Signs on the Horizons Read online

  SIGNS

  ON THE HORIZONS

  “We shall show them Our Signs on the horizons and in themselves,

  till it is clear to them that it is the Truth.

  Is it not enough that your Lord

  is a Witness over everything?”

  The Holy Qur’an*

  For the people, in short, in joy and sorrow

  He was an exemplar in the world, a sign.

  Faridud-din ‘Attar**

  “The Saints are God’s Signs

  which He recites to His servants

  by disclosing them one after another.”

  Abu’l Abbas Al Mursi***

  Copyright © 2013 Michael Sugich

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without the written permission of the author.

  ISBN 978-0-9893640-1-0

  Designed by Shems Friedlander

  Cover Photo View from Jebel Noor by Peter Sanders

  For my children

  Kulthum, Muhsin, Abu Bakr, Sulafa, Ahmad and Habiba

  And dedicated to the memory of Gai Eaton

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Acknowledgements

  Appearances

  The Hidden

  An Ordinary Man

  The Caretaker

  An Overflow of Ecstasy

  A Black Ant on a Black Stone

  The Mu’adhin of Sefrou

  Rock Candy

  Almond Milk

  Encounters

  The Man Who Wanted to Go to Madinah

  All Night Long

  The Weeping Eye

  The Glance

  The Nubian Beside the Tomb

  Meeting with the Minister

  Work

  Play

  The Lord of the Middle Atlas

  The Unseen

  The Illuminated

  First Light

  Black Light

  The Beacon

  24 Hours

  The Centenarian

  Transmission

  The Cure

  Majesty

  River of Heaven

  Three Hundred

  The Merchant

  The English Saint

  Gazing at the House

  Love

  The Beloved

  Ambassador Extraordinaire and Plenipotentiary

  Song and Dance

  To Dance or Not to Dance

  Serenade

  The Heart Shatterer

  The Living

  Direct from Paradise

  In Transit

  Perfume

  Transfigured Night

  Epilogue

  Full Circle

  About the Author

  Glossary

  Bibliography

  Photo credits

  “Divine Wisdom Never Runs Dry.”

  Moulay Al-‘Arabi Ad-Darqawi*

  INTRODUCTION

  Memory for most of us is a compendium of our senses, vivid or muted images that resonate and remind us of time and age and achievement and loss. We experience our lives as a chain of events leading to each succeeding moment and we each live our personal history as its protagonist. In this continuum we find points of clarity and are touched by men and women who change us in some essential way. For most of humanity, it is our parents who shape us for better or for worse. For some, an individual – a teacher, a leader, an intellectual, an artist, a loving friend – someone stronger and more experienced than we are – someone who introduces us to another world. The impact these people have upon us is often inadvertent, sometimes misguided and occasionally inspired.

  This is a book of memories, a commemoration of remarkable men who have defined my life, and I dare say, the lives of many others. While a few have been celebrated, most have passed through life in obscurity. Inwardly driven, they have had an alchemical impact on me for precisely the reason that they are unknown. They did not seek anything from the world; not recognition, position, wealth, influence, prestige or admiration. They were not ethereal or otherworldly, nor were they powerful in the sense most of us imagine saints and holy men to be. What characterized every one of these men was humility, kindness, sweetness of temper, patience, insight, and, most importantly, the remembrance of God at all times. By and large, they are men who have transcended the ordinary and achieved stations of spirituality and enlightenment we in the West only attribute to the Biblical fathers of ancient times or to myth. They are hidden treasures. At this writing, some are still alive but most have passed away. They are missed.

  I’ve often wondered why I’ve had the great good fortune to have come into contact with these men. I am as worldly as the next person and have done nothing to merit their attention. I’m not particularly adventurous. I’m not overly religious or contemplative. I am neither a scholar nor a saint. On reflection, I've come to the conclusion that my contact with these great men has been in direct proportion to my sense of distress, helplessness and need.

  The 18th century Sufi Shaykh Ali Al-Jamal, said, "If people knew how many secrets and benefits are to be found in need, they would have no other need than to be in need.” His successor, the sublime Shaykh Moulay Al 'Arabi Ad-Darqawi wrote, "Distress (faqah) is nothing but intensity of need." and "There is no doubt that, for men of God, their best moment is a moment of distress, for this is what fosters their growth.” He refers to Al-Hikam of Ibn Ata'illah Al-Iskandari, saying, "The best of your moments is that in which you are aware of your distress and thrown back upon your own helplessness… it may be that in distress you will find benefits that you have been unable to find either in prayer or in fasting.”*

  Of course, we hate distress in our lives. We avoid it like the plague. I know I do. But it is in times of trouble, when we exhaust all our options and are forced to turn to God in extreme need, that we approach the essence of reality. One of the saints profiled in this volume, Moulay Abu'l Qasim, may God be well pleased with him, would say to us that there is nothing God loves more than His slave, helpless, weeping, with hands outstretched in supplication. He said this with tears of yearning in his eyes. Perhaps I have a greater sense of helplessness and need than many even though on the surface of things I appear to be strong and my life has been comfortable and relatively trouble free. When my sense of need has been strongest these men have appeared in my life, like divine instruments.When my feeling of helplessness has diminished and given way to a sense of empowerment and complacency or when I’ve been overcome by my passions and worldly concerns, these men have receded from my life and I miss them terribly.

