connecting

Saturday 26th July
In the haram of Imam Reza (as), at zohr.

This time, I had been able to enter the haram as I wished, to get pulled into the melee and drunk on the same crazed spirit that makes normal, civillised people behave like lunatics to get to and cling to the zarih. Other times, this choice had been made for me. You would think that I would have learnt the lesson better by this stage.

On the first day, with great anticipation, hope and desire to perform ziara on behalf of all, I had entered the throng, and basked in the Imam's proximity. The second day, I had not prepared myself sufficiently, and all of a sudden found myself at the haram door with my thoughts scattering. Reading the permission to enter proved it; even after the small rise of emotion on asking the imam (as) as the son of Fatimatul Zahra, by the right of Fatimatul Zahra (as), it was very evident the invitation was a grace from the imam and I had limited my own experience and connection.


This was the third time we were to enter the haram.

I was intent upon not repeating the mistake of the second time, in an attempt to recapture a little of the spirit of the first. I made my way towards the soaring golden arch, with the white-hot morning sun resplendent, high above it. Just before entering a spot caught my eye – an area to sit within the row of worshipers, on the right hand side, a short distance from the door. The feeling came to me that I should sit in it, but I couldn't reconcile this with not yet having done ziarah. I pushed it aside and entered the door, into the mad crowds. I found spaces and pauses in the crushing in which to read my ziarah, but neither relaxed, nor truly comfortably, nor personally. Throughout I couldn't shake the feeling that I should be outside. Eventually this feeling overcame me, and I moved outside after the core ziarah, to read the final salutations.


My place was still empty, waiting for me, welcoming me. I sat in it and completed the ziarah and prayer more peacefully and calmly. By this time it was almost noon, with the beaming, burning sun hanging high above our heads, as I sat amongst the pilgrims in the shade of the golden archway, at its edge: in the cool breezed shade, inches away from the cloven half of sunlight.

Looking up at the sun in its zenith, glinting off the soaring gold, I had a vision; of the insanity of crowds, crushing each other in the race towards the grave, clamouring to have their many requests heard and granted, thinking of the fulfilment of their own needs, then to go home and think of little more; as an outsider to it – for a second seeing the difference in behaviour for the real servant of the Imam (as), one who was truly there to do as commanded and await his call, who would pull away from the crush to reach the physical grave, and hang back for just that, not breathing a word for his own sake: knowing that the Imam (as) saw him where he stood, knew his state fully, knew he was ready to serve, and if needed, knew he would call for him.

All these people had come for the Imam (as), mistaking his grave for his presence... all these mad crowds directed one way; between them those with vision would pull aside and wait, distant from the drunken madness and seeing it for what it was; behaving like a human being and faithful servant; patiently, politely, waiting for contact and a command from the Imam (as).

I saw the difference between serving yourself in the Imam's presence and serving him, and realised to truly be his follower you could not follow the crowd and ask only for your own desires, but instead must always be thinking,

“How can I serve my Imam?”

“What can I do to serve you, O Imam?”

“I am ready, and waiting for your command.”

* * *

On Sunday, for the first time ever, I chose not to enter the haram building, although I could, and performed ziara outside; again in the shade of the golden arch, and the glorious presence of the Imam (as).

* * *

July 2008