That is the nature of tariqah, you coming closer to Allah swt. If there is no sense of moving towards Him, that you get up and act, nothing will happen to you. You dont benefit, even though Allah swt gives you everything that you want. Without moving towards Allah swt, this does not help you at all in your journey to come closer to Him.
When you actively make that journey there is a sense of commitment associated with any action that you do for Him.
Science does not think – Martin Heidegger. He said that simply because that way of reasoning cannot think the truth. If you cannot think the truth, you cannot think. Science is completely heartless ( no heart)and therefore destructive. As long as you take science as a tool and compliment it alongside with your heart it is alright. But if you take Science as an ultimate, without your heart, it is an absolute danger.
It is not enough to use reason to comprehend the shariah. Attempt to bring this matter to the people with reasoning will have no effect. You may explain the contents of a book with all the reasoning that is needed and the other person who listens will say, 'Yes, I understand.' But he does nothing. So what have you achieved? What is worse is when the next time the same matter is brought to him he will say, 'Oh I know that subject already. You dont have to tell me.' Until he acts, he does not understand. Until he acts he has no knowledge. Reasoning stops him. That is the danger.
Reasoning is like a vaccine against any further knowledge to the listener. That stops him from serving Allah swt.
Haqiqah is witnessing Allah swt.
1.Allah has given you the tool, the Shariah, and this is what you have got to do. 2.Then you come closer to Him, this is the excuse of doing the journey. 3.The coming of serving Allah swt is the way of witnessing Him. Whatever you encounter in your journey is Him. By His Power, it is the manifestation of Him.
Unless you witness Allah swt, the gold dinar is useless. This for us, is the best opportunity for us to teach the people about Allah swt. I worship Him and I come closer to Him. And that is my journey. Remove your fantasy and He appears. In His appearing, it is your witnessing of Him. Its all within you. The path is already given.
Allah swt is our revolution. Hold on to that. This is the revolution of the truth. With this, success is inevitable. The very recipe of success. The moment you do it for other-than-Allah swt, failure is inevitable. When He takes away what you desire more, other-than-Him, it so that you know that He loves you.
Without the journey you take upon yourself, you cannot advance in these matters. We take upon ourselves this affair, that we only do it for HIM. The only way that you can be protected in this journey is by taking it with Haqiqah.
Global Financial Collapse: What Makes It Tick? - By Adrian Salbuchi (7/12/11) Adrian Salbuchi Wednesday, 07 December 2011 11:18
The mind becomes confused and dismayed when confronted with chaotic situations it can hardly figure out - situations such as today’s Global Financial Woes. Maybe we’re looking too close-up. Let’s take a step back and look again...
Complexity is often engineered into what are basically simple problems by people who benefit from manufactured complications and have the power to control them. When money is involved, the powerful people who benefit from ripping off untold millions of hard workers make sure that their “money machine” will just keep steaming ahead. Take the ongoing Global Financial Crisis.
Firstly, it is not a “crisis” at all: what the world is confronted with today is a full-fledged, irreversible and unsustainable Global Financial Collapse that, if not properly addressed, may bring down the whole global economy with it.
Secondly, this has pushed the Real Economy into a “crisis” from which, if proper measures are taken, it can – and must! – be saved. because all national economies are basically intact (although many have been badly clobbered!) they can be brought back to health.
Thirdly, the real core of today’s problem is that Finance – that virtual world of banking, fractional lending, usury compound interest, fraudulent derivatives, casino-like speculative “investments” and other parasitic and anti-social activities – has illegitimately risen above the Real Economy which is the world of work, production, manufacturing, effort, toil, sweat and creativity.
In numbers, we see that today Finance has grown to be 20, perhaps 30 times larger than the Real Economy.
First Key Question: HOW AND WHY did that happen?
