Why Do People Have to Leave Each Other? Part I | Part II

When I was 17 years old, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was sitting inside a masjid and a little girl walked up to ask me a question. She asked me: “Why do people have to leave each other?” The question was a personal one, but it seemed clear to me why the question was chosen for me.

I was one to get attached.

Ever since I was a child, this temperament was clear. While other children in preschool could easily recover once their parents left, I could not. My tears, once set in motion, did not stop easily. As I grew up, I learned to become attached to everything around me. From the time I was in first grade, I needed a best friend. As I got older, any fall-out with a friend shattered me. I couldn’t let go of anything. People, places, events, photographs, moments—even outcomes became objects of strong attachment. If things didn’t work out the way I wanted or imagined they should, I was devastated. And disappointment for me wasn’t an ordinary emotion. It was catastrophic. Once let down, I never fully recovered. I could never forget, and the break never mended. Like a glass vase that you place on the edge of a table, once broken, the pieces never quite fit again.

But the problem wasn’t with the vase. Or even that the vases kept breaking. The problem was that I kept putting them on the edge of tables. Through my attachments, I was dependent on my relationships to fulfill my needs. I allowed those relationships to define my happiness or my sadness, my fulfillment or my emptiness, my security, and even my self-worth. And so, like the vase placed where it will inevitably fall, through those dependencies I set myself up for disappointment. I set myself up to be broken. And that’s exactly what I found: one disappointment, one break after another.

But the people who broke me were not to blame any more than gravity can be blamed for breaking the vase. We can’t blame the laws of physics when a twig snaps because we leaned on it for support. The twig was never created to carry us.

Our weight was only meant to be carried by God. We are told in the Quran: “…whoever rejects evil and believes in God hath grasped the most trustworthy hand-hold, that never breaks. And God hears and knows all things.” (Qur’an 2: 256)

There is a crucial lesson in this verse: that there is only one handhold that never breaks. There is only one place where we can lay our dependencies. There is only one relationship that should define our self-worth and only one source from which to seek our ultimate happiness, fulfillment, and security. That place is God.

But this world is all about seeking those things everywhere else. Some of us seek it in our careers, some seek it in wealth, some in status. Some, like me, seek it in our relationships. In her book, Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert describes her own quest for happiness. She describes moving in and out of relationships, and even traveling the globe in search of this fulfillment. She seeks that fulfillment—unsuccessfully—in her relationships, in meditation, even in food.

And that’s exactly where I spent much of my own life: seeking a way to fill my inner void. So it was no wonder that the little girl in my dream asked me this question. It was a question about loss, about disappointment. It was a question about being let down. A question about seeking something and coming back empty handed. It was about what happens when you try to dig in concrete with your bare hands: not only do you come back with nothing—you break your fingers in the process. And I learned this not by reading it, not by hearing it from a wise sage. I learned it by trying it again, and again, and again.

And so, the little girl’s question was essentially my own question…being asked to myself.

Ultimately, the question was about the nature of the dunya as a place of fleeting moments and temporary attachments. As a place where people are with you today, and leave or die tomorrow. But this reality hurts our very being because it goes against our nature. We, as humans, are made to seek, love, and strive for what is perfect and what is permanent. We are made to seek what’s eternal. We seek this because we were not made for this life. Our first and true home was Paradise: a land that is both perfect and eternal. So the yearning for that type of life is a part of our being. The problem is that we try to find that here. And so we create ageless creams and cosmetic surgery in a desperate attempt to hold on—in an attempt to mold this world into what it is not, and will never be.

And that’s why if we live in dunya with our hearts, it breaks us. That’s why this dunya hurts. It is because the definition of dunya, as something temporary and imperfect, goes against everything we are made to yearn for. Allah put a yearning in us that can only be fulfilled by what is eternal and perfect. By trying to find fulfillment in what is fleeting, we are running after a hologram…a mirage. We are digging into concrete with our bare hands. Seeking to turn what is by its very nature temporary into something eternal is like trying to extract from fire, water.  You just get burned. Only when we stop putting our hopes in dunya, only when we stop trying to make the dunya into what it is not—and was never meant to be (jannah)—will this life finally stop breaking our hearts.

We must also realize that nothing happens without a purpose. Nothing. Not even broken hearts. Not even pain. That broken heart and that pain are lessons and signs for us. They are warnings that something is wrong. They are warnings that we need to make a change. Just like the pain of being burned is what warns us to remove our hand from the fire, emotional pain warns us that we need to make an internal change. That we need to detach. Pain is a form of forced detachment. Like the loved one who hurts you again and again and again, the more dunya hurts us, the more we inevitably detach from it. The more we inevitably stop loving it.

And pain is a pointer to our attachments. That which makes us cry, that which causes us most pain is where our false attachments lie. And it is those things which we are attached to as we should only be attached to Allah which become barriers on our path to God. But the pain itself is what makes the false attachment evident. The pain creates a condition in our life that we seek to change, and if there is anything about our condition that we don’t like, there is a divine formula to change it. God says: “Verily never will God change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves.” (Qur’an, 13:11)

After years of falling into the same pattern of disappointments and heartbreak, I finally began to realize something profound. I had always thought that love of dunya meant being attached to material things. And I was not attached to material things. I was attached to people. I was attached to moments. I was attached to emotions. So I thought that the love of dunya just did not apply to me. What I didn’t realize was that people, moments, emotions are all a part of dunya. What I didn’t realize is that all the pain I had experienced in life was due to one thing, and one thing only: love of dunya.

As soon as I began to have that realization, a veil was lifted from my eyes. I started to see what my problem was. I was expecting this life to be what it is not, and was never meant to be: perfect. And being the idealist that I am, I was struggling with every cell in my body to make it so. It had to be perfect. And I would not stop until it was. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears to this endeavor: making the dunya into jannah. This meant expecting people around me to be perfect. Expecting my relationships to be perfect. Expecting so much from those around me and from this life. Expectations. Expectations. Expectations. And if there is one recipe for unhappiness it is that: expectations. But herein lay my fatal mistake. My mistake was not in having expectations; as humans, we should never lose hope. The problem was in *where* I was placing those expectations and that hope. At the end of the day, my hope and expectations were not being placed in God. My hope and expectations were in people, relationships, means. Ultimately, my hope was in this dunya rather than Allah.

And so I came to realize a very deep Truth. An ayah began to cross my mind. It was an ayah I had heard before, but for the first time I realized that it was actually describing me:  “Those who rest not their hope on their meeting with Us, but are pleased and satisfied with the life of the present, and those who heed not Our Signs.” (Qur’an, 10:7)

By thinking that I can have everything here, my hope was not in my meeting with God. My hope was in dunya. But what does it mean to place your hope in dunya? How can this be avoided? It means when you have friends, don’t expect your friends to fill your emptiness. When you get married, don’t expect your spouse to fulfill your every need. When you’re an activist, don’t put your hope in the results. When you’re in trouble don’t depend on yourself. Don’t depend on people. Depend on God.

