The Declaration: A Lifetime in Search of Truth
Consciousness, Surrender, and the Making of a Servant of Allah
“I stand to be corrected where I am wrong and pointed in the direction of the truth that I professed.”
There are declarations we make in passing, and there are those that accompany us throughout our lives, evolving as we grow in experience and understanding. This is one of mine.
I AM DIVINE CONSCIOUSNESS IN AN INFINITE FIELD OF CONSCIOUSNESS MANIFESTING IN THIS HUMAN FORM.
I AM WHOLE, COMPLETE AND PERFECT, STRONG AND POWERFUL, LOVING AND COMPASSIONATE, HARMONIOUS AND HAPPY, AND I CAN DO WHAT I WILL TO DO, INSHA'ALLAH!
I AM THAT I AM.
I surrender my Heart and Soul before the Lord of Mercy, the Lord of Creation, and the Lord of the Universe, Allah Azzawajal.
Salam and good morning!
I first encountered the original form of this declaration when I was in my twenties, after reading The Master Key by Charles F. Haanel. What began as an affirmation has accompanied me through the years, gradually evolving as I grew older and, I would like to think, wiser.
Life has introduced me to great minds in many forms and circumstances. Some lessons came through books, others through people, travel, solitude, suffering, meditation, and the unexpected encounters that have so often shaped my understanding of the world.
Yet, despite all that I have experienced and learned, I remain conscious of how far I may still be from the Truth I seek.
This morning, after sitting in meditation and reciting verses from the Quran in an attempt to quiet the incessant chatter of the mind, I found myself returning to this declaration. I wrote it down, not because I believe my search is complete, but because it continues to express the direction in which I aspire to travel.
My heart yearns to experience what my mind has learned, and I wish to purify my intentions and character so that I may become a more sincere servant of my Lord.
That, perhaps, is the real journey.
The Question of Divine Consciousness
When I declare that I am Divine Consciousness manifesting in human form, what exactly am I saying?
Is this an assertion about the ultimate nature of existence, or is it an attempt to express an experience in which the boundaries separating oneself from the rest of existence seem to dissolve?
The distinction is worth examining.
In Advaita Vedanta, we encounter the teaching Tat Tvam Asi — Thou art That — expressing the essential identity of Atman and Brahman.
Buddhism, through its teaching of Anatta, challenges the assumption that there exists a permanent, independent self at the heart of our experience.
In the mystical traditions of Islam, we encounter fana, commonly understood as the passing away of the ego's claim to independent existence, alongside the profound contemplation of divine nearness.
These traditions are not identical, and their differences deserve our respect. Nevertheless, each offers a way of questioning the assumptions we ordinarily make about ourselves and our place in existence.
But an experience, however profound, does not automatically settle the philosophical questions surrounding it.
Perhaps we must distinguish between experiencing the dissolution of the separate self and concluding that the individual self is identical with God.
In Islam, Allah is the Creator, and creation is dependent upon Him. The experience of divine nearness does not, in mainstream Islamic understanding, erase the distinction between the Creator and the created.
For me, this is not a reason to abandon inquiry. It is a reason to proceed with greater care.
I Am That I Am
The declaration I Am That I Am is associated with God's revelation to Moses in Exodus 3:14.
In contemplating such words, we must be careful not to assume that the same expression carries the same meaning in every religious or philosophical tradition.
As a Muslim, I surrender my heart and soul to Allah Subhanahu wa Ta'ala, the Lord of Mercy and the Lord of all Creation.
I may contemplate consciousness, explore the nature of the self, and seek to understand the mystery of existence. But I must also recognise the limits of my understanding.
There is a difference between declaring oneself to be God and acknowledging one's dependence upon God.
There is also a difference between intellectual knowledge of surrender and the actual practice of surrender in daily life.
The former can be expressed in a sentence. The latter may require a lifetime.
Whole, Complete and Perfect?
My declaration also states that I am whole, complete and perfect.
But what does perfection mean when applied to a human being?
I know that I am capable of making mistakes, misunderstanding others, and acting in ways that fall short of my own ideals. No amount of reading, meditation, or spiritual contemplation makes me immune to human limitations.
Perhaps wholeness does not mean being without imperfections.
Perhaps it means acknowledging our imperfections without denying our dignity, accepting responsibility for our mistakes, and remaining willing to learn.
We can aspire to be loving and compassionate without pretending that we are always so. We can cultivate strength without confusing strength with control over every circumstance. We can seek happiness without demanding that life unfold according to our wishes.
And when I say, "I can do what I will to do, Insha'Allah," those final words matter.
I can choose my intentions, make my efforts, and take responsibility for my actions. I cannot guarantee every outcome.