  When the Sufi Shaykh Abu'l Hassan Al-Shadhili was asked why he did not write books, he replied, "My companions are m-books." Most of the men described in this volume are Sufis. Almost every one of them has been disciplined and guided – "written” – by a spiritual master. This volume is a personal celebration of this process.

  Many of my contemporaries have had more profound and more prolonged contact than I with these and other great men of the Way, but have kept their own experiences to themselves. For many years I hesitated to commit these personal memories to writing partially because I considered the act of revealing these encounters to be close to hubris and partially because I was living in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia where the practice of Sufism was banned by the religious authorities.

  We have lost the meaning. We are living in an age that overwhelmingly revels in the world, alternating between euphoria and anxiety. We are oblivious to the subtle blessings and hidden realities that permeate existence. The men described on the following pages lived in the realm of meaning. They are signs o
n the horizons. Bless them all.

  “Surely being is meaning set up in images.

  Those who grasp this are people of discernment.”

  Shaykh Mohamed ibn Al-Habib*

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I first conceived of the idea of writing about men of God (Ri-jala ‘llah) that I have met over a quarter of a century ago when the photographer Peter Sanders and I discussed the idea of recording biographies of these men and others, in the tradition of the anecdotal hagiographies of saints that has existed in Islam since the beginning: Khatam Al-Awliya of Tirmidhi, Tadhkirat Al-Awliya of Attar, Hiliyat Al-Awliya of Abu Nu’aym and the Ruh Al-Quds and Al-Durrat Al-Fakhirah of Ibn Al-Arabi. We wanted to show in the most vivid way possible that men of profound spirituality are still with us. The project as originally conceived was more ambitious and would have required years of time and extensive travel to track down and interview hundreds of people who had known the great 20th century Sufis. However, we both had growing families and responsibilities that made the project highly impractical. For year after year we put this enterprise off, yet it was always at the back of both our minds. Both of us are passionate about the transcendent gifts these men have brought to our lives personally and to the world.

  While the grand historical project we originally conceived has receded, we have each, separately, revived the idea in more personal forms. We are producing in parallel, two complementary volumes, both highly personal, from two different approaches. In a very real sense, this book would not have been written without the inspiration of Peter Sanders’s four decade quest to capture the saints of Islam on film.

  My initial motivation for writing this book was to share the experiences I have had with my children. I had never intended to publish the personal memories that form the content of this volume until my friend Shems Friedlander began putting together a wonderful journal on Sufism called "Zawiyyah". He was looking for articles to include in the first issue. I sent him a short piece on Moulay Abu'l Qasim, which he kindly included.

  The response to the article was surprisingly positive and made me realize that there was a thirst for this kind of shared experience. So this book found its form because of Shems Friedlander’s creative initiative. More than this Shems has long been an inspiration for me as a gifted and courageously prolific author, film-maker, photographer, painter and publisher. Over the years we have collaborated on many and various projects and it was a foregone conclusion that he would design this volume.

  I am also indebted to several of my close friends and companions on the Way. Shakir Massoud-Priest’s vivid and generous recollections of the time he spent with some of the great Sufis described in this volume confirmed and enhanced my own memories. Shakir also contributed a unique photograph and gave me some invaluable editorial advice. The poet Daniel Abdul Hayy Moore, traded memories with me, bringing out some vivid descriptive detail. Abu'l Qasim and Aziza Spiker shared more memories with me of Morocco and our experiences on the Way and were my companions on the blessed journey to Moulay Hashem Balghiti. Aziza also did me the great service of reviewing and editing the text. Hamza Weinman was instrumental in connecting me to Moulay Hashem, and Azzadine Bettach has been a warm and wonderful support during my journeys to Morocco and a fount of wisdom and knowledge. And my thanks to my friend Abdallah Schleifer for his early encouragement.

  In addition, I would like to pay tribute to the great translators and publishers who have made the traditional texts of Tasawwuf accessible in the English language through the years. When I was young the legendary Pakistani publisher Muhammad Ashraf came to call. When this thin, fastidious and venerable gentleman in a gray suit and red fez entered the room there was palpable excitement, for he had introduced generations of non-Arab seekers to the works of Al-Ghazali, Moulay Abdul Qadir Al-Jilani and other great Sufis for the first time. Several of my dear friends have taken the Ashraf legacy and raised it to new heights. Faarid and Aisha Gouverneur and Batul Salazar created the Islamic Texts Society, which pioneered a tradition of fine Sufi publishing that has been continued by the formidable, extraordinary Aisha (Gray Henry Blakemore) under the Fons Vitae imprimatur and Batul (Patricia) through her publishing house Archetype. The great British Sufi Arabist and professor T.J. Winter (Abdal Hakim Murad), has produced exquisite translations of Al-Ghazali’s books of Ihya Ulum Ad’din and through his own publishing house, Quilliam Press, was the first to publish the writings of Habib Ahmad Mashhur Al-Haddad, translated by Dr. Mostafa Badawi, whose devotion to Al-Haddad is both unceasing and deeply moving. "The Letters of a Sufi Master, Moulay Al-Arabi Ad-Darqawi” has been my solace and my sustenance for 40 years and I am deeply beholden to its translator, the late Titus Burkhardt (Sidi Ibrahim). Abdul Rahman Fitzgerald has collaborated on many invaluable translations of classical Sufi texts, which have further enriched my understanding of the Way. Finally, I would like to pay tribute to Dr. Victor Danner, whom I had the privilege of taking on the Lesser Pilgrimage (Umrah) before he passed away, for his masterful translation of Al-Hikam of Ibn Ata’illah, may God have Mercy on him. I treasure the copy that he sent me. His widow, Dr. Mary Ann Koury-Danner, carried on her husband’s work with an equally fine translation of Ibn Ata'illah's Miftah al-Falah wa Misbah al-Arwah. In many respects this book would have been impossible without the heroic efforts of these and others to bring the ancient knowledge to the English speaking world.