Seek the help of people—but realize that it is not the people (or even your own self) that can save you. Only Allah can do these things. The people are only tools, a means used by God. But they are not the source of help, aid, or salvation of any kind. Only God is. The people cannot even create the wing of a fly (22:73).  And so, even while you interact with people externally, turn your heart towards God. Face Him alone, as Prophet Ibrahim (as) said so beautifully: “For me, I have set my face, firmly and truly, towards Him Who created the heavens and the earth, and never shall I give partners to Allah.” (Qur’an, 6:79)

But how does Prophet Ibrahim (as) describe his journey to that point? He studies the moon, the sun and the stars and realizes that they are not perfect. They set.

They let us down.

So Prophet Ibrahim (as) was thereby led to face Allah alone. Like him, we need to put our full hope, trust, and dependency on God. And God alone. And if we do that, we will learn what it means to finally find peace and stability of heart. Only then will the roller coaster that once defined our lives finally come to an end. That is because if our inner state is dependent on something that is by definition inconstant, that inner state will also be inconstant. If our inner state is dependent on something changing and temporary, that inner state will be in a constant state of instability, agitation, and unrest. This means that one moment we’re happy, but as soon as that which our happiness depended upon changes, our happiness also changes. And we become sad. We remain always swinging from one extreme to another and not realizing why.

We experience this emotional roller coaster because we can never find stability and lasting peace until our attachment and dependency is on what is stable and lasting. How can we hope to find constancy if what we hold on to is inconstant and perishing? In the statement of Abu Bakr is a deep illustration of this truth. After the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ died, the people went into shock and could not handle the news. But although no one loved the Prophet ﷺ like Abu Bakr, Abu Bakr understood well the only place where one’s dependency should lie. He said: “If you worshipped Muhammad, know that Muhammad is dead. But if you worshipped Allah, know that Allah never dies.”

To attain that state, don’t let your source of fulfillment be anything other than your relationship with God. Don’t let your definition of success, failure, or self-worth be anything other than your position with Him (Qur’an, 49:13). And if you do this, you become unbreakable, because your handhold is unbreakable. You become unconquerable, because your supporter can never be conquered. And you will never become empty, because your source of fulfillment is unending and never diminishes.

Looking back at the dream I had when I was 17, I wonder if that little girl was me. I wonder this because the answer I gave her was a lesson I would need to spend the next painful years of my life learning. My answer to her question of why people have to leave each other was: “because this life isn’t perfect; for if it was, what would the next be called?”

inspired by my friends and the sheikhs that provided the information and life lessons

As young people, unhappiness is certainly not a feeling that is alien to us. We are all struggling in some shape or form. Sometimes, failing to succeed in our studies ruins our whole mood. Some of us are stressed about finding a job to support our living costs while others are wondering whether they picked the right degree; some may even be reading this hoping to find the motivation to pursue a goal in life. Some of us have friends suffering from an illness, or we may be the ones suffering; we might even be looking for that ‘special’ person.

There are many things for us to be unhappy about, and this post was not written to judge or look down upon those feeling unhappy. It was written because I know from experience that this feeling is difficult to live with. You may be indulging in sins, too scared to repent and return back to Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He). However, I want to try to give you a different perspective on all of these matters. During my moments of hardship I read many books, attended various circles and watched many lectures, and the following is what I came to realise.

No matter how bad your situation is, this dunya (material world) is the lowest of places. It is only up from here, insha’ Allah (God willing). This place was designed to be a complete test: some of us are tested with poverty, unhappiness and hardship, others with wealth, riches and goodness. It is tailored to each person and ultimately, the outcome of the test depends on how we deal with it. We fail when hardships make us bitter and we fall into the trap of believing that a merciful Lord would not make us deal with these adversities; equally, we may fall into the trap of believing that we are invincible and owe our wealth only to ourselves, forgetting to be thankful to Allah (swt) every day and to use our wealth in His way and for His sake.

The companions of the Prophet ﷺ (peace be upon him), radi Allahu `anhum (may God be pleased with them), frequently reiterated: “When things are easy they are always followed by hard times, whereas when things are hard they are always followed by easy times.” If we were just patient with all the tribulations that befall us, we would be in `ibadah (worship); we could be just sitting in our homes and, if we are patient with the trials Allah (swt) tests us with, we are in `ibadah. But if we are constantly complaining, we should know that Allah (swt) will give us more things to complain about.

When trying to overcome this sense of sadness, there are those of us who stumble due to the sins we commit. However, we need to remember a statement made by the Prophet ﷺ : “I swear by Him in whose hand is my soul, if you were a people who did not commit sin, Allah would take you away and replace you with a people who would sin and then seek Allah’s forgiveness so He could forgive them.” This is who we worship. No matter what we have done, Allah (swt) forgives if we go back to Him with a sincere heart. His mercy is beyond our understanding. “And seek forgiveness of Allah. Indeed, Allah is Forgiving and Merciful” (73:20). As Rumi said in one of his poems: “Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.”

We know that Satan says that most of us are not in a state of gratitude. Allah (swt) states this very fact in the Qur’an: “And few of My servants are grateful” (34:13). The root of taqwa (God-consciousness) is gratitude. The Almighty is worthy of gratitude; Islam is not just about fear. We do not want to be a people who are motivated to do things only by a negative force like fear. Behind everything is Allah (swt); therefore in being grateful for everything we are grateful to Him. This effectively includes being grateful to people who harm us, because if we respond correctly, they are doing us a big favour by drawing us nearer to Allah (swt).

Now that you have understood this, sit down and think all the blessings Allah (swt) has bestowed upon you. He has allowed you to use electricity to read this piece; He has given you eyes to witness the very world He enables you to reside in. He has allowed some of us to attend universities where we enjoy the presence of great people. He has given us stomachs where we enjoy the very food He has granted us to eat. The list is endless.

Sometimes dedicating time to pondering all the things Allah (swt) has allowed us to enjoy shifts our whole mood. I do not say this just for the sake of it, but because it really is true. Over the past few days I have reflected a lot and realised that, in some way or another, Allah (swt) has answered all my pleas. Sitting down and pondering over the Mercy of Allah (swt) overwhelms me. This has certainly made me a happier person, eradicating the sense of depression, and most importantly, this realisation has made thank Allah (swt) for every incident that occurs to me. It is important to be continually in a state of reflection; the world we live in is one that can drain our iman (faith) and happiness, so the only way to overcome this is to remember and thank Allah (swt), counting our blessings more than once.

