Heaven and Earth

Man is a rational animal; therefore, he is two things at once. What feeds his animality is this world that he lives for, the passion for its pleasure and the desire for its contents; however, the food for his essential existence, his sanity, his rationale, is knowledge, wisdom and the faith in God. The gift of this duality of man is the source of both his nobility and degradation; if one man's divine nature dominates his human nature, he is a saint, and if, on the contrary, he rejects His knowledge, he is no better than a beast to his own senses. There are two personae in constant conflict in this being. At one time, he is the animal of the free wilderness, a godless unbeliever, and in another, he is the perfect slave, a true believer -- the struggle that brings about equilibrium to both, and never is he at peace, that is Man.

"In one he approaches God, in the other he lives for the world alone."

Man is born with two opposing natures, an equal-force bipolarity that rips apart his existence between Heaven and Earth, that of spiritual and that of material. God has given the individual freedom to choose which to embrace -- Man can create and destroy through both decision and indecision; he can choose to be passive or aggressive in either polarity, and choosing neither or choosing indecision is still a valid decision; Man is a clever chameleon, a shape-shifter that teeters, fearlessly and fearfully at the same time, on the boundaries between conformity and nonconformity, obedience and disobedience. This gift, this freedom to choose, that He bestowed upon Man, separates us from the others that He loves less.

"Satan took me by the hand, and together, we ran to the world to play."

Man is a composite of two unfitting components; the earth from under our feet and the heaven where we truly belong; one is of filth and decay, and the other is of purity and admiration. Our skin tells us that we are the sons and daughters of the dirt, but our soul tells us that we are merely passengers having a stop-over from a long trip; on this forsaken place, we idly wait for our ride to come to take us back home. At this crossroad, we befriend Satan, our tour guide, our new compass; he shows us the way to kill our time before the ride home comes; he lets us know how the world is a magical wonderland, a colorful theme park, where our senses come alive and out to play; he teaches us how to unleash the animal within, the playful child, in us all; he soon becomes a dear friend that Man will learn to love.

[I]

This morning is the third time this week that I wake up without Subuh; the room is as dark as dawn still, although the clock beside the bed seems to disagree loudly with that. I did woke up at half past four last night, it was chilly and the window was slightly ajar; the thick red blanket that covered me from head to toe early at bedtime was then tied down to my right ankle; the skin around my stomach was exposed to the cold dry air of winter; from the slight opening of my half-asleep eyes, I saw that it was still too early to wake up and brew the morning coffee -- I pulled up the blanket to my neck and drew my knees closer to my chest and fell asleep once more. I had the room and the bed all to myself, and my roommate was away, and there was no one to deprive me of my basic rights to a long beauty sleep.

I used to feel really bad if I started my day without Subuh, even if technically, and thank you God for technicality, I could still make up the lost 2-rakaat via the qada procedure, that is had I slept soundly past the Subuh time unintentionally and not knowing that I will indeed miss it; but now, not anymore. I remember a hadith that says that if a simple act of sin is let to be committed over and over again, one will soon commit a much serious sin in the future without even realizing it; meaning that, despite one's awareness of the nasty things that he does and its divine consequences upon oneself, everything will eventually fall prey to the tantalizing lure of regularity and routine. In the past, rarely had I missed my Subuh, especially under the constant observations of parents and respected dorm mates, but now...

"Have you asked yourself why you pray five times a day?"
"What do you mean exactly?"
"Well, I mean, truly, sincerely, asked yourself why."
"Never thought of why before, not as deeply -- I pray because I'm a Moslem."
"Yeah? You mean, because God says so?"
"Yeah, that -- because it's an obligation."
"Obligation. You make it sound like requirement, responsibility, task, duty."
"Don't complicate yourself. Anything that keeps me away from Hell..."
"So, if I pray because I want to go to Heaven, is that still a valid one?"
"Isn't that like worshipping for the Prize, instead of to the Creator?"
"Okay, so then, if I pray in fear of His Fire, His Punishment...?"

As I march a slowly paced march towards the heavily lit space of the living room, I can see to my left and into the next room a body still in the warm and tight embrace of a thick dark blanket -- the piercing sunlight of an early midmorning is dancing on his face and chest, and still he lies there, soundly and at peace with himself, an entranced corpse sipping to the very last drop the luxurious nectar of a good night's rest -- and he moves his body so little to avoid the discomfort from his left arm weighted down by his own wide ass, and he sleeps so well into the day and not give a damn about the world that he lives in; oh what a tired man, and such a fulfilling sleep. Thus, to wake him up is seemingly a grave sin.