Easy: all you need to grow Finance is to design a complex, perverse and fraudulent Model that will allow bankers and traders to type in irrational formulae into a Computer Spreadsheet (Spreadsheets never complain: they will compound interest and unsavory profits with no sweat!), so that it churns out “profits” for the few, making them grow and grow and grow. The Real Economy, however, uses WORK as its input, not funny virtual numbers. And work is what runs planet Earth: you need work, talent and effort to build new cars or airplanes or clothes or new homes or roads; work to bake more bread and harvest more food. That’s why the Real Economy can only grow arithmetically, whilst Virtual Finance can grow exponentially… Ah, there’s the rub!
Second Key Question: WHO made that happen?
Global Power Elite international bankers have been doing this openly, knowing few will understand what is actually happening. I mean, was not it former US Federal Reserve Bank governor Alan Greenspan who, during a black-tie Washington DC dinner of the American Enterprise Institute on 5 December 1996, “explained” away such inexplicable growth as being due to “irrational exuberance”? What a solid technical explanation coming from the then No. 1 Central Banker!
This fraudulent but extremely (and illegitimately) strong Money Power minority controlling Finance today have made it grow like a cancerous tumor. Starting in 2008 with the collapses of Bear Stearns, AIG, Merrill Lynch, Lehman Brothers and the bailouts of Goldman Sachs, CitiCorp, HSBC and Bank of America, Finance today seems to have “metastasized” and now threatens to kill parts of the global Real Economy. So… we had better do something about this, and quickly. And “doing something” means more than just fighting on the streets and throwing rocks at the police (although admittedly, that is often a necessary collective first step).
Finance has usurped the upper echelons which do not legitimately belong to it but rather to the Real Economy. It is the Real Economy that must always be on top because that is where True Value is created. Finance, in turn, must always be subordinated to the Real Economy, not the other way around. This means that today’s key problem is that the whole economic-financial-monetary system is upside down… We need to immediately put it right-side-up again!!
Third Key Question: WHERE to start?
It starts with each country taking back their central bank so that it will provide the necessary amount of interest-free money to meet the needs of the Real National Economy, so that all the powerful funny-money bankers can be routed. That means freeing your central bank from global banker control. Former Argentine president Juan Domingo Perón did just that 60 years ago and the Powers That Be bombed him out of power. Muammar Gaddafi did that much more recently, and look at what happened to him….
“Money is a Powerful Lord”, 17th Century Spanish poet Don Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas once said. Four centuries later, nothing new under the sun…
I left London for Cape Town and the Moussem of Shaykh Dr. Abdalqadir As-Sufi in October 2010 in the hope of finding out about my past.
My mother and father converted to Islam with Shaykh Abdalqadir as-Sufi before the first zawiya in Bristol Gardens was established, but they left the community in the mid-1980s, when I was about seven years old. Since then I had had little contact with people from those early years. But in the months leading up to the moussem I had begun reconnecting with a past that I had for so long ignored, but never forgotten. Heading to Cape Town was, I thought, a chance for me to speak to people who knew my parents from times gone by, to hear stories and recollections of a place and time that no longer existed. And while, in many ways I did achieve that, the journey also offered me a chance to experience something still very much alive.
This was my first ever moussem and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Having only recently come back into contact with the community it was all very new to me. The nights of dhikr were hypnotic. The voices, the faces, the light, I was swept up by it all. But I see now that the dhikr opened the door for what was to come.
I arrive for the first night of dhikr early. I make wudu and take some time to sit in the tranquil courtyard downstairs at the mosque, enjoying the peacefulness and solitude and the sound of the water flowing in the fountain. The day’s journey may have been simple, but in my moment of peace I contemplate the longer voyage that has brought me here. I go upstairs to pray Maghrib and afterwards, sit in the mosque and wait for the night.
As the night sky darkens and Isha approaches, the room gradually starts filling up, and the pace of people coming in quickens; the number of people doubles in the last 15 minutes leading up to the Isha prayer, perhaps 300 or more men and women now fill the mosque. The dhikr is powerful, beautiful, intoxicating. Any attempt, by me, to describe it in words would, I fear, not do it justice. I lose myself in the Wird and Qasidas. The sounds and the night of dhikr culminate in the hadra. It is organic. The hadras resonate strong in my mind from childhood. I remember clearly the feeling of the bass of rhythmic voices and breathing vibrating in my child’s chest.