This thanking of Allah (swt) however is not merely saying ‘alhamdullilah’ (all praise be to Allah) after everything that occurs, but is also utilising the very things He has blessed us with. So if you have the gift of being creative, then use that to help those of us who are less talented in that area; if you have been blessed with wealth. donate to projects that make other human beings smile and feel this sense of gratitude. If your divine gift is in giving advice or writing, then by all means use your powerful words to help others. As the saying goes, the ‘world is your oyster’, and it is up to you to really show this gratitude.

A very noble man said not too long ago: “If you take a child and throw him or her up, there is a point when you see them go into a state of complete panic; then, when they come back to your arms, they are laughing. That is the dunya, I guarantee you. That moment is your life; you came from God and you are going back to God, and there is a moment when you are in a complete state of panic but just relax – you are in good hands. Just relax.”

Be happy, stay positive, ponder on your successes and constantly be happy with your blessings.

May peace be granted to all of us insha’ Allah.

“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Ameena with a baby carriage.” Sound familiar? I’m sure more and more of you can relate than ever before. Every woman who becomes pregnant is at a 15-20% risk of having a miscarriage in the first 7 weeks.

In the Pakistani community, it is almost tradition for random relatives to approach the bride the day of the Walima and begin planning her baby shower. Giggles and cheers can be heard from the “aunties table.” I remember most of the clothes I received always had room to grow. This set the bar pretty high and I knew exactly what was expected of me.

My husband and I had different plans. We wanted to enjoy our time as newlyweds and were in no rush to start a family. A year and a half into our marriage, I became pregnant. It was the most magical time ever. I had morning sickness, which progressed to afternoon and evening sickness pretty quickly. We impatiently waited for our first ultrasound. As I laid on the table waiting to hear a heartbeat, my heart sank. The doctor had this blank look on her face and my heart sank even further. She informed us that I had miscarried at 7.5 weeks and told us of our options. At that very moment I felt regret. I began to blame myself in every way I knew. If only I didn’t travel. I should have rested more. I should have done this, and I shouldn’t have done that. And the excuses began to roll around in my head.

Before I knew it, we had been married for 5 years and I had 6 miscarriages under my belt. You would think that with every heartbreak, experiencing the same pain over and over again, it would become easier… but it didn’t. Each D&C (the surgical procedure carried out after a first-trimester miscarriage) left its scars of weakness and pain. I was left feeling empty and a failure. What sort of a woman can’t have children? It must be my fault. I’ve failed at life. That was when the depression kicked in.

I began turning to Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He). I considered myself a ‘moderate’ Muslim. I tried my best to perform the five daily prayers, I wore hijab (the head scarf), and tried to have good character. I was determined to better my relationship with Allah (swt). After all, it was only He who could grant me anything in this life. He could just say, ”Be” and it would. I begged Allah with everything I had to say, “Be.”

My husband and I started throwing around the idea of adoption. We discussed it with family and were told to remain patient and that Allah (swt) would bless us with a pious offspring and that this was just a part of our test. You know how everyone has something… right? The difference was, I knew in my heart that Allah (swt) was pushing me towards something greater. I was convinced that I was going to be a mother and that my child would go on to do amazing things.

A few months later, my mother-in-law was on a trip to Pakistan. While visiting her sister, she heard of a woman who worked at the house of someone they knew. She was expecting her next child. They discussed how hard it must be for her struggling with 6 kids and working during her third trimester. A few days later, the woman gave birth to a girl. The relative of this woman had taken the child and given it to a brothel. (Are you just as shocked as I was?) The mother pleaded to her employer, stating she did not want to keep the baby, but wanted her to go to a good family, who in turn discussed it with my in-laws. Soon everyone became involved. Long story short, the baby was rescued and taken home.

We received a phone call from my mother-in-law very early in the morning saying she had seen a baby and fallen in love. She asked us if we wanted to be the parents. Now when I think about it, I must have asked her to repeat herself over and over. As I held the phone dazed and confused, I heard the smallest, sweetest, cutest, most adorable cries. They were literally music to my ears. Without a thought or care in the world, we agreed! We were officially parents. AlhamduliLlah (praise be to God).

We started filling out paperwork and having our home study for the adoption done. After all, we wanted to bring our princess home. I quickly began researching ways to nurse the baby. I knew I had to; I felt she deserved that much. I also wanted to make sure we weren’t faced with mahram issues. When a woman becomes the child’s rida`a mother (milk- or breastfeeding-mother), everything concerning blood mahrams applies here: rida`a father/mother, rida`a sister/brother, rida`a aunt/uncle, and so on. In English, these can be translated to “milk-brother,” “milk-mother,” and so on. I was on hormones and pumping around the clock.

About two months after the amazing news, my husband and I traveled to Pakistan to finally meet our princess. I will never forget the drive home from the airport. Every single breath had led me to her. Every tear had paved a road to meet her. Every time I felt like less of a woman, Allah’s plan was in motion. Finally, He had said, “Be!” and there we were. I walked into the room where my mother-in-law sat holding her granddaughter. She had been caring for her for the past two months. (May Allah (swt) grant her the highest level of Jannah [paradise] for her unconditional love and support. Ameen.) I sat next to her, and she handed her to me and softly uttered the words, “Meet your mommy.” It sent chills down my spine. I sat staring at her and tears began to roll. My entire life had suddenly fallen into place. I passed her to my husband and he began to cry. His tiny princess had finally arrived. We named her Sara.

I picked up on motherhood very quickly. I was doing fine with little or no sleep and I had a good, steady milk supply. I also soon learned that she wasn’t very fond of sleep. I spent many nights walking with her up and down the hall soothing her tiny tummy. Two weeks after, my husband had to get back to work and left. My mother-in-law left, too. I was in Pakistan with Sara and a huge extended family consisting of in-laws and relatives with whom I had been out of touch for 20+ years. I was scrutinized for not being content with Allah’s will. I felt as though I had to prove to them that I was worthy of motherhood. There are many struggles a new mother comes across and it’s okay to ask for help, but that was not the case for me. For me, asking for help felt like defeat. I felt like it was Sara and me against them.

Along this path there have also been many relatives who have encouraged and supported my decision. They offered a shoulder to cry on and advice. May Allah (swt) reward them with His infinite Mercy. I was always pretending to be okay, even though I was beginning to break without my husband there. The heat and power outages didn’t help either. The political situation in Pakistan over the last few years had really taken a toll on everyone residing there. I wasn’t allowed to drive. I also wasn’t allowed to leave without someone to accompany me. I craved the independence I grew up with. I dreamt of just driving away with Sara in the backseat. Months passed as I waited to hear news of soon being able to take Sara home.

