Mustafa and Ali stood outside Masjid Abu Bakr, which was nestled into the corner of ancient Walford street and the adjoining Stratham Road. Row upon row of red bricked, terraced, Victorian houses dominated the scene. Busy traffic zoomed by as Friday evening had arrived; the sun was settling for its slumber, and the late-night shopping districts were now warming up for the oncoming shoppers.
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A murid called his sage with yearning eyes
“Show me the secrets of your enterprise…”
“Okay,” the sage replied, “let it be told
With this spade that I give you dig a hole
And dig until you find the quenching water
Then drown in it your vices and their daughters
When you are pure and washed, prepare your eyes
For the boundless secrets of our enterprise.”
The shaykh led the murid to a special pit
And showed the spade and how to dig with it
“Keep digging for the water, don’t give up
Don’t let the fiends of doubt your hopes disrupt!”
And so the seeker dug on through the day
And through the night without any dismay
But as the days went on although he cried
No water came although he tried and tried
The shaykh appeared again, “Keep digging my dear friend
The deeper that you dig, the deeper your great end!”
And on the final day murid was really straining
The shaykh arrived to beautify this training
“Have you discovered water yet my son?
Have you tasted the water of the One?”
The murid cried with anguish, “my dear Shaykh!
I’ve dug without success my heart it really aches!”
And then the Shaykh so soft were his deep eyes
Some wondrous tears appeared light and divine
Each tear fell in the hole with the murid
In just a glance it filled up to his knees
And then below the earth gave way and bled
Fresh water merged with tears the sage had shed
The murid dived and bathed in flowing water
The secrets of the way in his soul’s quarters
And now a hole murid had strained to dig
Was like a lake refreshing, clear and big!
The murid returned to shore with his sage smiling
“My son you’ve found something so enterprising
But if you dug deeper for Allah’s sake
You would have found His ocean, not just a lake!”
For Shaykh Nuh Ha Mim Keller, may Allah bless him
Transcript from an interview between Mureed Supreme, Mostafa Marx and host, Uncle John, recorded live at the studios, in the Fukrfield Festival of Democracy and Equality, at the London arena in Central London.
December, 2080
(Theme Music followed by rapturous studio applause. MM and UJ lighted on the stage, seated on stylish leather chairs and separated by a smart coffee table with glasses and water decanter. Applause and music fades out)
UJ: Welcome, my dear audience and citizens at home, to another segment of ‘Talking Heads’, I’m Uncle John. And today I would like to introduce our guest, none other than Mureed Supreme, Mostafa Marx! (Applause)
MM: Many thanks, John! God bless, God Bless! (Applause ends)
UJ: So let’s cut right to the chase. You are Mureed Supreme of what’s known as ‘tariqa waahidiyya’. Could you tell us more about your movement and its achievements since you were given this role?
UJ: Well, Uncle John, first of all, I would like to thank you for your kindness in inviting me onto your programme where I can discuss this critical work we’ve been doing. As you know, our society has quite rightly equalised every facet: parents and children, teacher and student, police and citizen, prime minister and constituent. We have finally reached a societal reality, thanks to our Founding Citizens, in which parents can no longer manipulate and control their kids; teachers can no longer wield authority over their learners; and even the leader of our country over the lay person on the street. We are all equal, and only God is higher- but even that height is in all of us…. God is one- but the knowledge, the truth and the power are in the many….. And religions, of whose heart is Sufism, is no exception to these ideals…
UJ: Mmm, fascinating, please elaborate about Sufism….. How so?
