"You are my breath,
My hope,
My companion,
My craving,
My abundant wealth.
Without You - my Life, my Love -
I would never have wandered across these endless countries . . .
I look everywhere for Your love -
Then I am suddenly filled with it.
O Captain of my Heart,
Radiant Eye of Yearning in my breast,
I will never be free from you
As long as I live.
Be satisfied with me, Love,
And I am satisfied."
Rabia of Basra
Reza Aslan, No god but God (pp. 211-212)
I've talked previously about the Sufis and my fascination with the, and I'll doubtless talk about them again. Of course, I don't know if I actually have the dedication to true give of myself to Sufism. As Seyyed Nasr reminds us in the collection of interviews In Search of the Sacred, very few people actually have that energy. Instead, we are quite happy with a more mild and commodified version of Rumi as compared to devoting years of our lives to studying with a Sufi master. I've shared how when I was first considering converting I was talking to our local Imam and providing a list of why I was considering it. When I mentioned a love for Sufi poetry he smiled and said, "Yeah, so about that . . ." In this case I don't think the Imam was referencing the years it would take to study with a Sufi master but rather the fact that mainstream Muslims are always a little uneasy with the Sufis. One of the reasons can be seen in the poetry cited above.
As Aslan tells us in the wonderful No god but God:
"When Sufis speak of their love for God, they are not referring to the traditional Christian concept of agape, or spiritual love; quite the opposite. This is a passionate, all-consuming, humiliating, self-denying love. As with Majnun's love for Layla, Sufi love requires the unconditional surrender to the Beloved's will, with no regards for one's own well-being. This is love to the point of utter self-annihilation; indeed, that is its very purpose."
Rabia of Basra was the first female Sufi master, although not the last. In addition she was an extraordinary poet, although unfortunately and somewhat inexplicably she isn't as popular as Rumi or Hafiz or Omar Khayyam (and I suspect their are many competing misogynies at work here). As Aslan tells us, "In Sufism, this union is most often expressed through the most vivid, most explicit sexual imagery." And there are few better examples of this than Rabia's poetry. The Sufis aren't alone in this, obviously, as you can see from the work of Theresa of Avila or bhakti poetry in India.
I guess this resonates with me because I've never come close to that all-consuming sense of God. I often talk of my fascination with the inner aspects of the faith as compared to the external, but I guess I would argue that I've failed at both. Instead, my faith is a very quiet sense of the unity of all things, as compared to the explosive all-consuming spiritual union that Aslan discusses. Maybe that's enough. I don't think every vessel can contain every liquid.
My hope,
My companion,
My craving,
My abundant wealth.
Without You - my Life, my Love -
I would never have wandered across these endless countries . . .
I look everywhere for Your love -
Then I am suddenly filled with it.
O Captain of my Heart,
Radiant Eye of Yearning in my breast,
I will never be free from you
As long as I live.
Be satisfied with me, Love,
And I am satisfied."
Rabia of Basra
Reza Aslan, No god but God (pp. 211-212)
I've talked previously about the Sufis and my fascination with the, and I'll doubtless talk about them again. Of course, I don't know if I actually have the dedication to true give of myself to Sufism. As Seyyed Nasr reminds us in the collection of interviews In Search of the Sacred, very few people actually have that energy. Instead, we are quite happy with a more mild and commodified version of Rumi as compared to devoting years of our lives to studying with a Sufi master. I've shared how when I was first considering converting I was talking to our local Imam and providing a list of why I was considering it. When I mentioned a love for Sufi poetry he smiled and said, "Yeah, so about that . . ." In this case I don't think the Imam was referencing the years it would take to study with a Sufi master but rather the fact that mainstream Muslims are always a little uneasy with the Sufis. One of the reasons can be seen in the poetry cited above.
As Aslan tells us in the wonderful No god but God:
"When Sufis speak of their love for God, they are not referring to the traditional Christian concept of agape, or spiritual love; quite the opposite. This is a passionate, all-consuming, humiliating, self-denying love. As with Majnun's love for Layla, Sufi love requires the unconditional surrender to the Beloved's will, with no regards for one's own well-being. This is love to the point of utter self-annihilation; indeed, that is its very purpose."
Rabia of Basra was the first female Sufi master, although not the last. In addition she was an extraordinary poet, although unfortunately and somewhat inexplicably she isn't as popular as Rumi or Hafiz or Omar Khayyam (and I suspect their are many competing misogynies at work here). As Aslan tells us, "In Sufism, this union is most often expressed through the most vivid, most explicit sexual imagery." And there are few better examples of this than Rabia's poetry. The Sufis aren't alone in this, obviously, as you can see from the work of Theresa of Avila or bhakti poetry in India.
I guess this resonates with me because I've never come close to that all-consuming sense of God. I often talk of my fascination with the inner aspects of the faith as compared to the external, but I guess I would argue that I've failed at both. Instead, my faith is a very quiet sense of the unity of all things, as compared to the explosive all-consuming spiritual union that Aslan discusses. Maybe that's enough. I don't think every vessel can contain every liquid.
No comments:
Post a Comment