The long periods of time apart began to break down the relationship between me and my husband. He was living alone, craving family, and I was living with too many people, craving silence and peace. Soon, the phone calls became shorter and shorter. It became less and less about missing one another and more about our case. Eventually, the calls turned into brief messages.

Finally, after 8 months of living in Pakistan without my husband or immediate family, we got an appointment with the U.S. Embassy. My husband came and we were convinced he would take us home with him. This was the first time we were together since he had left. I felt distanced. We didn’t just pick up where we had left off. The physical miles between us had become emotional. It wasn’t about love, because that was unconditional. We knew things would go back to normal soon after being able to take Sara home.

At our interview we were told they would review our case and keep us updated. My husband left and once again, I was alone. The depression that had consumed me just a little while back crept in and began to fill my heart again. Why did I have to choose between my husband and Sara?

I spent the next 6 months trying to keep it together. One day my husband called with the news that our case had been denied. Sara would not be able to get a visa to come to the U.S. This was heart-breaking. My husband and I had spent our entire lives in America. Everyone and everything familiar was there. We felt as though we had been kicked out of our own country for attempting to give a child a better life. We were confused and upset. Our relatives didn’t waste much time before they started pointing fingers again. To them, it was my fault for pushing this decision upon my husband. I began having anxiety and the blame game started. Some suggested we leave Sara and adopt another who would qualify for a visa. I was outraged! Why was this an option? I had battle wounds just like any other mother. Why does biology take importance over motherhood?

A few months passed before my husband could wrap up what was left of our lives in America and move to Pakistan. Right after Sara’s second birthday we were reunited as a family. Everything felt new. My husband and I spent a lot of time learning to be together, learning to give and take, learning our likes and dislikes. We both had experienced the hardest time in our lives and there was nothing either of us could do to help the other. It has been a work in progress. AlhamduliLah. We got our own place and began to build our family unit. I finally unpacked our things after having lived out of a suitcase for the last 2 years. I finally had drawers and a place to hang my clothes. It’s amazing how much ‘stuff’ we think we need. It definitely puts this dunya (world) in perspective.

Allah (swt) had brought us together, but we had no income. My husband had a few business ventures that were unsuccessful. Again, the anxiety surfaced. We felt like we had been torn from our ‘first’-world country and thrown into this ‘third’-world country, where nothing seemed to make sense or work. I prayed for everything to calm down. I prayed for Allah (swt) to bestow His Mercy upon our lives. I prayed for the best of the world and the hereafter. I prayed for Allah (swt) to open the doors of rizq (providence). Subhan’Allah (glory to God), He is the Best of Planners.

As of two months ago, we are officially a family and UAE residents. We now have a place we can call home. Sara is 3.5 years old and masha’Allah (what God wills), she is the light of our lives. She has this way about her, this twinkle in her eyes, this way that she lights up a room, this magic that only she knows. Subhan’Allah, only He creates such miracles. The depression still manages to surface now and then when I least expect it. I guess at this point I have learned to deal with my abandonment issues in a healthier way. There are countless lessons I’ve learned from the last few years. It’s amazing how sometimes the people we least expect sneak into our hearts and become family. Blood does not define kinship. Nothing lasts forever, neither the good, nor the bad. Every heartbreak, every bump in the road, every single tear is not wasted. Allah is As-Sami`—the All-Hearing. He is Al-Basir—the All-Seeing.

Tareq Al-Suwaidan shared the following:

(قال الله تعالى (وللآخرة خير لك من الأولى
!! إن أول ما يخطر على أذهاننا في تفسير الآية أن الدار الأخرة خير لنا من الدنيا

.
..ولكن الآية تحمل معنى أوسع يقول : عاقبة كل أمر لك خير لك من أوله
ولذلك فإن بقية السورة كلها تأكيد لهذا المعنى
ألم يجدك يتيما) هذا أول الأمر (فآوى) هذا آخره)
ووجدك ضالا) هذا أوله (فهدى) هذا آخره)
ووجدك عائلا) هذا أوله)
،،فأغنى) هذا آخره)
.
, فذكر نفسك دائما أنك تتعامل مع رب كريم
من أوصافه سبحانه وتعالى أنه يختبر العبد بأول الضيق ثم لابد أن يفرّج وينتهي الأمر بالسعة
.
..لابد أن تكون الآخرة خير من الأولى في كل أقدار الله وتكون الآخرة خير من الأولى لمن رضي عن ال
(من احمد الهاشمي فرج الله عنه)

Translation:

Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He) says:

“And verily the latter portion (al-aakhira) will be better for you than the former (al-oola).” [Qur’an 93:4]

The first thing that comes to mind is that the Hereafter is better than the dunya (this life).

But this verse carries another wider meaning: what comes after every matter is better than its beginning.

And that is why the rest of the surah (chapter) affirms this meaning:

“Did He not find you an orphan…”—that is the beginning of the matter—”and give [you] refuge?” and that is the end of it.
“And He found you lost…”—this is its beginning—”…and guided [you]” and this its end.
“And He found you poor…”—this is the beginning—”and made [you] self-sufficient” is its end. [Qur’an 93:6-8]

So remind yourself always that you are dealing with a generous Lord. One of His characteristics (swt) is that He tests His slave in the beginning with constriction and then it ends with an opening.

There is no doubt that the latter portion will be better than the beginning in all of what Allah has decreed, and the end will be better than the beginning for those who are content with Allah.

[From Ahmad al-Hashimi]

By Aisha Shahnaz

Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” is an all too familiar poem, inscribed in many literature collections and often required reading in certain English classes. In sixteen lines of poetry, Frost portrays a contemplative narrator traveling through a quiet winter landscape who stops briefly to watch the woods fill up with snow. The last four lines of the poem, though simple and unassuming, can speak in a sense about our journey through this ephemeral dunya (world) towards the Hereafter. Frost writes, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.” ((Frost, Robert. New Hampshire. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1923. Print.))

The image of the traveler is deeply embedded in teachings in Islam. Narrated Mujahid, ‘Abdullah bin ‘Umar said, “Allah’s Apostle took hold of my shoulder and said, ‘Be in this world as if you were a stranger or a traveler,” (Sahih Bukhari). On another occasion, ‘Abdullah ibn Mas’ud said, “The Messenger of Allah ﷺ (may Allah bless him and grant him peace) slept on a straw mat and when he got up he had a mark on his side. We said, ‘Messenger of Allah, we could make a covering for you?’ He replied, ‘What have I to do with this world? I am only in this world like a rider who seeks shade under a tree and then goes on,'” (Tirmidhi). From these ahadith (sayings of the Prophet ﷺ) we can acquire so much: that as travelers we must always keep in mind where we are headed, that we needn’t be burdened by excess luggage, that because our stay is temporary we need to live a sincere life and leave a virtuous legacy.