MM: Well, in primitive times, when people believed in the supernatural and so-called ‘spiritual states’ like ma’rifa, shuhood, hubb, shukr, and kashifaat, this all went hand in hand with notions of hierarchy, respect, deference and obedience to what was known as the ‘shaykh’. A ‘shaykh’ was supposedly someone who had attained these supernatural, spiritual states and could transfer them state into an aspirant, thereby helping their student or mureed to tread a path of enlightenment and journey in God. All Pugwash, I have to say! These spiritual states and these spiritual guides were mostly psychological tricks performed by charlatans, wielding undemocratic power over their students and committing various acts of spiritual, physical and sexual abuse at will. Whilst the few so-called ‘real’ ones, one could say, brought some kind of inner peace into the lives of their associates through ‘ma’rifa’, the majority were pushing the faithful towards an abyss of humility, forbearance and frankly extremist quietism. But as the Founding Citizens showed us so clearly, supernaturalism indeed is all in the head, there is no God but God- which really means the God of the mind. Religion and spirituality work at their best through their facilitation of socialization, camaraderie, and communal spirit. We kept the latter and got rid of the former.
UJ: Okay, that sounds rather challenging… How on earth did you rid our society of the evil of supernaturalism?
MM: Well, we came up with these ingenious devices known as the ma’rifa and shuhood inhibitors. We patented them of course. And these wonderful, life-saving devices were used on so-called shaykhs and mureeds who displayed signs of supernatural states, like spiritual tears, visions, light in the face, peaceful countenance, and so forth. The ma’rifa and shuhood inhibitors were installed on these individuals and frankly, after some time, they were cured of their so-called inner peace and inner light….
UJ: Oh yeah, how is that?
MM: Well the inhibitors were essentially locked-in headphones and digital glasses. Every time these wackos felt a bit spiritual and thought they were touching the so-called divine light of God, the inhibitor kicked in, and they got blasted by some real-world stimuli, like flashes of pornography, or hearing orgasms, and the like. The glasses had these neat, high definition video screens and the headphones crystal clears. Just some regular flashes and screams while these guys went for their morning prayer, or said invocation before sleep, and all that so-called ‘shuhood’ or ‘ma’rifa’ poured out of them like water in an unplugged bath.
UJ: So you got the old God out of them…
MM: Indeed, out with the old, in with the new…. We got rid of these shaykhs, these spiritual states, these undemocratic relationships, these inevitable oppressive structures and spread the concepts of equality and oneness. We abolished all the tariqas, and united them into one, tariqa Waahidiyya- the way of the one. No more Qadariyya, Naqshbandiyya, Shadhiliyya and all their ilk that claimed to be supernatural chains to attain these bogus spiritual states. Complete nonsense; and all divisive, conflicting bodies of shaykhs and mureeds vying with each other to see who has the most mureeds, who has the biggest tomb, who has the most attended zikrs. The tariqas were complete chaos. We abolished all notions of shaykhs and shaykhdom- now there are only mureeds, or seekers and enlightenment is naturally found within- no other has an authority and access to special knowledge that another has to show deference to. We are one and equal, our God is one and equal, and even the Prophets, every one of them, are the same as every one of us- they were just stepping stones to the rational zenith we have reached now, all through the tremendous work of the Founding Citizens. Currently, anyone who wants to enter the path of Sufism registers online, pays a monthly membership fee, and has access to every Sufi centre and mosque on this earth.
UJ: Hmm, fascinating, fascinating… But now, as this is Talking Heads…
MM: Indeed, indeed, I know what’s coming up
UJ: Yes, yes, you know it. devil’s advocate. I have to play it.
MM: I knew you would play devil’s advocate….although the devil is all in the mind and in the small print! (mild laughter)
UJ: As your detractors say, including that renegade so-called shaykh who is still at large…. Haven’t you gotten rid of the heart of Sufism? Isn’t the whole point, that Sufism links you to the ineffable presence, through an ineffable, physical representative on earth? And surely, some deference should be showed for the one who brought such riches to your heart?
MM: Ah, yes, you quote the words of the devil himself and advocate for him well! Insha Allah the authorities will catch him and end his heresy soon….. He loves to talk about the ineffable… But as the Founding Citizens have taught us, ineffability leads to oppression- the supernatural was the biggest stumbling block and inhibitor of human progress. The so-called shaykh and his magical tricks cannot prevent the road of progress moving on through the supreme democracy of the human project.
