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Canes are for the old and weak
charge your new cell phone, its the new accessory.

Feminism is erecting its head
since we can’t find ‘em,  we don’t need real men.

Turbans are donned only for weddings
whats the point of these again?

Business suits for walima only please.
dont be backwards, sir… you are being seen!

Lets be friends with all groups,
Too many choices, so there is no Siratul Mustaqeem.

Moonsighting occupies our time
don’t you know? your holiday is a crime.

Trim that beard and wear blue jeans
wait, wait, my daughter is wearing what?

Subtlety and metaphors are too complex for us
crassness works better.  What is Allah saying?

Prayer doesn’t help until you help yourself, so
its redundant and we’ll just stop doing that now.

Our Imams need to eat,
now no money means no ‘knowledge’.

Celebrating the Prophet (S) is dubious to us,
did you register for the next convention?

There is no music in Islam,
so we need new rock stars.

Ebay that miswak, its for the children.
“No fee“, doesn’t apply to me.

Ramazan its the time to be holy
so lets keep our bellies empty. Hey, whats tarawih?

Injustice everywhere, time to protest, argue, and suggest.
lets ask for help from lucifer press.

Islam is just as we are now,
This was what was meant to be.

Rubbing of the two eyes with the back of the index fingers at the time the muadhdin says ‘I bear witness Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah’ assured the Prophet’s intercession

Daylami has recorded this report in his Musnad al-Firdaws, tracing it through Abu Bakr (R)

Wahabis reject its meaning since it is not a hadith of the Prophet (S).   To them I say, the words of Abu Bakr (R) are closer to our hearts than yours.

Ramazan Kareem, Ramazan Mubarak!

The former ruler has passed away. The event was first announced in the newspapers. The Bosphorus smiled under the sun’s glow. Sultan Abdulhamid II, who had occupied the Ottoman throne for thirty-four years, would be buried a few hours later under the soil of beautiful Istanbul. Sultan Abdulhamid’s body would be brought from Beylerbeyi Palace to Topkapi Palace. There, he would be ritually washed and then buried at nine o’clock next to Sultan Mahmud in Chemberlitas. A single guard wearing a helmet and holding a rifle stood at the Middle Gate. The guards in front of the Gaye of Felicity politely received guests. The Council Hall, which was abandoned and ruined and filled with memories of glorious eras, seemed to smile bitterly at the events of centuries past. Sunbeams streamed over the cypress trees and fell on the grass. One or two custodians with rakes in their hands were gathering the yellowed leaves from the green grass under the morning sun.

I passed in front of the Library of Sultan Ahmed VI. A custodian dressed in black ran quickly from the side of the Tulip Garden; the funeral procession was approaching. I went toward Sarayburnu. A small procession was slowly coming up the sandy incline. A large steamboat neared the dock. Smoke rose from its yellow smokestack. The scene was very sad. The Marmara Sea, the coasts, and the hills were basking in the sun. In the distance Hamidiye Mosque’s slender white form, Yildiz Palace’s tree-lined boulevard, and the palace’s continuous roofs among the naked trees appeared silent and bewildered. A white sheet, a dark shawl, and a bier headed the procession in which everyone was dressed in black. Sultan Abdulhamid lay lifeless on the bedding atop the wooden bier. A thick yellow striped sheet hung down from the edges. His body was covered with a precious dark orange and green embroidered shawl. A guard from Beylerbeyi Palace walked in front of the body, and two rows of soldiers were at its side. Officials form the Inner Court and other members of the palace walked slowly beside the bier, which was being carried by hand. Prince Selim Efendi and some pashas followed them, grieving and deeply touched. Silence reigned. One of the custodians carried a fez covered with a white handkerchief. It was the fez of Sultan Abdulhamid II. From a distance, a gardener holding a hoe looked on sadly. Nothing could be heard but the footsteps of the pallbearers on the sand. The sea was calm and flat. An eternal gift from the Byzantines, the high columns in front of the palace gleamed in the sun.