But the moussem is not only dhikr. It is this gathering of brothers that opens a new window into the community for me. Who are all these people that have travelled from all over the globe to be here? I am just one story in hundreds that make up this narrative, but we recognise each other. I have spent a lot of time in solitude in this life, but I see here that in brotherhood there is something special. We are supposed to live in community. All together in the Jumu’a Mosque; there is a community of solitaries, and we achieve our solitude in community.
After the dhikr I make contact with the fuqara I was hoping to meet, people that knew my parents well, people that knew me. My intention was to do some research into the early days of the community and I hoped I could spend some one-on-one time with those who had been with the Shaykh since the early days in Morocco and London and the United States – those who had sat with Shaykh Muhammad Ibn al-Habib, Radhiallahu Anhu. As I introduce myself to people like Hajj Issa Bryce, Hajj Idris Mears and Hajj Abdullah Luongo, to name but a few, they react with kindness and curiosity. They all immediately ask about my parents, as would be expected, for they all knew each other well. It is in these exchanges that I realise I am not just there as myself, with my own intentions.
I am struck by the variety and beauty of the fuqara. From all corners of the world people have come and been united through dhikr. It isn’t just the spectacle of the “exotic”, the jalabas and turbans, it is what is underneath that grabs my attention. The light in people’s faces is clear. I feel humbled to be there – at times I wonder if I really belong. But I revel in the social nature of the event – speaking to people from Russia, from Indonesia, America, Spain, Germany, Italy, England, Scotland, South Africa – the list goes on.
After we have all eaten, I introduce myself to the Amir of Cape Town, Hajj Orhan, and ask him if he knows of a bed I can sleep in for the night. I tell him I am happy to sleep in the mosque if that is an option but he says no, “send him with the Russians”. I am introduced to Ali and Salman and others from the Russian fuqara and we agree to leave together to go to the house in Bo Kaap where they are staying. But it’s not all new faces. Before leaving I walk over to Hajj Uthman Morrison, who is sitting with his back against a pillar. I thank him for his help in getting me here. He is kind and asks if I have met the people I had hoped to for my research. I say I have. He then asks how I found the dhikr and I say it was fantastic, mashallah. He tells me I am glowing and offers me a kind, warm smile.
As I am heading to leave, standing in the doorway to the mosque talking to Hajj Idris Mears, Shaykh Abdalhaqq Bewley walks through and stops. “Sidi Ismail, how was it?” he asks me with smiling eyes. “Wonderful,” I reply. I am among the company of the fuqara.
When it comes time to leave, after the sumptuous feast and all the socialising, mingling and endless hugging, the Russians and I set off into the night. The Jumu’a Mosque is in the centre of Cape Town and by now it is well past midnight and Long Street is thronging with drunken people and beggars and the usual clamour of a Saturday night in a big city. I follow the Russians as we glide through the revellers in our jalabas and turbans, seemingly unnoticed. I instantly like the Russians. They are fun and wide-eyed. They are on an adventure too.
We end up at a 24hr eatery opposite the Dallas College on Long Street, all the time Salman, a big, smiling and gentle man, is ensuring I am entertained and at ease. “Russians and English man, Muslims, sitting in coffee shop in Cape Town at 1am listening to Bollywood music – what a wonderful world,” says Salman. I have to agree with him.
Cape Town is, in and of itself, a remarkable city. It’s a multicultural garden set against the stunning backdrop of Table Mountain and the mountainous spine and beaches that stretches out into the Atlantic and Indian oceans. This unquestionably spiritual setting is home to over a million Muslims – and over 20 recognised karamats of Awliya. You can feel why the Shaykh is here, why the community is here.
