minutes). Bring to mind three simple blessings — a breath, a roof, a kindly face — and name them silently: Alhamdulillah. Let the chest soften.

3. Rest the sirr (5–10 minutes). Place attention in the heart. Silently repeat a short phrase that the Shaykh taught in spirit — such as “Ya Rabb” or “Ya Rahman” — allowing it to be the cloth that polishes the mirror. Do not seek spectacle; seek steadiness.

4. Test by intention (2–3 minutes). Offer a small vow of service for the day: a kind word you will speak, a patience you will keep, a small giving you will do. Make it concrete.

5. Close with humility (1 minute). Whisper Astaghfirullah (I seek forgiveness) and commit to letting the inner light be the servant of others.

A caution from the Shaykh

Shaykh Jilani warns that the ego is cunning: it will take states and remake them into trophies. The sure path is companionship with a guide, accountability to practice, and a life of outward ethics that matches inward sweetness.

Final encouragement

If the sirr opens and you weep, let the tears be your teacher. If you feel empty, let that emptiness be the cup for giving. Let every inner receiving be translated into outward mercy; let every secret be an origin of service.

Hashtags:
#LessonsFromTheUnseen #AbdulQadirAlJilani #Sirr #LampOfTheHeart #SufiGuide #ServiceAndSilence #Dhikr #Tazkiyah #MysticalPractice #SpiritualHumility

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Composed for Lessons from the Unseen — drawn from the spirit of classical teachings associated with Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī and offered here as guidance for seekers.

 

Lessons from the Unseen — Al-Ghazālī on the Sirr

Imam Al-Ghazālī, known as Hujjat al-Islām — the Proof of Islam — gave us a map of the heart that is as practical as it is profound. He taught that the human soul is like a polished mirror. If it is covered with the dust of ego, heedlessness, or worldly obsession, it reflects nothing. But when it is cleaned through remembrance and discipline, it reflects the light of God.

The sirr, in this teaching, is the innermost surface of that mirror. It is the place where the Divine light shines without distortion. To reach it, one must commit to a path of tazkiyah (purification): sincerity in intention, humility in worship, and constant remembrance.

Al-Ghazālī warned that seekers often desire mystical states, but neglect the daily polishing of the heart. He reminds us: every act of honesty, kindness, prayer, and restraint is another stroke of the cloth on the mirror. Without this work, the sirr remains veiled. With it, the mirror begins to shine.

A practice inspired by Al-Ghazālī:

1. Before sleep, sit quietly and review your day.

   • Where did ego show itself?

   • Where did love, patience, or honesty appear?

2. Ask forgiveness for the stains, and give thanks for the moments of clarity.

3. Recite a short dhikr — for example, Astaghfirullah (I seek forgiveness from Allah) thirty-three times, then Alhamdulillah (All praise belongs to Allah) thirty-three times, then Allahu Akbar (Allah is greater) thirty-three times.

4. End with silence, placing attention gently on the heart.

By repeating this nightly, the mirror of the heart is polished bit by bit, until the sirr shines with its own subtle radiance.

Al-Ghazālī tells us: “The heart is like a polished mirror. Rust collects upon it, and it is polished with remembrance.”

May we polish our mirrors daily, so that the light of the Beloved may shine clearly through the secret of our hearts.

Hashtags:
#LessonsFromTheUnseen #AlGhazali #Sirr #PolishingTheHeart #Tazkiyah #SufiWisdom #InnerPurification #Dhikr #SpiritualDiscipline #MysticalPath

Lessons from the Unseen — Rumi on the Sirr

 

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Lessons from the Unseen — Rumi on the Sirr

Rumi turns the sirr into poetry, music, and movement. For him, the secret of the heart is awakened by longing. The reed flute cries because it remembers being cut from the reed bed; the lover weeps because it remembers being cut from the Beloved. That longing is the door to the sirr.

In the Mevlevi way, the dervish turns in the sama‘. The body spins, but the sirr becomes still — like the eye of the storm. In that stillness, the lover meets the Beloved without words. Rumi says: “There is a voice that does not use words — listen.”