In Robert Frost’s poem, we can sense that the traveler is drawn by the apparent serenity of the snow and the woods, but this serenity is illusory. It isn’t permanent or everlasting. He considers laying aside his prior engagements to stay here where “the woods are lovely, dark and deep,” yet an ardent calling urges him forward towards his ultimate journey’s end. It is important for us to remember that this dunya can be beguiling, that at times the thought of stopping to repose can be alluring, but that we have an important journey to complete and higher purpose to answer for. We have “promises to keep,” namely to worship Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (glorified is He), to try to fulfill all our obligations of faith with sincerity and humility, treat those around us with compassion, and strive for a peaceful akhirah (Hereafter).

We have “miles to go” before we “sleep”. We must use the time we are given to grow—to learn how to be kinder, more sincere, more forgiving, and more understanding. On our journey as travelers, we may hold a variety of roles: as students, teachers, workers, leaders, followers, activists, or volunteers. We are each, though traveling at our own pace, torchbearers of an important message, blessed with the ability to truly make a difference whilst on our voyage if we try. I attended a lecture by a prominent speaker a few years ago who asked us to imagine what would happen if the lights suddenly went out in the lecture hall. He went on to say that eventually the attendees could utilize their available resources (lights from their cell phones, keychain flashlights, lighters etc.) to work together to reach the exit and a find a way to turn on the light to end the darkness. He reminded us that in this life we have to learn how to use the resources we have, the light we each have been blessed with, to make it through the darkness and reach everlasting light.

Ultimately, what I’ve taken from the last few lines of “Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening,” and more importantly, from the wisdom of the Prophet ﷺ in recommending living as a traveler, is that it may be snowing in the woods now and you may consider settling down out in the cold, but iridescent and beckoning ahead, a destination of true warmth and comfort lies awaiting, an everlasting refuge in the company of the righteous and nearness to the Creator. And that’s something worth striving for.

By Omar Ead

Come closer. It’s so plain, it could pass you by without realization; so dear, you could take it for granted; so intimate, you may only recognize it if you surrender your entire being.  “…We are closer to him than [his] jugular vein”(Qur’an 50:16).  If you want to understand you must listen, with a heart undistracted, attentive, and directed at Him. “…And remember your Lord much…” (Qur’an 3:41)

When Yusuf alayhi as-salaam (peace be upon him) was cast out of his father’s home by his own brothers, he was ordained to grow up in the palace of the King.  As he grew older, the wife of the King developed a lingering passion for Yusuf and tried luring him into her arms.  She even tried to use force. Yusuf too was attracted to her, but his heart was always focused, always attentive, and he never allowed it to become preoccupied with the pleasures of dunya (worldly life). “And let not your eyes pass beyond them, desiring adornments of the worldly life…” (Qur’an 18:28). His heart was always present, and entirely focused. He never viewed the moment as an end, but always as a means; a means to a great reason, a means to an ultimate moment, and an ultimate day.

Today, we hear the phrase “live for the moment” used often, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a term justifying the lower nature of man.  The moments that the pious saints and figures from east and west spoke of in the past, were moments that brought about greater purpose, far outweighing the mere moments of the lower self.  It was this clear understanding that led Yusuf (as) to make the right decision at a very tempting point in time. “…and he would have inclined to her had he not seen the proof of his Lord” (Qur’an 12:24). As a matter of fact, one of Prophet Yusuf’s most well-known and documented attributes was his insight and ability to interpret the signs of Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (glorified is He). His dreams foreshadowed his fate and the revelation that came to him saved an entire nation from the onslaught of a major famine.  His heart was filled with the Oneness of God. Prophet Yusuf (as) knew his circumstances and those around him were never simply a coincidence. He knew that every situation, every thought, and every feeling was connected to something much greater—the will of The only existing Truth—Al Haqq.

Many of us search for His signs hoping He will guide us, yet we remain lost.  There may be moments when we witness His absolute infinite wealth of guidance (tawfiq) and blessings, still most of the time we persist in a world of emptiness and neediness. We search endlessly for His messages. But if God were to answer your call, would you know it?  Would you heed His guidance? Is it possible that you are repeatedly shown signs, and dismiss them as simple coincidences?

Understanding His will and receiving His call requires closeness (taqwa).  It requires a tearing of the veil between you and Him.  It requires a love and intimacy so powerful and so consuming, that only the vessel of one’s heart can carry this one love.  The great poet said:

“Gamble everything for love. If you are a true human being. If not, leave this gathering. Half-heartedness doesn’t reach into majesty. You set out to find God, but then you keep stopping for long periods at mean-spirited roadhouses. Don’t wait any longer. Dive in the ocean, leave and let the sea be you. Silent, absent, walking an empty road, all praise.” (Rumi)

If we desire His guidance, it’s critical that we first learn how to fill our hearts with Him alone. This is a condition expressed in the Qur’an. “Indeed, within the heavens and earth are signs for the believers,”(Qur’an 45:3). This verse refers to the mu’min (believer).  The root of the word mu’min is  (ا م ن ). This root has many interpretations but some of these interpretations encompass the following:

• Tranquility triggered by a strong sense of faith
• Being present, in the higher dimensions of a moment, without expectations
• Emptying one’s heart from everything except for the trust one instills in Allah (swt)

Allah (swt) tells us that paying heed to His signs is the benefit, indeed the essence, of being a mu’min.  Nothing is real outside of Him, and if we are able to fill our heart with this reality, if all circumstances and all conditions become a manifestation of His will in our eyes, than His guidance will come regardless of how heavy or complex our affairs may seem.  “For indeed, with hardship [will be] ease.” (Qur’an 94:5)

Believing in the Oneness of God’s purpose and design is critical to the way we view the events that take place in our lives. This is especially true if we desire His guidance. Ibn Qayyim radiAllahu `anhu (may God be pleased with him) in his book Madarij as-Salikeen discusses guidance as being a primary benefit in achieving a true internal state of tawheed (Oneness of God).  The states are articulated in four stages:

1. Tawba (Repentance): Ibn Qayyim suggests that in order to achieve the greatest and most insightful state, one must start with a constant (and never ending) state of tawba (repentance), and recognize the heart’s thirst to seek the truth. It’s through the deep thirst for truth that light enters one”s heart. And once light enters the heart, seeking the Source becomes a deeply rooted cause within the individual.
2. Awakening Level (Fikra): This is the level of thinking and pondering.  In this early stage, the heart starts to stare in the direction it wants to go in and after recognizing, it desires a wakeful state. In this phase the heart starts to understand and distinguish truth from falsehood.  It starts to determine what is good and what is bad.
3. Bassera (A light in the heart):  Bassera becomes a form of revelation for the mu’min.  Bassera is very powerful, because it places ferasa (insight) in the heart and it makes the believer aware of the good and evil in life. It removes all forms of shock in dunya.  It helps one ease the need to set expectations. In this state, the believer is aware of what others can’t see or understand.
4. Azim (Determination):  The ultimate by-product and fruit of the previous stages lead to Azim.  To reach this state a mu’min must set a qada (goal).  The goal must be a path towards God.  Once you have ferasa (insight) the believer is able to set a goal that will lead them on the right path.  Once the goal is set, and one pursues it, his determination increases (Azim). This determination will create a sustaining bias towards action in the believer. He will constantly and without tiring struggle on the path to reach his goal: God.

