Why are you a Muslim? Why is it Islam for you and not something else?
Last Updated: 20.06.2025 03:03
If you desire the Beloved, my heart,
In the religion of the Prophet--only God I saw.
That theophanies may appear
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Source: âOh He and You who is Heâ, Mehmed Muhyiddin Uftade
Reflecting back on why, itâs the insufficient amount of practicality in my life, coupled with how well I can cram topics and paraphrase them to presumably act as I can and do comprehend stuff. Thatâs how weâre taught, thatâs how most of my teachers, peers, and professors expect us to live. Take what you read, tweak it a little, and form something of your own idea, that only superficially passes off as unique, while being inherently a copy-pasted variant of the original. Melinda tells me that itâs imposter syndrome, that I have felt things, irrespective of whatever trail of thought said otherwise. Maybe sheâs right, maybe I really have, and maybe⌠I havenât.
Without your heart pouring forth to another
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Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
If thou seest me,
Source: Osman Hamdi Bey's âYoung Woman Readingâ, oil on canvas, circa 1880
Is the Donald Trump Bible any different from a regular Bible? Has Trump altered its contents?
in which lovers swim as they please, free of care.
A few pages into the prologue, which I canât find anywhere on the E-book copies implying that I got my hands on a great translation, and I was bored. The poetry was decent, despite no longer being in its original phrasing or language, a true testament to the translatorâs skills, but it did not fry my brain or override my senses. Those days were pelted with sandy storms, leaving my mind and heart devoid of a mystical experience, as if an empty desolate land stretched into the infinite expanses of my being.
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Why does my penis look like a mushroom when it gets big?
To answer your question, itâs because Islam, or at least the version I follow [i.e. my personalized construct], completes me. I can be downright bad for God, with no worry about what others think. Yes, there are other religions out there, but I doubt I could have this much fun, this much selfishness, and this much love elsewhere, even if I were to change myself. Newsflash: I didnât. Iâm the same as Iâve ever been, itâs just like how Dionysus came to Nyx, Aleister to Melinda, Christ to Belgrave: Allâh accepted me, cherished me, and before I ever considered Him a Beloved of mine, He taught me that He treated me as I was, loved me. I wonât leave that for anything.
The answer to the first one is that I shouldnât, and for the second: I can. Itâs a matter of me realizing that a bit too late; first having visualized that fact this Summer. Signs would pop up, as if in response to whatever I asked. Iâd phase out, occasionally feeling, observing, and comprehending myself in ways Iâve never done before â there have been times when Iâve seen my body in a third-person perspective, as if looking down on it from afar, yet so close. More than anything, I now stare at the skies again. I see the world around me, sensing it, living in it. And I retain my sanity, with a tint of madness.
But when I looked with God's eyes--only God I saw.
How can I get my ex-husband to love me again?
dwelling in one body.
Sometimes I wondered if Islam truly was mystical, whether I could even find such a thing here. âDonât ask, donât question, and donât you even dare try to presume you can contact the Divine.â Here I was lamenting a lack of craziness, a jolt of lightning to shake my sophisticated soul, yet there were others who retained a far more concise record of their episodes â Belgrave, Melinda, Nyx, and Dimitris all made me red with envy. I couldâve gone for something else, I wouldâve gone for anything, but deep down, I simply couldnât.
Amidst the flames outflashing--only God I saw.
Why are so many young teenage boys misogynistic? Where do they get these attitudes from?
Neither soul nor body, accident nor substance,
During my initial pursuits, I came up with another anthropomorphization of the Penultimate Nature: the word Allâh would appear in between thoughts and prayers, however, I interpreted it to be an expression of the Ultimate, not Allâh, simply an approximate appropriation of Him, who helped me connect to Islam, acting as a counter mechanism to my environment, society and culture that enforced fearing God. In retrospect, I probably never feared God; I loved Him. And perhaps thatâs what I wanted to feel, for those around me to feel.
Let love come that you may have a friend
Source: Sufi Dance, by Lamona42
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Why do some people tell the girl I like that I donât like her when I do like her?
And fulfill your desires
I went to fights with anyone who denied me the right to say mian with Allâhâs Name. How dare these people, these so-called âbig kidsâ call me wrong, claiming that it isnât His Name? Heâs⌠my friend.