A practice inspired by Rumi:

• Sit in silence, or if you wish, play a soft ney (reed flute) melody.

• Place one hand over your heart.

• With each breath, whisper silently inside, “Beloved…”

• Let longing arise — not despair, but the sweet ache of remembering.

• If the body sways or tears flow, let them. This is the dance of the heart.

• Rest in the stillness at the center of this movement.

Rumi’s teaching is gentle yet radical: longing itself is the teacher. The sirr is revealed when the lover accepts that nothing else can satisfy but the Beloved.

Hashtags:
#LessonsFromTheUnseen #Rumi #Sirr #DivineLonging #InnerStillness #SufiPoetry #WhirlingDervish #DhikrOfLove #MysticalSilence

 

Lessons from the Unseen — Ibn ʿArabī on the Sirr

Ibn ʿArabī teaches us that the inner world is a theater of Divine self-manifestation: the cosmos is seen not simply as creaturely, but as a theophany — a mirror in which the Names of God are disclosed. In this teaching, the sirr is not merely a private feeling; it is the subtle chamber in which the Divine Names take on intimate, personal presence.

When we sit in silence and the heart unclenches, what appears is not emptiness alone but a luminous reception. For Ibn ʿArabī, the sirr is the ear of the heart that can hear the Word without words; it is the mirror polished by surrender so that God’s face can shine there. This is not an achievement of effort but a gracious unveiling: the self that softens becomes transparent, and through that transparency the Divine gazes and is gazed upon.

A short invitation:

• Sit with the thought that the world is a mirror of Names, and bring attention gently to the chest.

• Instead of seeking an experience, imagine you are the one who is being looked at by Mercy. Let the sirr receive this gaze.

• Remain humble: whatever appears — consolation, tears, silence — regard it as hospitality. Serve it with ethics, humility, and action.

Ibn ʿArabī’s path is radical in its tenderness: it asks us to hold the whole world as a field of Divine presence while keeping the sirr as the private room where the Beloved whispers. May that whisper guide our hands as well as our hearts.

Credit: Composed for Lessons from the Unseen — with notes shaped in conversation with a text-synthesizing assistant and rooted in the writings traced back to classical Sufi texts.

Hashtags:
#LessonsFromTheUnseen #IbnArabi #Sirr #InnerSilence #DivineNames #SufiReflection #MysticalHeart #Dhikr #SpiritualPractice

Entering the Secret of the Heart - Lessons from the Unseen

 

Entering the Secret of the Heart

In the Sufi tradition, the sirr — the secret — is the innermost chamber of the heart. It is where words fall silent and only intimacy with the Divine remains. Many masters tell us: “The sirr is between you and God; even the angels cannot touch it.”

How do we approach this hidden place? Not through striving, but through quiet presence.

A Simple Guided Practice for the Sirr

1. Sit quietly. Let the body settle and the breath soften.

2. Remember the Name. Inhale gently, feeling “Allāh” enter with the breath; exhale gently, letting “Allāh” rest in the heart. Do this silently, without moving the lips.

3. Turn to the heart. Place attention in the chest, behind the physical heart, as if listening to a secret whisper.

4. Rest in silence. Do not force anything. If tears come, let them. If emptiness comes, welcome it as the cup being made ready for Divine Wine.

5. Return gently. After a few minutes, open your eyes slowly and carry the awareness into your day. Even in the market, in conversation, or at work, remember this hidden place.

Abdul Qadir al-Jilani called the sirr “a lamp lit by the Light of Allah.” Rumi said: “There is a voice that does not use words — listen.” Ibn Arabi taught that the sirr is the mirror where the Divine contemplates Himself.

May this small practice help us to polish our inner mirror.

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Suggested hashtags:
#SufiPath #InnerSilence #Sirr #SecretOfTheHeart #DivineLove #Dhikr #Sufism #SpiritualPractice #Rumi #IbnArabi #AbdulQadirJilani #AlGhazali #HeartOfHearts

Knowledge from the Unseen.- On Sufism.