LONG LIVE THE FOUNDING CITIZENS! (He rises and salutes. UJ and the audience follow suit then they all sit down)
UJ: Do you have a message for the shaykh if he is watching this programme or otherwise?
MM: Yes- stop pretending you are conduit for ma’rifa- become a conduit for the supremacy of the mind and equality of the human race. Amen
UJ: Mostafa- a pleasure as always. Mostafa Marx dear audience!
(Applause)
My dreaming language, dear English tongue!
Through Shakespeare you’ve enthralled the old and young
But through imperialism and technology
You’ve left a trail of pain and lethargy
So let me boost your lexis and your art
By using you to praise the Prophet’s heart!
Dear English tongue, Muhammad, peace on him
His miracle was light that shone within
So brilliant and fine his inner light
That Aisha found a needle deep in the night!
Dear English tongue, Muhammad, peace on him
His character was pure, beyond the whim
His miracle was the eloquent Quran
Whose verses still the soul, protect from harm
Dear English tongue, Muhammad, peace on him,
You may ask us, why do we love him?
As when he was accosted by cruel words
He was loving despite the hate he heard
Dear English tongue, you may think this rather odd
But through Muhammad, you will reach The Only God
The Only One, that people in the West
Think is a myth and their English tongue knows best
But English tongue, know this I do beseech
That every word exists through Allah’s speech…
And Peace and Blessings on Muhammadan!
From Edinburgh, and Cardiff and London!
In my imaginings, in 1893
Oscar Wilde meets Ahmed Al Alawi
Wilde is on a search for a harem
With Lord Alfred in the streets of Mostaganem
Then above the town, a tempest tossed
Wilde can’t see his lover; Alfred is lost
And in the churning rain, Wilde sees a light
Emanating from a house there on the right
He bounds towards it, thinking of Alfred
Where has my lover gone? He frets and dreads.
And so he enters this humble abode
A simple dwelling glimmering on the road
The door is left ajar; richly shines sunlight
Strange, he thinks, at this time of night
He enters, wondering of this strange sun
Hidden within this house, how is this done?
Then in a room, sitting still, upright
Oscar sees a man encircled by light
A soft white turban crowning his head
And skinny as a rake, he’s hardly fed
But strange! O strange! The sunlight in his face
Somehow in this room from outer space!
Wilde intrigued, now speaks to him in French
Here is a translation of their sense
Wilde begins: “Why greetings my dear fellow!
I have a problem I want to let you know!”
“Welcome my friend,” proclaims Al Alawi
A far look in his eyes, his voice friendly.
Wilde erupts: “I’ve lost my loving friend
Somewhere within this storm; around the bend
I cannot live whilst he is there exposed
And I am safe in separation’s throes
But tell me my dear man what of this light
Which rises like the sun in this dire night?”
Shaykh Al Alawi with piercing eyes
“It is the light of One,” he just replies
“Who or what is One? What do you mean?”
Oscar speaks and more he is intrigued.
“The Presence Absolute; the Only Light
The One True Being shines right through my sight”
Speaks Al Alawi, with overwhelming peace
Oscar thinks- this is nothing like our priests…
“How do I find this light of which you speak?
How do I feel this Oneness so to speak?”
Al Alawi replies: “You must divest
From love of things and people that transgress
The sacred law and balance of the earth
Then you’ll feel this light which comes from birth.”
Oscar Wilde dismisses and decries:
“How can you say that, don’t you understand
I love Sir Alfred though he be a man
And isn’t love what makes the planets turn
How can you censure me as my heart burns?”
“You asked me how to realise the Light
It’s up to you to do what you think right
If you can shun aside love of this world
Everywhere you step, you’ll find a pearl
If you can say the Name on everything
From name to Named you’ll shift, you’ll soar with wings
When He who’s Named effulges through your heart
His love will radiate; and fears depart
His light will shine through you as will the meanings
The sensory will no longer be deceiving
But if you seek Him, you must sacrifice
This love you hold for people of this life
So purge the love of him whom you adore
And filter it upon the sacred law.”