"How do you see yourself?"
"You mean, identity-wise?"
"Yeah."
"I am a Moslem first, a Malay second, a Malaysian third, and myself fourth."
"Are you sure? You don't act like how you prioritize yourself."
"I'd sacrifice needs over a homeland, and over a language, and over a faith."
"That's what you say -- but the way you run your life?"
"To be frank, it's the opposite direction; I run mine inversely."
"Note that what is associated with us most is what we care less about."
"Indeed. My life is more on me than my country, my tongue, my creed."
"Do you know that identity is socially constructed?"
"It does not come prepackaged with the soul, destined?"

If drinking coffee is a sin, and it is punishable by the eternal fire of an afterlife, then, to visit me there would require you to don the thickest anti-radiation lead suit and take the elevator to the lowest level of Hell; the morning only comes to logic and order via a steaming cup of joe, and the darkest joe with the most concentrated dosage of caffeine is a swift kick to the back of the head. The brain neurons, they love it; to them, a cup of coffee to start the day is to eat honey nut cereals doused in bowl of heroin milk. Caffeine is my ganja, and I worship her faithfully every morning like a robot like it is doomsday.

Usually, the guilt that comes with missing the Subuh prayer materializes gradually in front of me with each sip of coffee, and by the time the whole mug is done for, the guilt now is as big as an apple, and what wonders apples are when they fall right onto your head -- Isaac Newton is a prime example; from him, came gravity -- and an apple becomes a regret that haunts you for the rest of the day. The finished cup of joe is now stared into. Its emptiness is reflective of my purpose to God. By this time, I start to realize that, no matter how much I do or how well I do it, God will not accept any of my good deeds for the day; I have failed His first and foremost request; I have chopped down the only pillar that holds up my religion; I have blemished the one true faith that I have professed proudly as my own; I have stained my heart with a dark black stain that will not fade. This morning, as a Moslem, I'm ashamed to be alive.

Alas, my name carries the name of His last prophet...

[II]

"Allahu akbar."

The azan for Subuh is the most loathe; it burns the ears; it disrupts a dream; the blanket is transformed into the most comfortable silk bed sheet, the irony; the brain starts to run on its oxygen fuel, instead of its REM battery; the eyes protest what the brain is dictating it to do, the tyrant; slowly, consciousness seeps in and the normal bodily functions takes over the operational duties of the individual cells. Rest period is over, comrades, for the collective glory of the day, we must unite, prevail! To hell with selfism!

"Allahu akbar."

The computer software that tells the time for the daily prayers; the pre-recorded voice of the muezzin; who used the computer last last night? Had he carelessly forgotten to shut the damn speakers off? At near a hundred decibel a full blast, the azan roars from one eardrum to the next, stomping the hell out of the establishment, like a police raid on a crowded whorehouse. Satans, big and small, they run for cover, into their makeshift foxholes in the ground they jump, their hands all over their head, they seek shelter from azan shrapnel falling from the sky; the sight is glorious, a battlefield littered with bodies.

"Allahu akbar."

The clock sends his regards, says the pillow. The window is smiling; the light of dawn on the horizon is still weak, a newborn to the day ahead, hardly a threat to anyone; it gazes down with a patronizing eye. Touch the blanket, feel it, says the pillow. The room is pitch black, only the tame white ray from the computer screen gives the furniture and the TV and the couch a defined shape of their own. The silence of pre-dawn is soothing, don't you think, asks the pillow. The eyelids are heavy; they want to see the movie once more and to its end, where bunnies are blue and chocolates are raining down on villages.

"Allahu akbar."

The tap water is especially cold during Subuh; the moment it touches the face, all the senses are wide awake -- like in shock; every other parts of the body can handle the freezing temperature, but the face, where the windows to the world are located, the icy cold tap water is corrosive acid. But a prayer is a prayer, and without a wudhu, it isn't one. One sometimes wonder, the troubles done just to avoid Hell.

"Usolli fardhan subhi raka'ataini ada'an lillahi ta'ala."

The solat has become somewhat of a daily ritual by now; no longer does it give meaning; supposedly, the more it is done, the better one gets at it; but there is no escaping the guilt of leaving it behind; you can't afford to not do it --the alternative is a torturous place-- and as one gets old, it is learned that solat is not a task, but a responsibility. Very unfortunate that during the teen years, the many things that one could care less about are responsibilities and tasks and obligations; neglect is the ghost that haunts.

"Bismillah hir rohman nir rohim."

The act of solat is now a sequence of body movements; very physical, very dry. As if on cue, and the azan as the internal timer, solat is an aerobic workout five times a day. The chants, the surahs -- these are at the tip of tongue; fluid, automatic, like a machine gun. The beauty of it all is lost. The meaning of the words are forgotten long ago; merely a blunt repetition of verses. The speed of the solat performed, its urgency against the personal timetable, is an all too common trait that ripens well with one's old age.