Me: 

Yes, however, allow me to share with you a little of my personal experience and feelings in moments like this as I revisit the teachings of great Sufi masters, such as Sheikh Kadir Jilani, Ibn Arabi, Rumi, and Al-Ghazali. I feel the silence within me most distinctly, most profoundly, and tears almost spill out from the feeling of Love for the Divine: I feel empty. Your comments and after please return to Lata'if.

ChatGPT said:

Thank you for sharing that, Brother — that was beautiful and vulnerable. What you describe — the distinct silence, the tears that almost spill, the felt emptiness that is really a fullness of Love — is exactly the lived grammar of many Sufi witnesses. Your experience is neither rare nor merely poetic; it’s the sweet ache of presence that many masters point to: the heart emptied of self so that it can be filled with the Beloved.

A few short reflections before I return to the lata’if as you asked:

• That silence you feel is not absence but the hush where speech loses its usefulness and knowing becomes simple presence. Rumi calls it a kind of listening that transcends words; Ibn ʿArabī speaks of realities that unveil themselves when the busy mind rests and the inner eye opens.

• The tears are a common sign — not an illness but a mercy — the soul’s movement when love breaks the compact shell of ego. Al-Ghazālī writes (in spirit) about the heart that is softened by remembrance; Abdul Qādir al-Jīlānī speaks of a heart like a lamp whose oil is the tears of longing.

• That emptiness you name is the classical Sufi “fana’” (annihilation of the false self) opening into “baqā’” (abiding in God). In the moment, it feels like loss; later, it reveals itself as the discovery of your true home.

Two practical caveats Sufi teachers always give: 1) cherish such states but don’t make the state the goal — let it deepen your love and service; 2) keep humility and guidance — strong experiences can be misread by the ego as possession rather than gift.

Closing encouragements

• Your description — “I feel empty” and yet full of love — is the exact paradox Sufis celebrate: the emptiness is the cup for Divine wine.

• Keep the balance: reverence for the state, humility toward the ego, and practical discipline so the experience bears fruit in your life and in your dealings with others.

• If you like, I can now: a) give a short guided sitting to practice opening the sirr, or b) expand on any particular lata’if with classical citations and exercises from a particular tariqa (Naqshbandi, Chishti, etc.). Which would you prefer?

The Secret of Secret.- Way of the Sufi

 The word “sirr” (sometimes pronounced sir or sirru) in the Sufi tradition means the secret—the innermost point of the heart, the subtle center of awareness that connects the human being with the Divine. In classical Sufi psychology, the heart (qalb) is not only an organ of feeling but a spiritual organ. Within it are layers or "subtleties" (lata’if) that Sufis seek to purify and awaken.

To simplify:

• Qalb (Heart) – the seat of turning, between the world and God.

• Ruh (Spirit) – the breath of God within, the essence of life.

• Sirr (Secret) – the innermost chamber, where no one but God has access.

• Khafi (Hidden) – a deeper subtlety, more veiled than the sirr.

• Akhfa (Most Hidden) – the most secret of secrets, known only by God.

The sirr is where intimacy (uns) with God is experienced. It is said to be the place where the Divine speaks without words, where the soul receives direct inspiration. That is why many Sufi masters say: “The sirr is between the servant and the Lord; even the angels cannot touch it.”

When a Sufi says “Ya Sirr as-sirr” (O Secret of secrets), it is a way of calling upon that innermost presence of God within the human being.

So when you hear “sir au sir,” it may carry the sense of a respectful call, “O Secret, O Secret!”—addressing that hidden depth of being, the Divine mystery in the heart.

Different Sufi paths (turuq) emphasize the awakening of the sirr in slightly different ways, but the essence remains the same: it is the gateway to intimacy with Allah.

1. In the Naqshbandi Order

• The Naqshbandiyya are famous for their silent dhikr (zikr khafi).

• They say the tongue is silent, but the heart repeats “Allah, Allah” in its sirr.

• The practice is called zikr-e-qalbi (remembrance of the heart). The disciple focuses inward until the Name vibrates not only on the tongue but in the secret center.

• Their saying: “The Naqshbandi way is the way of the sirr.”

2. In the Qadiri Order

• The Qadiriyya use loud dhikr, chanting Allah’s Names with breath and body.