Oscar says: “dear sir how can I seal
This love I feel for him, for me it’s real.
How can I live with authenticity?
If I deny this love inside of me?”
“Well brother,” replies Shaykh Al Alawi
“For me there’s only one reality
Which scintillates the eyes of our true hearts
Which highlights truth and falsehood so apart
For me the ocean merges in the drops
For me the One illumines, and never stops
For me, I read the Name on everything
And every person until there is nothing
And now through Him I live as you can see
So choose the temporal or infinity…”
The tempest ebbs and now the sky is clear
Oscar Wilde now finds this man so queer
“Thanks for your time, dear sir,” and off he goes
In the distance, Alfred waves and glows
In the house, Al Alawi just prays
The Names of Him reveal and interplay
2022
Once there was a bold mureed of sorts
Who went and took his sufi shaykh to court!
He stood before the judge with indignation
The shaykh stood in the docks with resignation
“So what’s your case?” began the magistrate
As jury, public, media stood in wait:
“Dear judge,” began the bold mureed of sorts
“By this man I was guided, helped and taught
But now I’ve realised, he is of no use!
As he has subjected me to spiritual abuse!”
“Describe in detail your experience,”
The judge advised with this august appearance:
“Well,” said the mureed, “Let me start with this
He made me give my own ego the miss!
He forced me to reduce my reputation
By begging in the streets with humiliation
Then he said that I would be inspired
If I gave up my ego’s deep desires.”
The mureed wept, tears streaming down his face
He looked up to the judge: “Sorry your grace.”
“So what was the result?” enquired the judge
“Well here’s the crux of my permitted grudge
This sufi shaykh committed heresy
By making me forego my agency
He forced me to ingest unearthly wine
Which he said had appeared from the divine
And then I lost all concept of my self
All I could see was light and heavenly wealth
I was imprisoned in the malakut
Where angels served my needs all to my suit
But here’s the worst reality you see
All I could see was Him; nowhere was me!”
The mureed opened his indignant eyes
And stared around the court in great surprise
For judge and jury looking rather guilty
Now stood before the shaykh swearing their fealty!
The judge said: “dear mureed, you got us thinking
I think we’ll have what you have just been drinking!”
2022
Pir Sikandar was a Gaddi Nasheen
Who had more properties than Her Majesty the Queen
Every Friday in his local mosque
He gathered copious funds like a hungry fox
Rupees from poor and rich whatever the vibe
And to his TV channel, all, they must subscribe
And if any of his followers decried
“The curse of God on misers!” He would cry.
His house was more a palace than khanqah
For driving, he would cruise around in sports cars
While most of his mureeds got by in rickshaws
And most lived in crowded flats and on one floor
But amongst all these, there was a wild malang
With the honey bees of Love, he had been stung
This roaming dervish, he was called Mobeen
His face looked rough- his heart was most serene
He loved some stories, but one he thought was good
Was about the Merry men and Robin Hood!
One night to God, he cried and he implored:
“I will perform one thing that Thou deplores
I’ll steal the funds hidden in Sikandar’s stores
And rob the rich to benefit the poor!”
So, in the night, whilst Sikandar was asleep
Mobeen he lurked outside with just a creep
He slipped into the tomb of Sikandar’s Dada
And there he spoke with ecstasy to the spirit of this Baba
From there he took some treasures and some light
And distributed it throughout the night
Sikandar’s followers awoke feeling so rich
With hidden Oneness lights, no more they itched
Then on that Friday, when Sikandar came to rule
Despite his retinue, he looked a total fool
Because to his infuriating surprise
No one had turned up to pray in the lines
“Where are my followers? Where are they indeed?”
He stormed at his most gullible mureed
So, then they searched and drove along the roads
To each and every disciple’s abode
And everywhere they went they couldn’t fathom
That each mureed they met was now bedazzled
With priceless, wealthy lights around their head
And public crowds following in their stead
The last they met was none other than Mobeen
Who wore the jewels of love brighter than the Queen:
Sikandar cried: “Mobeen for goodness sake!