Of all the states listed by Ibn Qayyim, the most important one is repentance.  Tawba isn’t a phrase we say at the end of each prayer, nor is it just a gesture. Tawba in its deepest sense represents humility and God-consciousness. It means, before doing something, we ask ourselves whether it will bring us closer to Him. It means, every time we incline towards a sin, our heart aches for forgiveness.  It means, loving Him with a sincerity that penetrates the deepest aspects of our wants, desires and hopes, because we can’t have the love of dunya and His love in the same vessel.

So start with tawba.  Let your life become completely consumed by it. It will bring you so much closer to Him, His signs, and His revelation.  Even if you don’t have the chance to reach the higher stages in this life, tawba will protect you, guide you, and reassure you in moments of weakness and in moments of need.  “…ask forgiveness of your Lord and then repent to Him. He will…increase you in strength [added] to your strength.” (Qur’an 11:52)

After enduring the hardships of the dunya (this world) and the horrors of the grave and Last Day, Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He) will bless the believers with something that will make their worries and fears disappear: a safe, secure and everlasting home. A home where they will never endure or even encounter the emotions of fear, sadness, regret, unhappiness and anxiety. A home where their Lord will welcome them by saying, “O My servants, no fear will there be concerning you this Day, nor will you grieve,” (Qur’an, 43:68).

One of Allah’s greatest blessings, in this life and the next, is safety and security. It is an easily forgotten blessing because we are so accustomed to having a safe home and country. As we saw with recent events in the Middle East and in London, chaos erupts when the blessing of safety is taken away.

This blessing is even greater in the hereafter, when people will not have a safe haven or someone to protect them. That is why Allah (swt) highlights the quality of safety in Paradise by saying, “Indeed, the righteous will be in a secure place [al-maqam al-ameen],” (Qur’an, 44:51).

The word ameen is from amn, an inclusive word used to describe all types of peace and safety. The dwellers of jannah (paradise) will be safe from all types of diseases, from physical harm and distress, from emotions other than happiness and joy, and from ever leaving Paradise. They will never again suffer physical pain such as headaches, injuries, illnesses, or the pains of menstruation, fatigue, nausea, and exhaustion. They will never again endure mental pain such as depression, sadness, fear, anxiety, heart-break, anger, or envy.

Paradise will be completely free of any harm in any form. Jibreel (Gabriel) `alayhi salaam (peace be upon him) once came to the Prophet ﷺ (peace be upon him) and told him, “O Allah’s Apostle! This is Khadija coming to you with meat soup. When she reaches you, greet her on behalf of her Lord and on my behalf, and give her the glad tidings of a palace in Paradise wherein there will be neither any noise nor any fatigue,” (Bukhari). Jibreel (as) depicted Paradise as a place of rest and peace of mind.

Allah (swt) says about the righteous, “They will call therein for every [kind of] fruit – safe and secure [amineen],” (Qur’an, 44:55). Allah (swt) describes their situation as embodying all aspects of safety—in their bodies, minds and surroundings. Allah (swt) will also bless them with another level of safety mentioned in this verse—the security from lack of food. This verse also means that they will be safe from becoming sick from these foods.  Allah (swt) granted them safety in their surroundings as well as safety in their sustenance. Allah (swt) says, “Indeed, this is Our provision; for it there is no depletion,” (Qur’an, 38:54).

Allah (swt) calls jannah, “a bestowal uninterrupted,” (Qur’an, 11:108). Jannah will be a place of peace of mind—the believers will never have to worry about worrying! Everything from their food to their mental health will be flawless. And the best part of it all? “Nor from it will they [ever] be removed,” (Qur’an 15:48).

The Believers will never leave jannah because they will never die again. Allah (swt) says, “They will not taste death therein except the first death, and He will have protected them from the punishment of Hellfire / As bounty from your Lord. That is what is the great attainment,” (Qur’an, 44:56-57). Death is a terrifying experience, and Allah (swt) will not make the Believers go through it again after they have faced it in the dunya. Allah (swt) said, “I do not hesitate about anything as much as I hesitate about [seizing] the soul of My faithful servant: he hates death and I hate hurting him,” (Bukhari). Death is a constant fear that is always in the back of our minds: When will we leave this earth? How will we leave? What will I go through in the next life? But these questions and fears will never go through the minds of the righteous in Paradise. Allah (swt) protects them from the physical aspect of death as well as the mental distress it brings.

The Believers will say after entering Paradise and grasping the fact that they will never go through any distress, “Praise to Allah who has removed from us [all] sorrow. Indeed, our Lord is Forgiving and Appreciative – He who has settled us in the home of duration out of His bounty. There touches us not in it any fatigue, and there touches us not in it weariness [of mind].” (Qur’an 35:34-35).

Their immediate reaction to learning of their complete safety—not including the physical bounties and pleasure of Paradise—is genuine gratefulness and thanks to their Lord. The Believers specifically call upon Allah (swt) with two of His Beautiful Qualities, Ghafoor (All-Forgiving) and Shakoor (Ever-Appreciative). These two Names capture the gratitude of the Believers in this moment—for their Lord has forgiven their sins and overlooked their wrongdoings, while appreciating their good deeds by blessing them with a gift beyond their imagination. As believers we experience the Mercy of Allah (swt) in this worldly life, but we hope to be of those who experience the full extent of their Lord’s Infinite Mercy and Compassion in the hereafter.

And then I was reminded of the hadith in which the Prophet ﷺ (may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) said: “This world is a prison for the believer and a paradise for the disbeliever” (Sahih Muslim). And for the first time, I understood it very differently than I had before. I think many people misinterpret this hadith to mean that the disbelievers get to enjoy themselves in this life, while the believers have to be restricted in this life by haram (prohibited) and halal (permitted), and have to wait until the next life to enjoy themselves. Or perhaps, some think it means that this life is miserable for the believer, while it is bliss for the disbeliever.

But, I don’t think that’s it at all.

And suddenly I saw the reality of this hadith in the little girl. I saw what looked like a soul imprisoned because it belongs to another world—a better world, where it doesn’t have to get sick.