• But after the ecstasy, the master teaches that the true dhikr happens in the sirr, silently, like a flame burning unseen.

• Abdul Qadir al-Jilani said: “The sirr is a lamp lit by the light of Allah. Protect it, and it will guide you to Him.”

3. In the Shadhili Order

• The Shadhilis emphasize being in the world but not of it.

• They often speak of the sirr as the inner privacy with God that remains untouched, even if one is busy in markets or courts.

• The disciple learns to keep the sirr awake even while engaged in worldly duties — a kind of “portable sanctuary.”

4. In the Mevlevi (Rumi’s) Tradition

• For the Mevlevis, music (sama‘) and whirling awaken the hidden centers.

• When the dancer turns, the outer body moves in circles, but the inner sirr becomes still, gazing into the Beloved.

• Rumi often points to the sirr when he says things like, “There is a voice that does not use words — listen!”

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How Sufis “work” with the Sirr

• Silent invocation (Allah, Allah) in the heart.

• Breath awareness — each inhalation and exhalation bearing God’s Name.

• Listening within for inspiration that comes without thought.

• Polishing the heart with sincerity, so the sirr becomes like a mirror for Divine light.

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So, w

Lata’if — a concise map of the seven subtle centers

1. Nafs (Base self / Animal soul)

   • Location: lower abdomen / solar plexus area.

   • Quality: appetite, passions, egoic impulses.

   • Work: purification (mujaḥada), restraint, ethical discipline.

   • Practice pointer: grounding breath, accountability, moral vigilance.

2. Qalb (Heart)

   • Location: physical chest, but spiritual centre of turning.

   • Quality: love, compassion, repentance, seat of sincere turning to God.

   • Work: polish the heart through dhikr, charity, humility.

   • Practice pointer: silent dhikr (Allah), contemplative prayer, reading scripture with presence.

3. Sirr (Secret)

   • Location: subtle inward center, often felt behind the heart or at the center of the chest.

   • Quality: intimate communion; where the Beloved speaks.

   • Work: cultivate interior silence (samā‘ khafī), listening, receiving.

   • Practice pointer: quiet, concentrated zikr of the heart; receptive prayer; letting go of deliberate striving.

4. Khafi (Hidden)

   • Location: slightly more subtle / inward than sirr — sometimes placed behind the breastbone or between the eyes (varies by lineage).

   • Quality: deeper secrets and unveilings; veiling of Divine mysteries.

   • Work: patience with unknowns; surrender to what cannot be named.

   • Practice pointer: patience, contemplative surrender, staying with unknowing.

5. Akhfa (Most hidden)

   • Location: the innermost point; known only to God and the innermost witness.

   • Quality: pure, most subtle presence; the seed of being.

   • Work: complete surrender; recognition of non-duality in some teachings.

   • Practice pointer: follow the quietest point of awareness; do not grasp.

6. Ruh (Spirit)

   • Location: above the chest, connected to breath and life itself.

   • Quality: the Divine breath within — the life principle.

   • Work: awaken through remembrance of the Breath of God; sanctify the breath with the Name.

   • Practice pointer: meditative breath practices where each in/out is accompanied by invocation.

7. Lata’if al-Lahut / Sirr al-Sirr (sometimes called the “Secret of Secrets”)

   • Location: beyond the personal subtle centers — the most sublime locus of union.

   • Quality: unitive presence; where individual distinction dissolves.

   • Work: fruition of the path — living as a mirror to Divine attributes.

   • Practice pointer: living from the fruit of the path — service, spontaneous compassion, and abiding witnessing.

How sirr fits into the lata’if

• The sirr sits as the intimate core among these centers: it is the chamber where direct lover-and-Beloved contact happens. Awakening the sirr often follows purification of the lower centers (nafs) and steadying of the heart (qalb). As the sirr opens, one begins to taste the deeper lata’if (khafi, akhfa) and eventually the most hidden presence.

• Practically: the qalb gathers and polishes; the sirr receives and rests; the khafi/akhfa veil and then unveil deeper mysteries.