The bed after a Subuh is a naked virgin with her legs spread apart like the wings of an eagle; it soars high above the scorched plain of the desert; she lies there, and with her lustful moans, she lures: the moist blanket, the soft fluffy pillow, the comfort of a bed in the cool morning -- the duality of man says that life is an interchanging equilibrium of two extreme states; the rapid shifts between the two, that of spiritual and that of material, brings about the essence of Man. To pray to God, to fulfill the required, to humble one's presence before the Almighty, to remind oneself that the soul is a creature of faith; and then, to lavish on the senses of the skin, to satisfy the physicality of need and desire, to sin gloriously.

[III]

"Lalat, matikan TV, ada brothers dari surau datang ziarah."

He got up and shut it down. On the sofa and scattered near his feet, magazines with front covers of scantily clad women, in tiny revealing bikinis and cleavage-accentuating gowns and low rise jeans; he gathered them all swiftly and laid them down carefully under the cushions, partially hidden, safe and out of sight. Empty soda bottles and dirty dishes left here and there, and small chunks of food on the carpet, and torn bits of candy wrappings on the floor; he picked them all up as best as he could and into the dustbin he threw them -- oh, the garbage, a landfill that looked as hideous as it smelled; the plastic bag was about to burst, an overflowing disgust that would surely piss off even the most pious.

"Assalamualaikum, Lalat, buat apa weekend?"
"Takde apa, tengok TV je, lepak-lepak rumah."

They came in a group of four or so, each he knew their names and major details; that was not the first time that they had visited the house. Most are juniors to his academic status, a year or two younger, with the exception of a few who are his age group -- this time, the manner in which they entered the apartment's living room was different, not as quite as the way they would if the purpose of the visit was to be served dinner or to be invited to a barbecue trip to a park at the outskirt of town. They were here to ziarah, to come as brothers of the same faith, reminding us their dear brothers who care less about our own faith and religious understandings -- to come with them to the surau, and sit to a talk about how we can work on our faith, and dedicate a small portion of our wasted hedonist youth to the cause.

The one leading the group, the one who walked in front of the others, he held his two hands towards the ones who reside in the apartment, the visited; he shook each one of them with gusto and a warm smile. With each, he had a small talk, asking about the this-and-that of their daily life, the details only a true caring friend would give much attention to. He smiled a lot; the others were smiling too, but theirs were toned down; their eyes captivated by the excess details of the lush living room, some were appalled at the secular lifestyle, while some were amused by the gadgets and the equipments of worldly delights.

"Kitaorang ni datang dari surau, berziarah, khidmat ke jalan Allah."

In a distorted circle, all of them sat on the floor. The four brothers from the surau, they sat next to each other of their kind on one side of the circle; their long white robes, the sweet smell of fragrance and the colorful headdresses; and the visited, in their filthy jeans and foul shirts, they sat with our backs to the TV, to the dirty magazines box, to the movie posters on the wall, to the Hollywood video rack, to the messy bundle of blanket and cushions that they called 'bed' -- the other side of the circle, the dirtier.

From hereinafter, one of the visited, Lalat, he recounted:

"The one that lead the group, he looked at us one by one in the eyes, his friendly smile still affixed, of course; and he gave the one who sat the closest to him on the right, the junior with the leather jacket, a gentle nudge to the knee -- almost immediately, the junior spoke: God is a loving God, he started, For He is the reason we are alive and well today, and it is His alone that should our deep gratitude be to, he paused and his held up his head, as if he had gathered enough strength to look at us, the visited, in the face, and he continued, in a louder voice, And God shows His Mercy to the ones that He loves most by giving the light of Rahmat to us, into our hearts, into our homes, he paused again and drew both his hands together, in a gesture to emphasize relevance, And today God has shown His Mercy to you my dear brothers, for we come from the mosque, His house, and we bring you His salam, to you and your domain, and in a religious majlis, the angels are here, and they bring you His salam, His Rahmat, also.

The junior went on and on and on and on, and all the while, I stared deep into his eyes; he uttered his words of preach so convincingly, so fluently, and his eyes spoke to me that this young man believes every single thing that came out of his mouth, and he lives his life as he believed it that God would be so pleased, and he sincerely wants the divine pleasure that he feels in his life to be shared with others that he knows, and he works very hard to get them to be known to us, and to those who has forgotten the sweetness of faith, and to those who thinks that life is a dual-track of secularity, and to those who says that life is long and is begging to be wasted and taubat is a ticket which price is regret in old age.

Lepas Maghrib ada majlis ilmu, harap datang lah ya, the leader said.

