Buraq is the name. It was tied to the door of Masjid Al Aqsa when all the Prophets and Messengers assembled there. They performed solat. And the Buraq rider was now leading them all in prayer. But from here, the Prophet departed for a historical journey. Joined by Jibril, he went up to heaven, going through it, level after level. Meeting with Adam, Yahya and ‘Isa, Yusuf, Idris, Harun, Musa and Ibrahim. Then, it was straight away to Sidratul Muntaha, Baitul Ma’mur and then further up heading towards Allah until the distance was less than the two ends of an archer bow. Allah opened His screen.

Allah.. Allah.. If looking at the handsome Yusuf could make the womenfolks cut their fingers without sensation, imagine the feeling of seeing the Most Beautiful Who is the Creator of all beauty? Or say it to me my friend, what do you feel when seeing the noble Ka’bah for the first time? Yes, an ecstasy. We are moved. We feel serene. The tears are flowing. The body feels weightless. The soul feels complete. Our mouths are agape. Therefore, what did Muhammad SAW essentially feel when he was in Mi’raj, meeting up with his Lord? Serenity. Enchantment. Refreshment. Spiritual bliss. Liberation of the soul. No comparison. No likeness. No equal.

By Allah, how beautiful, how blissful.

Therefore, there is some truth in what the Ganggoh Sufi was saying. When experiencing the climax of spiritual bliss, there was of course a temptation to stay longer there. If possible, we want to enjoy it forever. Or at least to repeat it again. Again and again. A peacefulness that could not be illustrated, the souls that experience completeness, splashing and swaying in the ocean. The spirits are astounded, like a drop of water merging with the ocean, our individualism are gone, vanishing and swallowed by God’s Magnificence and Majesty. We want to gulp it all down, absorb it and then collapse, we want to be pulled in, embraced and lay our hearts there only. Forever and ever.

Spiritual bliss. Inner absorption. We surely want to enjoy it all the time. We wish for it every moment.

Yet, it is there where the error lies!

Look at the Mi’raj journey of the Prophet. It did not happen every day. It happened once, only when the affliction of agonies, storms of sadness and pressure from the burdens were exceeding the limitation of human endurance. It happened when the Prophet felt he was at the highest peak of the soul’s hardship; a da’wah that was rejected, a neglected call, not so many followers, tortured companions and the main supporters who had died one by one. Thus, one thing that we derive from the Mi’raj journey is that it was merely a waqfah. It was a temporary resting station. An oasis where the Prophet refilled the provisions for his journey. The provisions for his struggles.

The Mi’raj was not the last point of that journey. Feeling the intense spiritual bliss was not the goal from the journey of his life and message. That was what made the Prophet different from the Ganggoh Sufi. If the Sufi saw the ecstasy of spiritual bliss as the goal of his life, the Prophet was merely making it as a respite. Temporarily replenishing the spiritual energy and refilling the soul’s stamina. After that the world was waiting for him to do work for humanity. And then he, as Muhammad Iqbal said in his Ziarah Abadi, positioned himself into the cauldron of history.

This is the way of love of the strugglers. Its travelers are not the pursuers of ecstasy and spiritual journeys. They are the strugglers who invite towards goodness, who command the ma’ruf, stop the munkar and believe in Allah. In that great work, they sometimes feel tired, weak and depleted. Therefore, Allah prepares the Mi’raj for them. The Prophet, whose love and tasks of da’wah are incomparable, was certainly given a special Mi’raj; personally having an audience with Allah ‘Azza wa Jalla. We, his followers, are fortunate to receive his words: “The moment of Mi’raj for a Mu’meen is solat!”

Solat, as Sayyid Quthb said, is a direct connection between the ephemeral human and an eternal power. It is a time that had already been chosen, for the meeting of that separated drop of water with the source that never runs dry. It is the key to that treasury which is sufficient, satisfactory and abundant. It is a liberation from the small limitations of the earth’s reality toward the reality of the universe. It is the wind, mist and cloud in the intense and blazing daylight. It is that gentle touch on the hearts that are weary and in difficulties.

Therefore, solat is a rest. When it feels like the bones are slipping in jihad, the muscles are numb and the skins are soaked in sweats, the Prophet said to his Muadzzin, “Yaa Bilal, Arihna bis solaah… O Bilal, relieve us with solat!”

The Idolization of khushoo' (humility and devotion in prayer)

A Musaffir (traveler) stopped at a Masjid. He was tired, sweltered, weary, wretched and giddy. Especially that he felt lonely in the crowd along the way. He found serenity in that Masjid. His ablution felt like it was washing his entire body and soul. When the water rubbed, he was as if seeing black dots of his sins fading, dripping, flowing and drifting away with the water. In his solat, he truly felt himself standing in front of the Creator. Every bit of his recitation was as if responded by Him. He felt the vibe of that greatness. This is the first time he could weep and sob in his sujd. His heart was shrouded by the feeling of tranquility, coolness and meaningfulness. He felt ecstasy.

At other time, he was passing by that Masjid. He had purposely intended to pray there. He longed for the khushoo'. There was greatness that especially emanated from that Masjid. Its pillars are raised solidly, layered with gray marbles. The columns have half of their spirals sweetly decorated with geometric designs. Its dimly lighted lamps are enclosed in shining metals and octagonal in shapes. Its floor is coolly refreshing, a specific characteristic of dark granites and its carpets are soft, greeting every sujd.