The next night of dhikr is as sublime as the first. I feel more composed and focussed, less self-conscious. Shaykh Abdalqadir leads tonight’s dhikr and the hadra and there is a sense of importance of occasion. This is the first time I have seen the Shaykh in person. After the hadra the Shaykh addresses us all. He speaks of the importance of brotherhood and it now being a time for action, not talk.
The opening of doors
After the moussem I had planned to stay on a few weeks and speak to a number of the fuqara about the early days of the community. I also hoped to have the chance to meet with the Shaykh. I was granted that opportunity when the Shaykh invited some of the fuqara for lunch at his home in the week after the moussem. It was a Tuesday. The winds had calmed, the clouds had cleared and the air was clean and warm. On that day, the Shaykh was hosting fuqara who had travelled from Germany and the UK. We all sat on blankets laid out on the lawn at Mormaer Mansion, shaded from the sun by a grand marquee. I would say I was nervous about meeting the Shaykh, as I thought I would be, but I wasn’t.
Shaykh Abdalqadir joined us for the lunch and we all enjoyed the conversation and wonderful food – a rice dish topped elegantly with edible rose petals. Sitting on the floor and sharing these plates of food always takes me back to my childhood, when all our meals were eaten this way, whether at home or at the mosque or other people’s houses.
After the lunch was finished, Shaykh Abdalqadir took time to sit with each group and speak with each person one-by-one. Our table was last. I introduced myself and the Shaykh immediately remembered my father and asked about him and my grandparents, for they had a mutual friend in the celebrated but controversial psychoanalyst Ronald Laing.
“As Rasulullah, salallahu alaihi wasallam, said, the child is the hidden secret of the father, and you are the outcome of what is true in him, so that is very good, that is very good news,” Shaykh Abdalqadir says to me, smiling. I was here to find out about my father and my past, but by travelling outward I was indeed finding out about the “inward”, the self.
With the Moussem over I was not totally sure what I was going to do. My initial plan was to try and spend some time with people like Hajj Issa and Hajj Abdallah, as well as Hajja Zulaikha and Hajja Rabea Redpath and others who had known my parents since Bristol Gardens in the 1970s. I managed to spend time with some of them, and it was a joy to speak about theirs and my parents’ lives; stories of the past, how all of this came to be – the formative years of the community and all those in it. It felt familiar, like meeting old friends, like meeting family. I also had the pleasure of reconnecting with other children that were born into those early years in the community in London and Norwich, especially Shaykh Habib Bewley, who was one of the many that invited me into his home.
The last few weeks were a pleasure. I spent time with many of the fuqara, from England, the US and Spain, as well as many of the young fuqara from South Africa. I found their worldview compelling – the importance placed on establishing the deen, the extraordinary economic and political consciousness. I sensed an astute awareness of the inherent flaws and failures in the global capitalist system and it’s contempt for humanity – a clear insight into a world dictated by weak political systems and the caprice of undulating mass public opinion.
What I sense from the fuqara in Cape Town, especially the younger ones, is a dynamism, a sense of purpose and direction – and always humour, always kindness. These are, I see, men of action, not just of words.
Society has to be able to give us access to our own inwardness, and, as the Shaykh has said, a truly human society cannot be achieved unless the ultimate undertaking of that society is not just its survival, progress or expansion, but rather the realisation of the meaning of man in this lifetime. If we learn from the Qur’an and our elders then we have access to truth, unchanged by time and circumstance.
My original plan was to leave Cape Town by early November, but I ended up postponing my flight back to London twice. There was still something I had to do. I am glad I stayed. I managed to get to know many of the fuqara better, become friends, companions. I was invited into homes, into lives and into ideas. For this recollection here, there is no space for details, but after several weeks of spending time with the fuqara I felt I belonged. I no longer felt like an outsider looking in. As Hajj Abdullah Luongo said to me one evening: “We recognise each other on the path.”