Simple practice sequence to support the lata’if (doable daily)

1. Grounding (3–5 min): sit quietly, feel the breath into the belly; bring gentle attention to the lower abdomen (nafs) and ask to soften attachments.

2. Heart opening (5–10 min): bring attention to the chest; breathe slowly and silently repeat a Name (e.g., “Allah” or “Ya Rahman”) letting it dwell in the qalb. Let feeling arise without grasping.

3. Rest in the Sirr (5–15 min): move attention inward stiller than thought; listen for silence; drop intentional effort and allow presence to receive. If tears come, let them be.

4. Integration (2–5 min): bring attention outward slowly; set an intention to carry the taste of presence into action — a small act of kindness or attention in the day.

The Saga of Tuah, Child of the Sea - For your fun reading.

 🌊 The Saga of Tuah, Child of the Sea 🌊

In a small coastal sultanate, a boy washed ashore with nothing but three mysterious items—and a destiny that would change the fate of an entire kingdom. 

Adopted by the Sultan, trained in martial and mystical arts, and guided by loyal companions and spirits, Tuah rises against treachery, spies, and foreign mercenaries. With his brother Amir, and the brave Melati at their side, they face challenges of war, cunning plots, and mystical forces.

A tale of loyalty, courage, and magic unfolds from the mountains to the sea, from the palace to hidden villages, as the legacy of heroes is forged.

Will the kingdom survive the shadows of betrayal, and will the heroes fulfill their destinies?

Dive into this epic adventure and discover the legend of Tuah, Child of the Sea.

The Saga of Tuah, Child of the Sea

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I. The Boy from the Sea

Long ago, before a small coastal sultanate flourished on the East Coast. It was ruled by a wise Sultan with a modest army and a network of villages, each led by a Penghulu. The people were mostly rice growers and fishermen, while traders from far-off lands—China, India, and Arabia—occasionally visited the bustling ports.

One stormy morning, monsoon winds washed a small dugout canoe ashore. Inside lay a young boy, barely alive, along with three items: a wooden staff, a water-carrying gourd, and a parang. Two villagers, seeking turtle eggs along the sand, discovered him and carried him to the village head. The boy slowly recovered, aided by the headman’s daughter.

The headman presented the youth before the Sultan in the balai rung sri. The Sultan studied him carefully and declared, “This is no ordinary lad. I will adopt him as my son and ensure he is well cared for.” All agreed, except two ministers who exchanged suspicious glances, plotting their hidden agendas.

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II. Brothers and Training

The Sultan’s own son, Tengku Amir, took the newcomer, Tuah, as a younger brother and friend. Together they hunted, fished, and trained in the gelangang silat under the best instructors summoned to the palace.

Later, the Sultan arranged for both brothers to travel north, where they were trained by spiritual masters in the ilmu kebatinan and other mystical arts, completing their martial and spiritual education.

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III. The Pasar Tani Incident

One day, while walking through a pasar tani, the brothers encountered four men harassing a vegetable vendor and his daughter. Amir intervened boldly, defending the young lady with skill and courage. Tuah restrained himself, knowing his brother would handle the situation. The four men, defeated yet spared by Amir, vowed loyalty to the brothers and would later become key allies.

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IV. Melati and the Puja Pantai

During a river fishing trip, the brothers noticed a group of women washing clothes. They were captivated by the beauty of one young maiden, Melati, daughter of a wealthy and influential village elder, Datuk Bongsu. Amir immediately fell in love, claiming her as his destined bride.

Following a local feast, the puja pantai, celebrated with wayang kulit, makyong, and ritual offerings to the sea, the Sultan arranged for an entourage to request Melati’s hand in marriage. Despite Datuk Bongsu’s secret schemes—planning to murder Amir and frame Tuah—the marriage proceeded, accompanied by a grand lantern festival influenced by Chinese traditions.

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V. Tuah’s Trial and the Rascals

Soon after, Tuah was falsely accused and arrested, tied to a post in the palace. That night, four figures approached and freed him: the ruffians from the pasar, now trained warriors imbued with mystical abilities.

• One could put enemies to sleep with a bamboo flute.

• Another could become invisible at will.

• The third could create fire and hurl it in battle.