In prayer and fasting, in praise and contemplation,
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Worshipping out of fear, out of obligation, is no fun. Life at that point decays to a compressed state wherein youâre held at gunpoint, continually, unable to live out as you would want to. Loving God, truly loving Him, without an ounce of fear or a shred of shame is a gift, a never-ending blessing. Contrast that with the mindless pursuit of my peers, the ephemeral fear they talked about was an illusion they themselves had grown tired of. Why was I to bow down when I didnât enjoy doing so? Why couldnât I love God?
Source: al-Hallaj, Kitab al-Tawasin, in The Mystics of Islam, by Reynold A Nicholson
Let tears of blood pour from your eyes
Source: Baba Kuhi, in The Mystics of Islam, translated by Reynold A Nicholson
That you may drink the pure waters
What does it mean when you dream that your mother died?
that is my religion and my faith.
In the market, in the cloister--only God I saw.
We are all in the employ of the Lord, O Bahu;
Source: Folios from a Qurâan manuscript, ca. 383 AH/993 CE
thou seest Him,
Among the pearls is a gem --
In favor and in fortune--only God I saw.
The Lord is an ocean of oneness
Source: Shaikh Abu Saeed Abil Kheir, "Nobody, Son of Nobody", Vraje Abramian
and the tables of the Torah and the book of the Quran.
In all the eye discovered--only God I saw.
Remove your you from you
Beyond the pedestal and beyond the throne
and a temple for idols and the pilgrim's Kaa'ba,
Oh Uftade! Find your soul
If you desire union with the Beloved
Unbeknownst to little olâ me, Nyx wrote about mysticism and I donât know when or how, but I came across her answers on gods. Fascinating, mind you, just beyond my understanding. What are egregores? Whatâs mysticism? What is this henosis? All of these concepts were beyond me, much less something I wouldâve liked to discuss. By chance I managed to make one post that introduced me to Ibn âArabiâs wahdat-al-wujud (= âUnity of Beingâ), which introduced me to the whole debacle; coupled with the next posts I made, it was clear that I didnât have a proper comprehension of whatever I was talking about.
Pass on, without looking aside
Source: Sultan Bahu, translated by J.R. Puri and K.S. Khak
And if thou seest Him,
Pass beyond the universe, this [unfurled] carpet
What I figured out was that I probably do experience a connection with God, just not in the manner I wanted. I talk to myself, quite randomly, and as I do, there are instances where I slip up and focus on the smallest of things â thatâs when I feel it. Thereâs something articulating its words through me, almost like auto-writing, but in verbal form, fully aware of who I am. It allows me to see the minutia of everything, acting as my inspiration and a method for me to learn more about it. Ironically, Iâve felt it the strongest when I comment underneath answers, especially when I take to describing my views on the world, the nature of the Monad, and mysticism.
Say not that he is one of you or one of us
I passed away into nothingness, I vanished,
It did give me some good ideas, however, be as it may, I sought giddiness, a mind-frying event that would lead me puzzled; I coveted the mystic madness or episodes that Iâve seen others talk about. That madness, an all-consuming insanity, something physical, something tangible, that I could remember. Irrespective of the result, that was my purpose, and the fear of societal pressure or ostracization, the endless accusations of heresy didnât scare me. With that thought in mind, I attempted to read Fariduddin Attarâs Mantiquât-Tair (= âConference/Speech of the Birdsâ), a literary masterpiece and arguably the most entrancing piece of Sufi poetry, comparable to Rumiâs Mathnawi-e-Manaawi.
Myself with mine own eyes I saw most clearly,
And lo, I was the All-living--only God I saw.
In the valley and on the mountain--only God I saw.
I opened my eyes and by the light of His face around me
In their own turn, they appear in the world
My heart has become capable of every form:
Crush your heart, be broken.
May they emerge hot from the furnace
to dive deep into that ocean, to gather pearls.
I follow the religion of Love: whatever way Love's camels take,
never give up, never losing hope.
Take yourself up to the heavens
The Beloved says, "The broken ones are My darlings."
Qualities nor causes--only God I saw.
thou seest us both.