The funeral procession passed the Tulip Garden. The body was brought to the green and gilded door of the Apartments of the Holy Mantle, and the bier was carried through the entryway. The prince and sons-in-law stayed in Mecidiye Kasri, while the others in the procession remained outside. The door closed, and no one but the officials of the Apartments of the Holy Mantle entered.

What a luminous, sublime, and magnificent chamber it was. Here was the most wonderful, elegant, and radiant place of worship constructed by the Ottoman dynasty in the name of the Caliphate. The walls were adorned with blue and green and gilded panels. Sultan Selim I’s successors comforted their souls in this sacred area, prayed for the army’s victory, and wept in front of the Holy Mantle. The bright tiles and precious inscriptions on the walls were striking.

The shade in front of one of the windows had been partially raised. Wide frosted glass obstructed the view of the Golden Horn. A small six-handled cypress casket resting on two green trellies and a small washing bench could be seen in the courtyard where the shades had been raised. Sultan Abdulhamid was laid on the washing bench. Grief-stricken, I stood in front of the gilded bars of the window. As the coffin advanced, the Inner Court officials respectfully folded their hands, waiting to perform their duty. Across the way, a closed door that hid centuries of legends and the blue tiled walls seemed to want to forgo this page of history. Four imams - two wearing green turbans, the other wearing white - piously washed the body with sponges and musk soap. A fresh white winding sheet covered Sultan Abdulhamid’s corpse. The areas above his chest and below his knees were not visible. There was no evidence of long illness on the body. The corpse did not display the appalling yellow color of death. It looked like an inanimate object made of ivory.

On the whole, he was attractive. Become more beautiful as it was washed, the white body was stretched out naturally in the hands of the washers on the bench. Holding silver incense burning, palace officials stood across from the corpse. Everyone was deeply reverent. Trust in God was visible in their faces. The Apartments of the Holy Mantle were witnessing a historic day. The last page of the sultanate would close on that day. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on Sultan Abdulhamid’s closed eyes. As warm water was poured over the body, white steam rose and mixed with the scent of aloe and amber from the incense burner. There was an apprehensive silence. Nothing could be heard but the footsteps of those coming and going to perform services. With their hands folded, eyes on the body, and tears of grief, two of the sultan’s son-in-law stood by his feet.

Nature’s beauty could be felt in all its glory outside the palace. The waters of the Golden Horn shimmered in the unexpected February sun. The boxwood trees were bare and open to the bounty of spring. The washing of the body was still not finished. Sultan Abdulhamid’s closed eyes, gray hair, naked body, and lifelessness awoke a melancholy in the hearts of the onlookers. At times, when his head suddenly slipped and his hands fell to his sides, he resembled an innocent, hopeless person. His neck was bent strangely with his white, disordered beard.

Finally, the washing of the corpse was completed. It was dried with yellow silk-embroidered towels. The coffin was lifted, and the washing bench was brought next to it. A winding sheet was spread inside. Sultan Abdulhamid’s body was respectfully laid in the coffin.

Sultan Abdulhamid had not lost consciousness until the last moment of his life. He requested that a testament prayer be put on his chest and a handkerchief rubbed against the Holy Mantle, as well as a piece of the black Kaba cover, be used cover his face. His request was carried out to the letter. It was truly heartrending sight: Sultan Abdulhamid lying inside the coffin with winding sheets, the testament prayer on his naked chest, the black Ka’ba cover on his face, his white bear, with his eyes forever closed… Sultan Abdulhamid was humbly going to god, leaving his sins behind.

