My Karim's sketching at the age of Three.

The Mystery of Qadar: The Painter, the Canvas, and the Unseen Hand

There are mysteries in life that perhaps are best contemplated rather than solved. One such mystery is Qadar, the Divine Decree, which I have been reflecting upon lately.

My initial thought on the subject was that this is a mystery best left alone, not to dwell too much upon, but rather to accept and live life accordingly.

I have always found the analogy of the painter, the brush, and the canvas particularly appealing when contemplating this subject.

The Creator, having created the canvas, the pigments, the brush, and the very conditions under which the painting comes into existence, knows what the finished product will look like before the first stroke is laid down.

Yet the painting unfolds stroke by stroke.

And we, being somewhere within that painting, see only a small portion of the whole.

We do not know what the next stroke will be, nor how the finished painting will look. But the Artist does.

The Angry Man and His Creator

For much of my younger adult life, I was an angry man, consciously or unconsciously. I was especially angry at what I perceived to be the wild cards that life had dealt me, one too many, which had led me down the thorny path of my existence.

I gave up God and lived a hedonistic life, particularly during my years in the United States, where sex, women, drugs, and alcohol became my spiritual companions.

Those were the choices I made, and I lived with them.

I was a sinner, and I accepted that fact.

Looking back today, however, I realize that my anger was not so much directed at God as it was at the Muslims I had encountered in my life.

Having been raised a Buddhist before embracing Islam at the age of twelve, I had come to the conclusion that Islam was a perfect religion, but Muslims, especially those who had grown up with it, were another matter.

And throughout those years, despite my rebellion and indulgence, I never entirely lost my faith in Allah's forgiveness and mercy.

Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.

This I held in my heart.

                                                  My Painting at the age of fifty?
 

The Colors and Images of My Life

When I look back upon my life today, I recognize that the colors and images I chose for my painting were largely the result of my own choices, skills, and talents.

I cannot blame the Creator for every stroke I laid down.

Yet, deep in the back of my mind, I had always felt that I was being watched over, perhaps even more so than my pious Muslim twin brother.

I have often wondered about this.

Did Allah have anything to do with the choices I made?

My feeling is that He did, though I cannot explain how.

And perhaps that is where the mystery of Qadar begins.

If Allah already knows the finished painting, does that mean the painter within the painting has no freedom to choose the colors?

Or are we making our choices freely, while the Divine Knowledge encompasses the entirety of our journey?

These are questions I cannot answer with certainty.

I can only contemplate them.

A Great Experiment in Qadar

I have sometimes thought of myself as God's great experiment in Qadar.

Not that Allah experiments in the human sense of discovering what will happen, but that my life, with all its unexpected turns, has become an experiment in my own understanding of the Divine.

I wandered.

I indulged.

I made mistakes.

I experienced the consequences of my choices.

And through it all, I somehow retained a faith in the mercy of the One I had once turned away from.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing is that I can now look back upon those years without attempting to whitewash my life.

I do not dismiss the fact that I must face the consequences of my past actions.

But neither do I believe that my past places me beyond the reach of Divine Mercy.

As the Buddhist would say, I created karma to remove karma.

The experiences and choices of my life became the very material through which I came to recognize the limitations of those choices.

Surrender

Today, when I say I love Allah, that love is no longer conditional.

I do not love Allah out of fear, but out of His Mercy and Compassion.

I do not love Allah merely because the Book or the Prophet told me to, but because I have come to see the truth of that Love for myself.

My understanding of enlightenment has also changed.

For me, enlightenment is the complete surrender to my Lord.

Not a surrender born of fear, nor a passive resignation to whatever happens, but an acceptance that I do not possess the knowledge or understanding to comprehend the entirety of existence.

I make my choices.

I live with their consequences.

I continue to seek understanding.

And I place my trust in Allah.

Perhaps the mystery of Qadar is not something I need to solve before I can live my life in peace.

Perhaps it is enough to acknowledge that I am but a small part of a much greater painting, whose entirety remains beyond my understanding.

The next stroke is yet to be laid down.

And I shall leave that to the Artist.

Wallahu a'lam.

Salam.

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