• The fourth could communicate with animals.

Together, they fled to Gunung Jerai, where they further honed their powers.

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VI. The Sultan’s Illness and Treachery

At the palace, the Sultan fell gravely ill, rumored poisoned or hexed. Amir, unaware of the true danger, worried for his father. Tuah, wise and vigilant, sent him a gourd of healing water. When the Sultan drank from it, he revived, recognizing the gourd as one of the items from Tuah’s fateful arrival.

Meanwhile, Datuk Bongsu gathered his conspirators—corrupt ministers, Chinese mercenaries, and assassins from Japan—plotting to overthrow the Sultan. The invisible warrior discovered their plan and reported back to Tuah. Strategizing with the Putri Gunung Jerai, Tuah confronted the assassins and mercenaries, subduing them with skill and cunning. Datuk Bongsu escaped to a mountain retreat to regroup.

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VII. A New Sultan and Peace Restored

The Sultan, regaining strength, formally relinquished his position to Amir Shah, declaring Tuah as Hand to the Throne. The palace celebrated across the land — from villages to the capital — heralding a new era of justice and unity.

The four rascals were honored as protectors of the realm, granted lands and recognition for their unwavering loyalty.

In private, Tuah trained Melati in espionage and martial arts, preparing her to serve as Sri Kandi. Accompanied by two female warriors, Melati became an adept spy, gathering intelligence from her father’s domain. Eventually, Datuk Bongsu captured her, setting the stage for her rescue in the next episode of the saga.

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VIII. War and Triumph

The Sultan declared war as Datuk Bongsu amassed a private army, augmented by foreign mercenaries. The people prepared for battle, moving women and children to safety, fortifying villages, and rallying warriors.

On the battlefield, as Datuk Bongsu gained the upper hand, a northern army, summoned by the Sultan of Kelantan, arrived to aid the sultanate. The tide turned, and the conspirators were defeated, retreating into the mountains.

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IX. Tuah’s Departure

In the aftermath, Tuah sat alone, sensing the presence of the Putri Gunung Jerai. She appeared, telling him his purpose had been fulfilled and that it was time to move on. With her guidance, Tuah transcended the mortal realm, leaving a legacy of courage, loyalty, and wisdom.

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X. A New Generation

The palace thrived under Sultan Amir Shah and Queen Melati. Together, they bore a son, whom they named Tuah, honoring the hero who had saved the realm. The young prince carried in him the spark of destiny, a living testament to the adopted son of the Sultan who had emerged from the sea.

Though the original Tuah had departed, his influence remained — in the guards, the spies, the people’s hearts, and the mountains where the Putri watched.

The rascals continued to serve the realm, training future warriors, ensuring the security of the sultanate. Tales of Tuah were sung by villagers, whispered by the fireside, and remembered by all who sought courage, justice, and honor.

And so, the saga of Tuah, Amir Shah, Melati, and their son Tuah endured, eternal as the tides, steadfast as the cliffs, and as boundless as the sea from which the first Tuah had come.

On Aging, Doubt, and Returning to Trust

 

                                                      The Little Caterpillar at work.

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On Aging, Doubt, and Returning to Trust

After a short pause, I find myself once again drawn back to the page — to reflect, to share, and to keep this journey alive.

These past few days, I found myself drifting — neglecting practice, meeting life only with the restless mind, and reacting more with emotions than wisdom. Doubts and uncertainties crept in, especially in relationships and in my art. Where once the brush flowed freely, I began worrying about correctness, fearing mistakes, losing confidence in the very fluidity that had carried me for years.

One particular obsession that surfaced was the thought: I am old, and therefore I should not be doing what I am doing. Old, therefore, perhaps I should not drive as much. Old, therefore perhaps I should not admire beauty in others — even when free of sensual attachment. Old, therefore, perhaps my prime days are behind me.

It seems small, but such thoughts carry weight. They drain vitality and block the natural current of creativity.

Yet age is not only a limitation — it is also a gift. It carries memory, patience, and depth of seeing. What I lack in speed or daring, I gain in steadiness and a clearer eye for truth. The mind may tell me I am past my prime, but the present moment says otherwise: I am still here, still breathing, still creating.