Sweeping you along the way to the Friend
To tackle that problem I picked up Ibnâs Arabiâs Fusus-ul-Hikam (= âBezels of Wisdomâ), hoping that it would introduce me to a new, interesting, and unique field⌠and it did, just not like I thought it would. Going in, I expected to receive an extraordinary revelation, a reality-shattering experience. Much to my dismay, I got neither: all the book offered me was a hundred and sixty pages on Islamic cosmology, theology, nabuwat (= âMessengership), and risalat (= âProphethoodâ) â in a tone that exuded quaintness with the demeanor of an aged man recounting his favorite books, not too distinct from the âI expect you to understand and yet I still donâtâ attitude you sometimes find in Friday sermons.
unique in value, unmatched in lustre --
O Marvel! a garden amidst the flames.
Meet the angels
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Observing His existence, reach annihilation!
Thatâs what I had, a state of fulfillment lost completely in my adolescence. As Iâve discussed before, I alienated myself from Islam, enough that I found punishment to not be a worthy motivator, and lying as an effective counter and excuse. Then I came to Quora, where I spent the golden days of the pandemic-induced lockdown reading mangas and writing answers I thought were worthy of recognition; I sought attention, validation, and a part of me still does. And then perchance I came upon Nyx. I was still fond of mythology, I loved the concept of there being supernatural gods as they appeared in Percy Jackson. Ever the opportunity grabber, I incorporated the concept of these powerful yet flawed beings (extremely flawed given Riordanâs retelling) into my stories.
I grew up forming my private ishtadevata you know. Whenever I thought of God â and these are piecemeals of the scant memories I retain of those early six years I spent ogling almost everything I saw â a weird image of a plus-sized chalk-white man with jet-black hair, wearing a green top with orange-brown sweatpants (or pants in general) and white Mickey Mouse gloves with eyes that would make Mortimer, the predecessor to Mickey, jealous. I didnât know where he came from or who he was, a part of me assumed that he was a cartoon character I had seen (canât know for sure), but he always came to my mind when I thought of God, though I didnât worship him.
Source: Ibn al-`Arabi, Tarjuman al-Ashwaq, in The Mystics of Islam, translated by Reynold A Nicholson
Itâs possible that it was my childhood rendition of a deity â he did pop up whenever I looked at the sky or clouds â based on how I never understood what God was; an anthropomorphization of Divinity that took form after the concoctions of a young boyâs mind. He didn't talk, though he did move his hands around, despite the fact that he retained the same pose all those years. Over time, I began to associate him with mian, an old Mughal-era word meaning prince or lord, which I used to associate with Allâh, using colloquially mannerisms (it was also cute, I donât know why), by calling Him Allâh Mian. I wasnât the only one, all kids did so, and some are still taught to say it this way.
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Him I have seen beside me oft in tribulation;
that shines like the moon.
That the Beloved may appear before you
Truth be told, had you asked me this very thing a few months ago, I wouldâve been unable to articulate a proper answer. I never had something that felt reasonable as a stance, in any form, through which I could argue in favor of my personal faith. Was I attached to Islam? Undoubtedly. Did I like it? Indubitably; there was no other religion or belief system that I enjoyed learning about as much as I did with Islam. However, there wasnât anything in it that I couldnât find elsewhere: Islam would still exist within me, persisting through my culture and traditions, the daily rites and habits Iâve developed over time, but it never manifested as something that so strongly affected me passively, concomitantly; persistently.
let us pay homage to him through our prayers.
Leave behind body and soul
We are two spirits
and He whom I love is I:
Say âOh He and You who is Heâ.
Like a candle, I was melting in His fire:
I am He whom I love,
Your distresses are a torrent
Let sorrowful longing dwell in your heart,
I have friends here, acquaintances; mentors, who I deeply admire. Not for how well they write, how they spend their lives, there was something I always felt that I lacked and they had: a connection, an otherworldly supra-rational connection to whatever they were worshipping, irrespective of what I thought of the deities or entities that they submitted to, talked to, or understood in words I could hardly ever think of. I could make comments, either questioning or suggesting, and perhaps even hold a conversation by using what I thought of as my theoretical understanding of the topic at hand; all I did was splice it in some STEM language I barely understood, to sound smart.
it is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for Christian monks,
Do not cease to pour out lamentations.
That the bringers of good tidings may greet you