But what happens when it’s the opposite? What happens when the soul already thinks it’s in paradise? Would that soul ever want to be somewhere else? Somewhere better? No. It is exactly where it wants to be. To that soul, there is no ‘better’. When you’re in a paradise, you can’t imagine being anywhere greater. You yearn for nothing else. Nothing more. You are satisfied, content with where you are. That is the condition of the disbeliever. Allah says:

“Indeed, those who do not expect the meeting with Us and are satisfied with the life of this world and feel secure therein and those who are heedless of Our signs.” (Qur’an, 10:7)

For the disbelieving soul, this inevitably painful, disappointing and temporary world IS their paradise. It’s all they know. Imagine if a world where you have to fall, bleed and eventually die was the only paradise you knew. Imagine the agony of that.

The one who does not believe that there is any place better—who believes that this world is the best it can get—will become very impatient when this life isn’t perfect. They are quickly angered and quickly devastated because this life was supposed to be a paradise. They don’t realize there is something greater. And so this is all they want. This is all they strive for. Every effort, every ability, every opportunity, every gift endowed to them by their creator, is employed for the sake of seeking this life—of which nothing will come to them except what is written.

Their soul is attached to the worldly body because it thinks that body is the only paradise it has. Or will ever have. So it doesn’t want to let go. At any price, it wants to hold on. To take the soul from its ‘paradise’ at death is the greatest torture possible. God describes the death of the disbelievers as a tearing of the soul from the body. Allah says:

“By the (angels) who tear out (the souls of the wicked) with violence…” (Qur’an, 79:1)

It tears because that soul doesn’t want to leave. It believed it was already in its’ heaven. It didn’t realize that there is something greater. So much greater.

For the believing soul, it’s different. The believer is in prison—not paradise. Why? What is a prisoner? A prisoner is someone who is trapped. A prisoner is kept from his home. Stuck, while he wishes to be somewhere better. The worldly body is a prison for the believer, not because this life is miserable for the believing soul, but because that soul yearns to be somewhere greater. It yearns to be Home. No matter how wonderful this life is for a believer, it is a prison compared to the Perfect life that awaits them. This soul’s attachment is to God and the true paradise with Him. It wants to be there. But this worldly life is what keeps that soul from returning—for a while. It is the barrier, the prison. Although, the heart of a believer holds the only true paradise of this life, the soul still seeks what is beyond. The soul still seeks its Home. But this soul must remain in the bars of the body for an appointed term. It must ‘do the time’, before it can be released to go Home. The attachment of the believing soul is not to the imprisoning body. When the sentence is over and a captive is told he can go Home, he would never hold on to the prison bars. So Allah describes the death of the believer very differently. God says:

“By those (angels) who gently take out (the souls of the believers)…” (Qur’an, 79:2)

The believing soul slips easily out of the body. Its ‘prison sentence’ is over and now it’s going Home. It doesn’t hold on like the disbelieving soul that thought it was already at the best it can get.

And so I could not imagine a more perfect analogy than the one used by our beloved Prophet ﷺ. Indeed this life is a prison for the believer and a paradise for the disbeliever. We will all be called back by the very same caller.  The question is, will we live our life so that when that call comes we hold on to the bars of the prison? Or will we live so that the call is a call of release. A call back Home.

To empty the heart does not mean to not love. On the contrary, true love, as God intended it, is purest when it is not based on a false attachment. The process of first emptying the heart can be found in the beginning half of the shahada (declaration of faith). Notice that the declaration of faith begins with a critical negation, a crucial emptying. Before we hope to reach true tawheed (true monotheism), before we can assert our belief in the one Lord, we first assert: “la illaha” (there is no illah). An illah is an object of worship. But it is imperative to understand that an illah is not just something we pray to. An illah is what we revolve our life around, what we obey and what is of utmost importance to us—above all else.

It is something that we live for—and cannot live without.

So every person – atheist, agnostic, Muslim, Christian, Jew – has an illah. Everyone worships something. For most people, that object of worship is something from this worldy life, dunya. Some people worship wealth, some worship status. Some worship fame, some worship their own intellect.  Some people worship other people. And many, as the Qur’an describes, worship their own selves, their own desires and whims. Allah (swt) says:

“Then seest thou such a one as takes as his god his own vain desire? Allah has, knowing (him as such), left him astray, and sealed his hearing and his heart (and understanding), and put a cover on his sight. Who, then, will guide him after Allah (has withdrawn Guidance)? Will ye not then receive admonition?” (Qur’an, 45:23)

These objects of worship are things to which we become attached. But an object of attachment is not just something that we love. It is something that we need, in the deepest sense of the word. It is something that if lost, causes absolute devastation. If there is anything—or anyone—other than God, that we could never give up, then we have a false attachment. Why was Prophet Ibrahim told to sacrifice his son? It was to free him. It was to free him from a false attachment. Once he was free, his object of love (not attachment) was given back to him.

If there is anything—or anyone—that losing would absolutely break us, we have a false attachment. False attachments are things that we fear losing almost to a pathological extent. It is something that if we even sense is drifting away, we will desperately pursue. We chase it because losing an object of attachment causes complete devastation, and the severity of that devastation is proportional to the degree of attachment. These attachments can be to money, our belongings, other people, an idea, physical pleasure, a drug, status symbols, our careers, our image, how others view us, our physical appearance or beauty, the way we dress or appear to others, our degrees, our job titles, our sense of control, or our own intelligence and rationality. But until we can break these false attachments, we cannot empty the vessel of our heart. And if we do not empty that vessel, we cannot truly fill it with Allah.

This struggle to free one’s heart from all false attachments, the struggle to empty the vessel of the heart, is the greatest struggle of earthly life. That struggle is the essence of tawheed (true monotheism). And so you will see that, if examined deeply, all five pillars of Islam are essentially about and enable detachment:

Shahada (Declaration of faith): The declaration of faith is the verbal profession of the very detachment we seek to achieve: that the only object of our worship, ultimate devotion, love, fear, and hope is God. And God alone.  To succeed at freeing oneself from all other attachments, except the attachment to the Creator, is the truest manifestation of tawheed.

Salah (5 Daily Prayers): Five times a day we must pull away from the dunya to focus on our Creator and ultimate purpose. Five times a day, we detach ourselves from whatever we are doing of worldly life, and turn to God. Prayer could have been prescribed only once a day or week or all five prayers could have been done at one time each day. But it is not. The prayers are spread throughout the day. If one keeps to their prayers at their specified times, there is no opportunity to get attached.  As soon as we begin to become engrossed in whatever dunya matter we’re involved in (the job we’re doing, the show we’re watching, the test we’re studying for, the person we can’t get off our mind), we are forced to detach from it and turn our focus to the only true object of attachment.

Siyam (Fasting): Fasting is all about detachment. It is the detachment from food, drink, sexual intimacy, vain speech. By restraining our physical self, we ennoble, purify and exalt our spiritual self. Through fasting we are forced to detach ourselves from our physical needs, desires, and pleasures.