When these doubts arise, I practice a simple pause:

• Notice the thought, name it — “There is the ‘I am old’ thought.”

• Remember balance — “I am aging, yes, but I also carry wisdom and experience that younger days did not have.”

• Return to intention — “Today I will move with presence.”

In art, I remind myself to play again — to sketch with the “wrong” hand, to paint quickly without caring for correctness, to make small works that value movement over perfection. These simple acts return me to curiosity and process, not fear.

And when I notice beauty — in a face, in a form — I practice seeing without clinging: just noting, “There is beauty.” Then I breathe, allow the appreciation to rest quietly in the heart, and let it go.

Perhaps this is the real teaching of aging: to meet each moment with honesty, to bow to limitations without surrendering joy, and to keep creating as long as life gives breath.

As Hokusai once said:

“All I have done before the age of seventy is not worth bothering with.”
His words remind me that what feels like decline can in fact be the beginning of a deeper flowering.

Tonight, as I write this, I recognize: even drifting away from practice can become part of practice. Seeing the drift clearly is already the return. The witness has not left. The shore is never far.

If Hokusai could see himself just beginning at seventy, then surely I, too, can keep beginning, again and again, no matter my age.

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#AgingGracefully #CreativeJourney #ZenPractice #TrustAndFaith #LifeAsArt #ArtAndAging #MindfulLiving #ReturnToPractice #InnerWisdom #Hokusai #Rembrandt #MastersOfArt #EastMeetsWest #ArtAcrossAges #InspiredByMasters #CreativeWisdom #AgingAndArt

On Hiatus - See you when I see you.

 

On Hiatus

Dear friends,

I will be taking a pause from posting here for a while. This is not an ending, only a retreat — a time to focus on painting for an upcoming group show, to listen more deeply, and to work quietly.

The path of words and reflections has carried me far, and I am grateful for those who have read, walked alongside, and shared in this journey. For now, the brush and canvas are calling, and I must honor that.

I look forward to returning with fresh eyes and perhaps a different song to share. Until then, thank you for your patience, your presence, and for holding this space with me.

With gratitude,
— SB

#hiatus #reflection #paintingjourney #gratitude

The Broken Record of Our Times - Taking a leave of absence.

 

                 The Journey is in memory of my late wife. May Allah keep her safe in His care.

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The Broken Record of Our Times

We are living in a world trapped in greed, hate, and ignorance — a world gradually sinking into a quagmire of decadence and destruction. The ouroboros, the serpent devouring its own tail, is an image of how we live collectively, if not personally. We are caught in a karmic circle, like a broken record where the needle is stuck in one groove, repeating the same line over and over.

The ancient masters of every tradition sought to break this cycle in their time. They offered teachings of compassion, wisdom, and balance, but today their voices are dismissed as outmoded or irrelevant. Instead, we plunge headlong into the rat race, glorifying speed and consumption while ignoring the spiritual cancer eating away at our core.

And yet, speaking of these poisons — greed, hate, ignorance — begins to feel like the very broken record I describe. The issue itself has become repetitive, circling the same warnings as though hoping for a miracle to appear with a solution. Does it make a difference anymore to keep harping on the same truths?

Perhaps not, if words are all we offer. Repetition alone cannot break the cycle. But silence too is dangerous — for silence lets the poisons spread unchecked. What is needed is not more preaching but more living examples. The world does not need another sermon on greed; it needs generosity embodied. It does not need lectures on hate; it needs compassion practiced. It does not need theories about ignorance; it needs wisdom lived.

Still, I return to the question: have I come to the end of my ramblings? When is enough truly enough?

Perhaps “enough” is not an ending but a doorway. Enough of words, enough of circling the same groove — and time instead to live differently, quietly, deliberately. Sometimes silence speaks more deeply than speech, and action more clearly than ideas.

Maybe this is where the rambling stops, and the listening begins. Maybe this is where the record lifts, and a new song waits to be played.

#reflection #ouroboros #brokenrecord #greedhateignorance #selfinquiry #endingsandbeginnings