The Search for Beauty in Islam by Abou el Fadl Khaled

Author:Abou el Fadl, Khaled
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.
Published: 2006-03-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 58

The Remembrance

Those overwhelmed by the weight of their legacy will disown it, but those without a history will invent it, and both are doomed to repeat all their past mistakes. One lives in the consolation of a lie, and the other, if confronted by the truth, waives it away. Uprooted by oblivion and dispossessed of an identity, we settle in fictions of relativity where our boundaries blur and fade. Don’t you see that those without a homeland in history are branded as aliens wherever they are invited to stay? Without the anchor of history, we live from thought to thought, pulled and shoved by every trend and wave. Some will ground themselves in the rigor of philosophy, but most will live from sight to mind, nursing their fluctuating identity with a whimsical sense of faith.

My visit with this glorious Conference is coming to an end, and I pray that I will be deemed worthy enough to be permitted to transform or, at least, that I will be invited again. This Conference had become the bridge to many repressed memories, and the rediscovery of my sense of balance and dignity. Now, I pounce in the streets with a smile on my face telling everyone who finds me:

I have foundations, I have roots, I have a history, I have a homeland on this earth, I have my own intellectual space. I have delved into the depth of my brain, cleansed the dust and cobwebs of forgetfulness, and chased so many ghosts away. I now know who I am, and my attention is turned to who I want to be. If it hadn’t been for a sense of humility and a bashful nature, I would yell, “Embrace me, for my roots and anchor can perhaps offer you a repose of stability.”

As I rummaged through the files of memories, I recalled an incident nestled in silence, but now it spoke again. An old sheet of paper reminded me of a time when my young age blessed me with remarkable energy fueled by gleeful hopefulness. I spoke my mind in a way that, at times, bordered on insolence.

Years ago, I was in a conference organized by the Islamic Society of North America with the usual list of speakers and with the customary fanfare. I sat in the audience listening to a panel on “Conflict Resolutions in Mosques.” There were a couple of speakers who waltzed with words, and since I don’t dance, I was utterly bored. A bearded young fellow with green eyes and Egyptian skin was the last to speak. His bashfulness intrigued me in such a bombastic atmosphere. He talked about a mosque in his hometown that had been plagued by disputes and in-fighting between Wahhabis and Sufis and some other factions as well. The dispute disintegrated into fist-fights with lawsuits and legal injunctions flying all over the place. The judge assigned to the case appointed our Egyptian-colored friend to act as an arbitrator in the case. I am not sure what

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