He chose to pray behind a pillar wrapped in yellowish carvings with holy verses. He tried to fully appreciate his solat. But strange. He did not find that vibe this time. There was no ecstasy. There was no spiritual charm. Not even a drop of his tears was willing to flow. In regret, he closed off his prayer with the salaam. To the right and then to the left. And his eyes were transfixed to a translation of a calligraphy on the southern wall. He read, “Whoever seeks Allah, he would find khushoo'. Whoever pursues khushoo', he would lose Allah.”

- ‘Abdullah ibn Al Mubarak

How doomed are the pursuers of khushoo'. The khushoo' becomes the goal, not a mechanism toward reaching Allah SWT. Therefore, the main attention in his solat is of how to attain khushoo' or at least look khushoo'. Alas, if you just know how the Prophet and his companions pray. They obtained khushoo' not because they were looking for it. They were khushoo' because their solat was really a sojourn from the most draining activities in the way of love of the strugglers. They were khushoo' because of the tangling difficulties and exhaustion that produced a feeling of diminutiveness and genuine servitude.

Like the worshippers of Al Masih who complicate the Divinity with the trinity, the perception of khushoo' was also frequently made difficult. There is nothing wrong actually to cite the story of ‘Ali ibn Abi Thalib who asked for the arrow to be pulled from his leg when he was in solat, so that its pain could not be felt because of the khushoo' of his solat. It is also not wrong to emulate ‘Abbad ibn Bisyr who kept on praying even though the arrows of an enemy spy were piercing his body one after another. But is it only that what’s called khushoo'?

The Prophet is the most khushoo' human being. And how beautiful was his khushoo'. The khushoo' that always quickened the solat when hearing the cry of a baby or to shorten his recitation when realizing the presence of a few frail individuals in his jama’ah. The khushoo' that did not stop him from carrying Umamah binti Abil ‘Ash or Al Hassan ibn ‘Ali in his standing and put them down when sujd. The khushoo' that made his sujd very long because Al Husain ibn ‘Ali was playing horsey on his back.

Friends, this is the way of love of the strugglers. The khushoo' and rage of spiritual bliss are only entertainments and respites, the place where we refill the provisions and relieve the tiredness. This is the way of love of the strugglers. Not the way of the pursuers of spiritual bliss, to the extent of having to repeat their takbiratul ihram until the imam is already in ruku’. This is not the way of the lovers of hunger who are afraid to gargle in their fasting but are only silent when watching oppressions. Also not the way of the lovers of Ka’bah who are addicted to performing hajj while the poor people are knocking on the door of his house which is always locked.

History gives us the list of lessons about the pursuers of spiritual bliss. They are thrown far away from this way. There are those who think of themselves as good Mu’meen; because they can cry while in solat, their hearts are touched while giving zakat, they can recite zikr until they lose consciousness while fasting or they perform hajj every year; yet they are blinded from the Islamic world that calls out in an already hoarse voice.

These are the people who always speak of religion as a private affair. A private affair for the purpose of enjoying the spiritual bliss. To them, how blissful it is to pray in khushoo' on an expensive prayer mat, in an air-conditioned room, with the settings of different sceneries that can be rearranged. The khushoo' is in enjoying the recitation of the imam with certificate from a premium audio system, in the fragrant air from the aromatherapy perfume. Further in the distance, in the way of love of the strugglers, the Prophet prayed between the intervals of Jihad in establishing the Shari’ah. With dusts, with blood, with exhaustion and with hardships.

The others, looking for refuge from the crushing pressures of the world. Enjoying the feeling of peace from the zikr, the feeling of lightness from the fasting and the feeling of solemnity from the shivering of the body. Retreating in their rags clothing, living in poverty, and then feeling that they are the most beloved being by Allah. But their faces never turned red when the Shari’ah of Allah was ridiculed. They never feel hurt when witnessing oppressions. Their hearts never tremble when witnessing common sufferings. They are the likes of the Sufi from Ganggoh. He was the ostrich that feels safe when it immerses its head in the sand. Whereas, its body was heaped right in front of the hunter’s eyelids.

The ecstasy. The spiritual bliss. The khushoo'. Don’t you pursue that feeling. It is not your god. And it is not only a Muslim who obtains the possibility of feeling such an ecstasy. Ask the people from the religion of Buddha, the followers of Zen, Tao or the practitioners of Yoga. They can also experience it through their meditation and mystical experiences. An impoverished Christian from the Franciscan Order feels it in his wandering, with naked feet in the style of Christ. A lavish Christian from the Benedictine Order enjoys it in his collections of holy relics inherited from the church priests.

Not that.

It’s not that what we look for.

In the way of love of the strugglers, dedicate yourself to Allah in the big tasks of da’wah and jihad. Spreading out goodness, ending barbarism and calling towards iman. Run only to Him. Even if the thorns are pricking your feet. Even if the gravels are slicing the sole of your feet. Until you get tired. Until you are exhausted. Until the sweat and blood are spilled. Then, the khushoo' will come to you when you are resting in your solat. The moment when you feel the pinnacle of your weakness in front of the All-Powerful. Then, you will be surrendering, in submission…

At that time, you will probably see Him, and surely He sees you.

Adapted and translated from the book "Jalan Cinta Para Pejuang" (The Way Of Love Of The Strugglers) by Salim A. Fillah