  In 2009 I sent Gai Eaton, one of the most eloquent writers on Islam in our time, an early draft of the manuscript. He and I had performed umrah together in Makkah many years before and formed a bond of sorts, which was strengthened, for me at least, when my beloved mother was inspired to embrace Islam after reading "Islam and the Destiny of Man", his seminal interpretation of Islam for the West. Of late a trip to his home near Wimbledon had become a necessary feature of my layovers in London. On one of these visits I asked him what he thought of what I’d sent him. He was standing at his sideboard making tea for the two of us. He stopped, looked down and fell silent. After a pause, he said, "I am wrestling with my feelings." I said with some apprehension, thinking perhaps that he disliked what he’d read, "What do you mean?" He looked up and said, "Well I envy you." Surprised, I said, "Envy me? Why?" He said, "Because I led a sheltered life. I never had the courage to venture out and meet people like this. I wish I had." I said, "Well in my case it had nothing to do with courage and you are a great man and a great writer. You didn’t need to.” I learned that my friend was on his deathbed while I was driving. Overcome by grief, I pulled my car to the side of the road and wept. We have lost one of our greatest spokesmen and interpreters. In honor of his memory, I would like to dedicate this book to him, may God cover him with Mercy.

  In conclusion, among these acknowledgements, I need to acknowledge my own extreme inadequacy. My association with the great souls I have remembered on these pages is a stroke of luck and a favor from God that I in no way deserve. I am under no illusions that their company has given me some special place in the scheme of things. I have fallen many times and continue to do so, but God is Oft-Returning and my hope is that He, may He be exalted, will forgive me and have mercy upon my soul.

  “All that I have done I reckon as but dust.

  Whatsoever Thou hast seen of me not pleasing to Thy Presence,

  do Thou draw the line of pardon through i t.

  And wash the dust of disobedience from me;

  for I have myself washed away the dust

  of the presumption that I have obeyed Thee.”

  Abu Yazid Al-Bestami*

  APPEARANCES

  “God’s Friends are brides

  and brides are not seen by criminals.”

  Saying related by Ibn Ata’illah Al-Iskandari*

  THE HIDDEN

  The Holy Mosque was an ocean of humanity during the days before the Hajj, the annual Pilgrimage to Makkah. As daylight faded I joined thousands of worshippers and pilgrims making the tawaf, the seven circuits around the Kaaba, calling out His Divine Names. As
time approached for the sunset prayer, circular prayer lines formed around the House of God, rank by rank, closing around the vast mataf, the white marble floor surrounding the House all the way to the raised arcades designed by Sinan Pasha in the 16th century. The mataf was reduced, line-by-prayer-line, as individual worshippers peeled off from the shrinking tawaf to take their places in the encroaching ranks. I completed my seven circuits only moments before the call to prayer.

  In a state of exaltation and hope, I knew that within this ocean there were deep seas of light and knowledge. I knew that among the hundreds of thousands of worshippers filling the Holy Mosque on every level there were the Close Friends of God, the awliya‘ullah, God’s saints. I also knew that I would never be able to recognize these men on my own. They were hidden by their humanity from ordinary souls like me. As I completed my tawaf, I asked God from the depths of my heart to show me one of His saints. Exhilarated by the light of the Holy Mosque, I prayed over and over again to meet one of His people. At that moment in time, intoxicated by the light that permeated the vast, roiling assembly, I yearned to meet at least one of the saints hidden in this tidal wave of pilgrims.

  Caught in the slow-moving crush, each soul searching for a tiny space to join the prayer lines, I was pushed along a line of seated worshippers until the flow of the crowd abruptly stopped. Sitting before me in the prayer line was an old white-bearded man. I couldn’t tell where he was from. I looked into his face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. But they were not ordinary tears; he was weeping tears of blood. Blood was streaming from his eyes into his beard. There was no discernible emotion in his features, only an overwhelming serenity.

  I leaned over and took his hand to kiss it. When he took my hand, a powerful electrical jolt passed through my arm straight to my heart. I kissed his forehead, looked into his weeping eyes again, and was swept away with the crowd.