Zakat (Charity): Zakat is about detaching ourselves from our money and giving it for the sake of God. By giving it away, we are forced to break our attachment to wealth.

Hajj (Pilgrimage): Hajj is one of the most comprehensive and profound acts of detachment. A pilgrim leaves behind everything in his life. He gives up his family, his home, his six figure salary, his warm bed, his comfortable shoes and brand name clothes, all in exchange for sleeping on the ground or in a crowded tent and wearing only two simple pieces of cloth. There are no status symbols at hajj. No Tommy Hilfiger ihram, no five star tents.  (Hajj packages that advertise 5 star hotels, are talking about before or after the hajj. During hajj you sleep in a tent in Mena, and on the ground, under only sky, in Muzdalifah).

Realize that God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, does not just ask us to be detached from the dunya—He tells us exactly how. Beyond the five pillars, even our dress breeds detachment. The Prophet ﷺ tell us to distinguish ourselves, to be different from the crowd, even in how we appear. By wearing your hijab, kufi or beard, you can’t just blend in—even if you wanted to.  The Prophet ﷺ said: “Islam began as something strange, and it shall return to being something strange as it began, so give glad tidings to the strangers.” [Sahih Muslim]

By being ‘strange’ to this dunya, we can live in it, without being of it. And it is through that detachment that we can empty the vessel of our heart in preparation for that which nourishes it and gives it life. By emptying our heart, we prepare it for its true nourishment:

God.

Yesterday, I went to the beach. As I sat watching the massive Californian waves, I realized something strange. The ocean is so breathtakingly beautiful. But just as it is beautiful, it is also deadly. The same spellbinding waves, which we appreciate from the shore, can kill us if we enter them. Water, the same substance necessary to sustain life, can end life, in drowning. And the same ocean that holds ships afloat can shatter those ships to pieces.

This worldly life, the dunya, is just like the ocean. And our hearts are the ships. We can use the ocean for our needs and as a means to get to our final destination. But the ocean is only that: a means. It is a means for seeking food of the sea. It is a means of travel. It is a means of seeking a higher purpose. But it is something which we only pass through, but never think to remain in. Imagine what would happen if the ocean became our end – rather than just a means.

Eventually we would drown.

As long as the ocean’s water remains outside the ship, the ship will continue to float and be in control. But what happens as soon as the water creeps into the ship? What happens when the dunya is not just water outside of our hearts, when the dunya is no longer just a means? What happens when the dunya enters our heart?

That is when the boat sinks.

That is when the heart is taken hostage and becomes a slave. And that is when the dunya – which was once under our control – begins to control us. When the ocean’s water enters and overtakes a ship, that ship is no longer in control. The boat then becomes at the mercy of the ocean.

To stay afloat, we must view this world in exactly the same way, for Allah (swt) has told us that “Verily in the creation of the heavens and the earth are signs for those who reflect.” (Qur’an, 3:190) We live in the dunya, and the dunya is in fact created for our use. Detachment from dunya (zuhd) does not mean that we do not interact with this world. Rather, the Prophet ﷺ has taught us that we must:

Anas (ra) said: “Three people came to the houses of the wives of the Prophet, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, to ask about how the Prophet ﷺ worshipped. When they were told, it was as if they thought it was little and said, ‘Where are we in relation to the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, who has been forgiven his past and future wrong actions?'” He said, “One of them said, ‘I will pray all of every night.’ Another said, ‘I will fast all the time and not break the fast.’ The other said, “I will withdraw from women and never marry.’ The Messenger of Allah came to them and said, ‘Are you the ones who said such-and-such? By Allah, I am the one among you with the most fear and awareness of Allah, but I fast and break the fast, I pray and I sleep, and I marry women. Whoever disdains my sunnah is not with me.'” [Agreed upon]

The Prophet ﷺ did not withdraw from the dunya in order to be detached from it. His detachment was much deeper. It was the detachment of the heart. His ultimate attachment was only to Allah (swt) and the home with Him, for he truly understood the words of God:

“What is the life of this world but amusement and play? But verily the Home in the Hereafter, – that is life indeed, if they but knew.” (Qur’an, 29:64)

Detachment does not even mean that we cannot own things of the dunya. In fact many of the greatest companions were wealthy. Rather, detachment is that we view and interact with the dunya for what it really is: just a means. Detachment is when the dunya remains in our hand – not in our heart. As `Ali (ra) expressed beautifully, “Detachment is not that you should own nothing, but that nothing should own you.”

Like the ocean’s water entering the boat, the moment that we let the dunya enter our hearts, we will sink. The ocean was never intended to enter the boat; it was intended only as a means that must remain outside of it. The dunya, too, was never intended to enter our heart. It is only a means that must not enter or control us. This is why Allah (swt) repeatedly refers to the dunya in the Qur’an as a mata’a. The word mata’a can be translated as a “resource for transitory worldly delight.” It is a resource. It is a tool. It is the path—not the destination.

And it is this very concept that the Prophet ﷺ spoke about so eloquently when he said:

“What relationship do I have with this world? I am in this world like a rider who halts in the shade of a tree for a short time, and after taking some rest, resumes his journey leaving the tree behind.” (Ahmad, Tirmidhi)

Consider for a moment the metaphor of a traveler. What happens when you’re traveling or you know that your stay is only temporary? When you’re passing through a city for one night, how attached do you get to that place? If you know it’s temporary, you’ll be willing to stay at Motel 6. But would you like to live there? Probably not. Suppose your boss sent you to a new town to work on a limited project. Suppose he didn’t tell you exactly when the project would end, but you knew that you could be returning home, any day. How would you be in that town? Would you invest in massive amounts of property and spend all your savings on expensive furniture and cars? Most likely not. Even while shopping, would you buy cart-loads of food and other perishables? No. You’d probably hesitate about buying any more than you need for a couple days – because your boss could call you back any day.

This is the mindset of a traveler. There is a natural detachment that comes with the realization that something is only temporary. That is what the Prophet ﷺ in his wisdom, is talking about in this profound hadith. He understood the danger of becoming engrossed in this life. In fact, there was nothing he feared for us more.

He ﷺ said, “By Allah I don’t fear for you poverty, but I fear that the world would be abundant for you as it has been for those before you, so you compete for it as they have competed for it, so it destroys you as it has destroyed them.” (Agreed upon)

The blessed Prophet ﷺ recognized the true nature of this life. He understood what it meant to be in the dunya, without being of it. He sailed the very same ocean that we all must. But his ship knew well from where it had come, and to where it was going. His was a boat that remained dry. He understood that the same ocean which sparkles in the sunlight, will become a graveyard for the ships that enter it.