On my penultimate night in Cape Town a dhikr was held at the zawiya by the mosque. If anything, I drank more from this dhikr than I did the moussem – perhaps I was nervous before, when now I was at ease. Whatever the reason, it was a night of beauty. I woke the next morning early, and laughing. That day, a beautiful Sunday with a vast blue sky, the fuqara gathered in Constantia at the tomb of the great wali Shaykh Abdurrahman Matebe Shah, the last of the Malaccan Sultans. We recited Yasin and the Nasiri du‘a. After, everyone mingled and soaked up the great company. It was here I had the pleasure of speaking with Shaykh Abdalqadir as-Sufi again. Towards the end of our conversation the Shaykh tells me that my presence there, as the son of my father, has closed something for him that had not been completed.
We sometimes travel with one intention, but unbeknown to us, our real purpose has already been determined.
I left our conversation, and Cape Town, with much to contemplate.
So, insha’Allah, the task as a writer or poet is to always put oneself in the midst of what may come, wherever Allah’s manifestation may be happening. Of course, it is happening everywhere, whether we are aware of it nor not, but we want to be in a state of dhikr to recognize it as often and as deeply as possible. This requires a certain training, which, for me, came partly from the time I spent with the muqaddem and shaykh, as well as my earlier Zen Buddhist meditation, and something I became more aware of as I traveled in other parts of the world, and saw what Allah has done with other civilizations, present and past, as Allah ta’ala counsels in the Qur’an.
In the late 1970s, six of us western Sufi Muslims, fuqara of Shaykh ibn al-Habib, traveled throughout northern and south-eastern Algeria in the late 70s, when it was still easier to travel there, and met many awliyya, some wellknown and some more hidden. Every moment you sit with a wali is worth many years of ‘ibada, as it is said, because these men and women of Allah, who have reached a high station with Allah, show us more than words can tell what the grace of Allah and the Prophet, peace be upon him, really is, and how they manifest among us in our present life.
We also spent time living and traveling in Morocco, and attended many mawlids and moussems. In the tomb of Ali al-Jamal in Fez we discovered the book that was translated and published by The Diwan Press as The Meaning of Man. We were told his fuqara, even today, are still coming down to his tomb, which is situated in a low place in Fez, to read from and study his book. We photographed each hand-written page and later transcribed it and translated it into English, a first-time event of great importance. We also journeyed to Shaykh Ibn Mashish’s mountaintop tomb in Larache, raheemullah, and did dhikr and prayer among the wild cork trees, prostrating in sajdah on the flat cork-floored crest above the canyons as if flying among clouds.
In a way of nourishing the heart and soul, all of these experiences have invested my poetry in a way that I really can’t even explain, and it may not be obviously evident. To this date, I have not written an account about the trip to Shaykh ibn al-Mashish’s tomb, because I’m not a scholar-historian nor memoirist, but a writer of poems. If you remain an open field, from the creative, poetic point of view, Allah works through you however He wills.
Back in the beginning when I was first a Muslim, the poets that I knew and loved, in San Francisco and California at that time, were mostly Buddhist, and they wrote poetry out of their Buddhism, both philosophically and through their love and interest in nature and our natural “enlightened” consciousness. Their poetry is often meditative, recognizing the essence of stillness, and above all, recognizing the goal of the end of mankind’s suffering, which is spiritual wisdom.
At the time, when I thought about my poetic intentions, I said to myself, “This is what I want to do, insha’Allah, for Islam, for Sufism, I want to be a voice that isn’t specifically only speaking to Muslims,” because this time in our history is the era of the Prophet Muhammad, salallahu alayhi wa salam, where Islam is the deen of Allah. We “Muslims” in particular have to remember that the Prophet came for every human being, and it will be so until the end of time — we must speak to everyone. At the inception of my being Muslim and Sufi, I wanted to create a body of work that reminds people, and myself, about Allah, praying and hoping that every poem I write is a dhikr for me, and insha’Allah, also a dhikr for other people. Because as Allah says in Qur’an, “When you forget, remember!” which is an ayat of tremendous mercy. When we go through a moment of unconsciousness, or torpor, ghafla (forgetfulness), then we turn and remember, we remember Allah and His beloved Prophet, salallahu alayhi wa salam, we remember who we are and the path of life we are on, and the heart ticks back into a wider consciousness.