Insha'Allah reminds me that my will operates within circumstances beyond my control, and that humility has a rightful place alongside determination.
The Mind Learns, the Heart Recognises
Over the years, I have come to appreciate the distinction between knowing something intellectually and embodying it in one's life.
The mind can learn about compassion, but the heart must express it in our dealings with others.
The mind can study forgiveness, but life may confront us with experiences that reveal how difficult forgiveness can be.
The mind can read about surrender, but it is through the circumstances of our lives that we discover how deeply we remain attached to our expectations, our opinions, and our sense of self.
And the mind can study silence without necessarily becoming silent.
This morning, my recitation of the Quran was an attempt to quiet the chattering mind and return my attention to something greater than its endless stream of thoughts.
Perhaps the purpose is not to wage war against thought, but to learn how to return, patiently and sincerely, to remembrance.
The thoughts may come and go. What matters is the intention with which we return to our practice and the manner in which that practice informs our lives.
Nor should spiritual development become another ambition of the ego, forever measuring how far we have travelled and how much further we must go.
There may be wisdom in continuing the journey without constantly demanding evidence of our progress.
Fana, Anatta and the Search for Truth
In my continuing explorations of spiritual philosophy, I have found myself returning to questions concerning the witness, the witnessed, and the nature of the one who claims to be experiencing them.
Who is the one who observes the mind?
What happens when the distinction between the observer and the observed becomes less definite in experience?
And what happens when even the identity of the spiritual seeker becomes an object of examination?
Our earlier conversations about fana, anatta, and the mystic Al-Niffari brought these questions into focus.
Yet I must remain cautious. Similarities between spiritual experiences do not establish that different traditions ultimately teach the same doctrine.
Nor can I claim that an experience of selflessness proves any particular metaphysical conclusion.
Perhaps the value of these inquiries lies partly in their ability to loosen the certainty with which we cling to our assumptions.
There is a humility in acknowledging that an experience may be deeply meaningful without our fully understanding what it means.
And perhaps that humility is itself an important part of the search.
Becoming a Servant of the Lord
Ultimately, my aspiration is not merely to accumulate spiritual experiences or intellectual knowledge.
I wish to become a more sincere servant of Allah.
But what might that entail?
It may mean acknowledging a mistake without allowing pride to prevent me from admitting it.
It may mean treating another person with compassion even when I disagree with them.
It may mean accepting that I can be wrong, that my knowledge is incomplete, and that my intentions do not always produce the results I hope for.
It may mean learning to distinguish between defending an opinion and defending the truth.
And it may mean recognizing that the worth of a spiritual declaration cannot be measured by the grandeur of its words alone.
Whatever I claim to understand about consciousness, surrender, or the nature of existence, I must still return to the ordinary circumstances of daily life, where patience, honesty, humility, and compassion are tested.
I cannot claim spiritual attainment merely because I have contemplated spiritual truths.
I can only continue to examine myself, correct my errors, and strive to live according to what I sincerely believe to be right.
As for whether I have drawn closer to the Truth, I leave that question open.
I would not presume to declare that I have arrived, nor would I dismiss the journey simply because its destination remains uncertain.
Wallahu Alam — Allah knows best.
A Declaration Still Evolving
Perhaps this declaration has accompanied me for so many years because its meaning has never remained fixed.
The young man who first encountered its original form in The Master Key could not have understood it in precisely the same way as the older man who now sits in meditation, recites the Quran, and reflects upon the lessons of a lifetime.
The words remain, but the person contemplating them has changed.
And so the declaration continues to evolve.
I shall retain my conviction, but hold it with humility. I shall continue to explore the nature of consciousness, but distinguish my experiences from the conclusions I draw from them. I shall continue to seek knowledge, but remember that knowledge alone does not guarantee wisdom.
Above all, I shall continue striving to become a more sincere servant of my Lord.
Perhaps the next step is to hold the first declaration lightly while devoting myself wholeheartedly to the second.
Not because the question has been settled, but because the inquiry itself may help me live more faithfully.
And so I return to the words with which I began:
"I stand to be corrected where I am wrong and pointed in the direction of the truth that I professed."
For what is the value of professing the Truth if I am unwilling to examine my understanding of it?
What is the value of knowledge if it does not lead me towards greater humility?
And what is the value of a lifetime spent seeking wisdom if I cannot acknowledge how much remains unknown?
I do not offer these reflections as the final word on consciousness, God, or the human condition. They are simply a record of where my journey has brought me this morning.
The search continues.
Allah is Allah, and I am His servant.
Alhamdulillah.
Salam and Gasho.
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