I thought I was supposed to be the shaykh!
And now all those who once would follow me
Each one has turned into a boundless sea!”
Mobeen said: “O dear pir I must confess
I robbed the lights hidden within your chest
That you have locked away in your darbar
And now your way of life from this is far
Like Robin Hood I stole from one who’s rich
With ancestors who gave their nafs the ditch
I shared their lights with those who are deserving
As you have ignored things that need preserving.”
Pir Sikandar, wealthy Gaddi Nasheen
Proclaimed in shame: “O God, what have I been!”
And there and then he chose he would repent
And gave away his riches then off he went
Roaming the roads like one who’s on a search
Because his love for God has gone berserk
He left Mobeen to take his rightful place
As the sincere pir; as the real shaykh
And that’s the story of old Mobeen Hood
And Pir Sikandar who changed all for the good!
Notes:
Gaddi Nasheen- inheritor/son of previous Pir or Shaykh (spiritual leader/holy man) and assumes his position in the community
Mureed- followers of spiritual leader
Malang- deranged, spiritual aspirant with strange powers
Baba- old shaykh, pir / old man
Dada- grandfather from father’s side
Darbar- grave of spiritual leader/holy person
2022
It was a sweltering August weekend on Ilford Lane; the high street was teeming with beaming, movie star faces, inching along in gleaming, convertible sports cars and booming bass lines. The shops and markets on either side were thronging with customers, laden with designer bags and baklava boxes, like rows of ants heaving a booty of sugar lumps along a kitchen floor. Wedding season was in full flow. As were the plethora of barbers and salons along the lane: Asian, Turkish, Kurdish, Arabic, Somali, male, female, retro, traditional, high-brow, cheap and cheerful. It seemed as if everyone had decided to get their special trims or facials on this day. It wasn’t unusual today to see queues extending out of every barber shop and salon and, consequently, tempers were beginning to fray; nerves were itching; patience was fizzling in the heat.
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“Not even any water!?”
They ask with such surprise
“No food or drink for a whole month!?”
They gawk with flaring eyes
“Do babies have to fast as well?”
“What about if your pregnant?”
“What if you’ve got your GCSEs?”
“What if you’re adolescent?”
“Do your parents lock the fridge
And ban you from Tescos?”
“Do you swallow your saliva?”
“Are you banned from discos?”
“Can I eat a pork sarnie
Before you while you’re fasting?”
“Will an angel strike you down
With judgement everlasting?”
No food or drink indeed dear friend,
But only during daytime
Babies of course do not do fasts
Pregnant women can decline
Teenagers do observe the fast
Not younger than juveniles
Females don’t fast during menses
We eat when lamps materialise
Fasting in your GCSEs
Inspires concentration
The fridge is packed with iftar food
No disco, but meditation
You may eat your pork sarnie
Before me quite contentedly
But dang and drat! I just swallowed
Some milkshake accidentally!
2022
I’m better than him
It’s in the genes
Khalaqtanee min naarin
Wa khalaqtahu min teen
I’m better than him
It’s in the genes
He drives a bus
I got a PHD.
I’m better than him
It’s in the genes
He hails from the third world
I’m related to the Queen.
I’m better than her
It’s in the genes
She grew up in a flat
I was raised with prestige.
I’m better than her
It’s in the genes
Her father is a guard
My father’s a marine.
We’re better than them
It’s in the genes
We’re a civilised folk
Their culture’s obscene.
We’re better than them
It’s in the genes
Our race has evolved
Their race is naive.
I’m better than him
It’s in the genes
Khalaqtanee min naarin
Wa khalaqtahu min teen
(Chorus based on Quranic verses: Suratul A’raf/Chapter of The Heights- 7:12: The devil’s explanation to Allah about not bowing to Adam (as): “I am better than him; You created me from fire, while You created him from clay.”)