I would also like to express an enormous gratitude to the people of Morocco, who have always shown us the deepest generosity. At first, filled with longing and excitement to be a part of a tariqat in Morocco, I went to Meknes to the zawiyya of our shaykh thinking it would be a kind of perfect Utopia, and it was perfect, but not in the way we think. It was perfect the way the world is perfect. And at the same time, the intention, the niyyat, of everyone, even the imperfect ones, like us, like me, was to be in a circle of dhikr, and to find the Presence, the Hadrat of Allah. There is something deeply imbedded in the heart of the Moroccan people that is very beautiful and essential, full of iman, having available to it the various steps toward real knowledge of God, and as a citizen of the world with spiritual thirst, for that I am deeply grateful. When our little community of European Muslims passed through the market streets, in our djalabas and turbans, purchased in Tangiers before we went south into the Moroccan heartland, people would stop and weep to see obviously Muslim westerners respectful of Moroccan culture, instead of as with the earlier influx of Europeans who came as hippies in the 60s, and who seemed only to indulge in some of the less Islamic aspects of Moroccan culture.
Although I was born in Oakland, in the North American state of California, I consider Meknes, Morocco, my real birthplace, where I met Shaykh ibn al-Habib, raheemullah, wali of Allah, Qutub shaykh of the time, and where I also lived for a time that had the taste of eternity in it, in his zawiyya with his disciples. It was there I saw the old men (and some of the women as well, most especially his wives) of his spiritual community who had been with him for decades, who were now like trees, forests of trees — I was living in a forest of ‘ilm and ma’rifa. Among all the variety of people we encountered there we found these giant trees, like towering redwoods. That was the world of our shaykh’s domains. So when my wife and I visited Meknes a few years ago, in early 2000, I suddenly felt at home again.
HAJJ IN 1972 I was with a group of us living in the zawiyya during the last Ramadan of Shaykh ibn al-Habib’s life, and I went on Hajj in 1972, with Shaykh Dr. Abdal-Qadir, Shaykh Abdalhaqq Bewley, Abdal-Aziz Redpath and the great photographer, Peter Abdal-Adheem Sanders. It was a truly momentous Hajj for us. We were meant to meet the shaykh in Jeddah. We had asked permission in Meknes at that Ramadan to go on Hajj and he had said, “Meet me in Jeddah.” But we arrived in Jeddah and he wasn’t there. So we went on to Mecca, and still didn’t see him. Then the sheriff of his zawiyya, Sidi Moulay Sheriff, came running up to us, greeted us very happily, asked how we were, how our travels were, and if we were satisfied with our accommodations (which we were not, our mutawwif had not really taken care of us). He then went and found us a good place to stay, took us to a place to eat, for we were all very hungry, and after all that, which must have taken over an hour or so, took Abdalhaqq Bewley off to speak to him privately. When Abdalhaqq came back he had tears streaming down his cheeks. Shaykh ibn al-Habib, raheemullah, wouldn’t meet us in Mecca, for he had died on his way from Meknes by automobile, in Blida, Algeria. So our Hajj was one of deep grief as well as the deep experience of the Hajj itself, and was therefore a doubly difficult journey, and continued to be so when we returned to England to tell the community there the very sad news. But I’ve always felt, and this has been a constant in my own spiritual life as a living example of true ‘adab, that the way in which this faqir greeted us, carrying such a terrific burden of news, was so extraordinary, in that he didn’t run up to us saying, “The shaykh is dead! The shaykh is dead!” But in fact, he made sure we were comfortable, and fed, and then spoke the right words to Abdalhaqq privately.
