Here you are,
knocking at my door,
drinking my tea
and asking me how to grow your soul.
And yet, when I say you must give your money
to the widow down the alley,
you make excuses.
When I say you must be diligent in your prayers,
You wave it away, and say, “yes of course, I do them.”
But there is no passion in your voice.
When I say you must keep halal,
You roll your eyes as if I were your mother
Telling you to clean up after yourself.
I don’t know why you came to me.
Did you think I was going to tell you
to do something arcane or secret?
There is no secret to growing your soul.
Every Imam knows how to do it.
Every Muslim should.
Every Sufi pretends to, at least.
The prophet did not give us our tradition
Because he had nothing better to do.
His revelation cost him dearly, or have you forgotten?
Do you aspire to be a thief in Allah’s kitchen?
You knocked on my door, so listen to what Najat has to say:
If you want to go on the hajj,
do not think you can do it
carried aloft on the shoulders of servants
without breaking a sweat.
There are no shortcuts to Mecca.