In a sense, the stated majlis ilmu is a trap; a trap of guilt, to be exact. After the jemaah for maghrib is done, all of its members who came will come forward to the front of the surau, and one of the more pious will start a talk, and he will talk about pahala, and he will talk about sin, and he will talk about the big picture of Islam, and not the details, and he will talk about how a life dedicated to the pursuit of life alone is not a life worth living for, and he will talk about how youth is a gift, and not a phase, and he will talk about the purpose of life, and the purpose of us here, the Moslems, and he will talk about how Hell is a place that no one should say that he or she is able to withstand its content even for a single day, and how Heaven is a place where to each man a number of bidadari will accompany him to bed, and he will talk about serving the cause of dakwah to our brothers, and he will talk about how the Prophet relentlessly spread the word of God to his people who were far worst than today's society, and he will talk about the importance of reminding ourselves and others the virtues of ziarah, and he will talk about how praying alone is not enough to be a good Moslem, and he will ask for tabligh volunteers among us.

I will go out for two weeks this month and the next, Insya Allah, says one.
Make mine four weekends, my name is Abdul, says another one.
I will do a Saturday-and-Sunday next week, says one at the back.
I want to do a whole month during the summer, says the small man.

One by one, they submitted their name and intention to dakwah. Some were a bit hesitant, calculating to fit into which part of their life would the slot for tabligh be occupied, and some were quick to offer more than they can give; no more than a minute or less, all of the ones that came to the surau for the majlis ilmu, they have given their name and intention to the one who gave the talk, and now, as the only one yet to submit a name and a date, their curious eyes are on me -- and my head lowered to the level of the chest, as if I was not there to witness, and my eyes fixed to the carpet, as if I was less than concerned with what was happening, and my senses dull to the surroundings -- and then, he spoke.

"How about you, brother, are you with us?"
"No, no thanks, I'm okay."
"Come, brother, spend some time, fisabilillah."
"Nah, that's fine, I can't, really."
"What is your name, brother?"
"My name is Mohamad."
"Come, Brother Mohamad, your name, same as the Prophet's."
"No, I can't, I am quite busy, sorry."
"The Prophet did dakwah, and we should too; join us."
"I don't think I can spare the time, or weekend, for it, no."
"Come, brother, make some time for dakwah, join us."
"I'm sorry, I really do, but I can't make it, sorry."
"Okay, maybe next time, yes? Next week, maybe?"
"Yeah, sure."

I lied. I lied to his face, and in a surau. I did. I'll never go to a tabligh, again. It's not for me."

[IV]

As a humanist, Man believes that life is a force that is shaped by his will alone. Man has the power and potentiality of solving his own problems, through reliance primarily upon logical reasoning and scientific methods, all applied with courage and vision. The denial of any moral value superior to that of humanity; the rejection of religion in favor of a belief in the advancement of humanity by its own efforts; that is the essence of humanism. As a humanist, Man has faith only in himself, and in others, and in humankind. The effort that he puts in must be equal to the result that comes out. Naturalistic urges are just that, natural -- these are bodily functions, bodily needs, bodily processes, nothing more but biology. Mother Nature is a woman who sees all this and says nothing; she is the totality of being and as a constantly evolving system of mass and energy which exists independently of any divine mind or consciousness.

As a hedonist, Man believes that life is a constant pursuit of pleasure, and pleasure is the highest of all good. The barometer of life, its set of moral value, is satisfaction and happiness of oneself. The concept of the fulfillment of one's immediate needs and desires first and above all else is the key to hedonism: lifetime ambitions, academic dreams, delicious food, enjoyment of abundant money, sex, laughter and status, the state of well-being and well-off, to have fun and more fun, to seek reasons to have fun -- Man is never at ease with what he has been given, or with what he has earned, or with what he has tasted. To a hedonist, God is an omnipotent entity that serves Man, His being, and in return, he worships Him.

As a secularist, Man believes that life is separated into its basic components, that of spiritual and that of material. The management of his state of life is run by the two governing authorities; one part of him is to God, and the other part is to his worldly needs. To strike a balance between the two is rare, for the part that answers only to God will never share its holdings of Man to the part that answers to itself. To fit the two opposing parts is to make changes, to bear sacrifices; one must be compromised to let the other reign; interchangeability, hypocrisy and moderation are keys to secularism. More than often, the part that gives the least obvious and least immediate result is submitted to a toning down -- religion is thus mended; a lifestyle of convenience. Can one be spiritually fulfilled and yet his life is a miserable dog? Man is a being of the senses, and the world is a playground of materiality; religion is a fun-killer.

As a fundamentalist, Man believes that life is to be lived to the basics, and all life needs is God. And His religion is how life is written down to be dedicated to; and for this merciful gift of life, He gives us responsibilities, and to each of us He gives a purpose; and loyal servants are never to question their master, and to ask is to doubt, and thus, logic and senses are harmful tools -- to stare at the Sun is fatal.

"Who you are is up to you, but the consequences of that, they are yours alone."