We found in all our journeys to Morocco and our visits with the people, that with the natural beauty of the country itself, with its lavender valleys and rolling green hills, and its variegated and rich culture, among the people there’s an innocence and a deep wisdom, there’s a depth, a beauty in the people, and certainly in the profound tradition of Sufism and Islam that is so much a part of Morocco, in all of its manifestations. And the tradition is still very much alive that makes available, through the living scholars and shuyukh and awliyya, the Path to Allah, The Ultimate Reality, through correctly and sincerely receiving the proper initiation and ‘idhn, from a real shaykh of m’arifa, of whom there are many great and magnificent living exemplars today.
May Islam and Sufism continue to grow and thrive among all humankind everywhere, with Morocco again at its peak of a golden age of Sufism and true Islamic teachings, and constant nourishment for all those who go with a hunger for true spiritual experience and deep-rooted foundational learning.
(We just read Tun Dr.Mahathir comment on USD 4.0 Trillion Derivatives Trade Per Day. How the world did not care much. How our intellect and action gone kaput ? Why lower interest rates in US will rob the poor in other countries ? The crash day will come and be prepared,like the Flood in Nabi Nuh's time).
Submitted by Cris Sheridan on 30 Sep 2010 (Financial Sense) "The borrower is a slave to the lender." Proverbs 22:7
Our entire nation is largely indebted to a single private corporation! Yes, that's right, the Federal Reserve—a privately held bank that is closing in on being the 2nd largest holder of US debt. At the rate its going, the Fed may actually be the largest holder in the space of a few months. This is not a good sign.
"The monopoly of a single bank is certainly an evil." —Thomas Jefferson to Albert Gallatin, 1802. ME 10:323
Many people are aware that America is the largest debtor nation in the world. What they don't understand is that this means the US must depend upon borrowing other people's money in exchange for a service. Sounds like prostitution doesn't it? You see, although the selling and servicing of debt is a common practice among many nations, the nature of this type of contract was rewritten on a global scale when America went from being the world’s greatest lender to the world's largest borrower. The consequences of such led, by necessity, to a bill of divorce under the presidency of Richard Nixon where foreign powers were cheated from their previously agreed to dowry. This severing of gold from the issuance of debt and currency now allows America to merely exchange debt for more and more debt. Unfortunately, what was once a contract of fair exchange is now a continual debasement. The world's most desired bride has now become a harlot.
There is a huge reason why foreign nations continue to slum it up at the Treasury auction every year and pay America for her services—they are drunk with our money! They cannot sober up because she has inflated and multiplied her favors all over the world. Madam America is fighting hard to keep her clientele happy, but her assets are becoming visibly stretched. The American taxpayer cannot afford to pay the bill. Therefore, she has no choice but to inflate or die!
Many are bewildered by the huge increase in gold's value over the past decade. To them, it is an anomaly; something that can't be explained in terms of modern finance. They are deceived; unable to see outside their unyielding faith in paper money because it is issued in God's name—"In God We Trust"—or because they believe that nations, and not just companies, are too big to fail. History proves otherwise...and God does not look favorably upon blasphemy.
I do not believe this system will end soon. Though America has been elevated to a precarious position atop an unwieldy beast, her services are still loved more than she is hated. Eventually, however, one will outstrip the other...turning what has been, so far, from a consensual agreement into a forced act. Until then, America will continue to become a slave to both the Federal Reserve and foreign nations—prostituting her wealth by selling her body to the highest bidder. The question is, will there be a final day of reckoning?
Preface: As an individual, we lost the political power. As citizen, we become slave of the state. As consumer, we are swamped by material goods. As we accept paper money, we enslaved by banks and usurious system. As one take up arm, one is defeated militariry and branded as terrorist. How do we begin to take Allah deen and commands ?. This article show the pointers....)
In the present world situation it is important that we, the Muslim nation, both protect and propagate the Deen. On the face of it, admittedly, it appears confusing. We have been landed with a secret society of terrorists in a secretly funded and executed guerrilla war. There is a hidden leadership with a hidden agenda, and one highly dubious, iconic ‘Old Man of the Mountains’. While pretending to be Islamic, they slaughter Muslims. Yet at the same time that they pose as ‘extremist’ Muslims, they have a zero ideological position. The founding terrorist groups of 19th century Russia had Proudhon, Bakunin and Marx. The Chinese revolutionaries had Mao’s Little Red Book. Yet when they call on us to rise up and destroy, they do not tell us what they are calling us to establish.
Since Deen is not founded on ideology but on ‘aqida and ‘amal and jama’at, how can we, the Muslim masses, fall behind them when they have no jama’at, we cannot approve of their ‘amal, and we know nothing of whatever ‘aqida they may claim? Added to this is that while terrorism and anarchism have an ideological base, Deen has a ruhani base which traces social equity back to the right-acting individual. ‘Birr’ is a term both of Fiqh and Tasawwuf. Qadi Iyad’s ‘Tartib al-Mudarak’ was written to demonstrate that, properly speaking, the Shari‘at is not founded on canon principles, but in reality is founded on right-guided and right-acting individuals. In other words, without a just Qadi there can be no just society. The existence of the zahid fuqaha is the evidentiary necessity of a Muslim society.
Our present difficulty does not lie with these people, but in the bitter fact that kafir media and indeed state authorities in some cases have taken this as a licence to persecute the Muslims and in a massive anti-Da’wa have used these grisly events to stand as a denunciation of Islam itself.
In order to steady our own ship of state, which at present has no commanding officer on the bridge, just as, in our metaphor, in a similar situation the sailors without a captain would simply go back to the basic rules of sailing in order to survive, so we must return to the basic essentials of our Deen in order to steady the boat and give a safe passage. Our compass, the Book of Allah, gives us clear guidance. So important to the Deen is it, that we repeat it in at least five Salat in a day.
The first benefit we gather from this modest glance at our Fatiha is that this affair is a Divine matter that can never be reduced to the dialectics and vengeance of a chaotic insurrection led by an embittered secret society which is now no longer secret, for Allah has laid bare their identity through His ruling of the universe from within the universe, devoid of interventions yet held in constant dynamic by His generous answering of the prayers of the muminun.
Now it is clear that in effect there is no such thing as Al‑Qaeda, and this was confirmed to us by the foolish Saudi ambassador to Britain when, in a TV interview, he mentioned their name 20 times. It had to mean they were not what he said, but something else, and what that something else turns out to be is the embittered second and third generation wave of wahhabis turning against their two old enemies, the Saudi tribe and the great Jama’at beyond their desert sands who not only worship Allah but also love the Rasul, may Allah bless him and grant him peace.
Allah is “the King of the Day of Judgment,” that is, ‘King’ in the Riwayat of Warsh, which as our scholars confirm was the Reading of the Salaf communities. This reminds us daily that the Judgment which matters, when that Judgment comes, is neither on nations nor on ideologies. The Judgment is on the person, that person who had been appointed in this world as the representative of the King Himself. What is at issue, that is, what matters, is what the individual makes of his life. What sum of actions does he bring to the Reckoning? So, paramount to everything is the central reality that we come before Allah to face Him alone, or, as in His generosity He grants that we may stand before Him as couples, but the meaning of the Day of Judgment is that the ultimate reality is what we do with our lives.
This, we must note, is also why we disagree with the Shi’a. Because it means that taking a sect is no protection, that making Takia is no protection, that practising Mu’ta is no protection. The One who is the King is also Ar‑Rahim. What we bring to Allah that may rescue us are those deeds which in His Book He has reminded us are those actions pleasing to Him, and they are all actions of mercy and generosity, and their motor-force which has realised them is Taqwa.
In the central ayat of the Fatiha comes the position of the slave. Our ‘ulema have pointed out that the first part of Fatiha is about Allah, the middle portion is about the slave, and the last portion is about the slave’s journey to Him. The middle ayat is the ayat of absolute dependence, and our dependence is on Allah, the Lord of all the Worlds.