The shroud was tied and the coffin closed. The heavy ticking of a mother-of-pearl clock, which had witnessed centuries, echoed in the grandeur of the Apartments of the Holy Mantle. Arrangement of the coffin began. First a bed sheet and then a silver-embroidered red cover were placed on the coffin. The bottom was wrapped with a navy blue flowered cloth. Ka’ba covers and belts decorated with precious stones were placed on top. Shawls were wrapped around the head and arms of the body. A red fez was put on the green satin wrapped around the head. While the body was being washed, the plain coffin and wooden washing bench had contrasted sharply with the brilliant colors and gilding in the Apartments of the Holy Mantle. Now Sultan Abdulhamid’s coffin adorned with silk, shawls and silver thread and precious stones fit with the Apartments magnificence and splendor.

Everyone departed. Only the coffin, with its head turned towards the harem chamber, could be seen among the decorated columns, colored walls, and polished panels. To the left, in the Apartments’ window the gold and silver-embroidered green curtains, heavy silver tassels, gold grating, priceless wall panels, and the Qur’an were visible as well. Footsteps sounded in front of the Audience Hall. One of the distinguished sons-in-law advanced rapidly and stopped mournfully in the corner in the wall. With his eyes on the coffin, he opened his hands, made a short prayer, and let out a sincere sob. It echoed among the ornamented domes.

It was nine o’clock. Ambassadors and officers dressed in silver-trimmed uniforms and fur headgear and and hats waited in front of the door of the Apartments. Foreigners stared in awe at this magnificent place. Scholars, dressed in green and purple robes with broad sleeves and silver embroidery, were being greeted respectfully. The crowd grew. The Crown Prince and other princes were in full uniform. Medals, silver decorations, and uniforms glittered in the February sun.

Suddenly, the door to the Apartments of the Holy Mantle opened. All eyes turned to the door. IT was crowded on both sides. Hearts throbbing, everyone sought a view of the coffin. Carried by hand and adorned with a diamond belt, silver embroidered Ka’ba covers, red satin, and a red fez, it finally appeared, stately and majestic. Prominent officials and officers stood near the coffin, which was put on a high place in front of the door. The head preacher of the Hamidiye Mosque, dressed in a green, silver embroidered robe with an imperial monogram on his chest, stepped forward and stood on the stone. He looked around and asked:

“How did you know the deceased to be?”

A sad cry echoed among the cypress trees:

“We knew him to be good”.

A short recitation of Surat al-Fatiha ended the ceremony. The coffin was lifted and carried slowly past the Library of Sultan Ahmed VI and the Audience hall to the front of the Door of Felicity. According to custom, the funeral prayer was performed here, and the procession was then organized. Princes, notables, commanders, and palace officials all gathered. Occasionally the procession officials in silver-embroidered dress with white papers in their hands were heard to call out to the procession. Finally it was ready. The soldiers put their guns on their shoulders, and marched in perfect silence. Dedes and Shazeli dervishes walked in front of the coffin. Officers of the imperial Inner Court and other palace officials served as pallbearers.

The cortege moved slowly among the cypress trees from the Gate of Felicity to the Middle Gate. Majestically passing through the Middle Gate, this moving profession of God’s unity made a sweet echo that exuded an aura of pious reverence and consolation to the spirit. It resounded between the Middle Gate’s stone walls and the gate. This echo reflected Sultan Selim III’s sensitive, noble spirit. Was it possible not to remember his pure and blessed spirit with every sound from the imperial Inner Court? The Inner Court officials were reciting prayers. The sound, which echoed from the ruined walls of the Council Hall, was the touching cry of the Ottoman spirit. Everyone walked respectfully behind the coffin. This gate had seen the passage of many sultans’ funerals and the shedding of many tears. In front, the intermittent, sad chants of the dervish elders could be heard. With a moving Arabic melody rising like a slow refrain, the sheikhs of the Shazeli dervish hall chanted the proclamation of God’s unity, the affirmation of His greatness, and eulogies to Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. The area between the Middle Gate and thee Imperial Gate was filled with the automobiles of German officers and various cars. Two elegant women stood up in their coach, watching the procession behind thin veils. A little farther way in front of the Hagia Irine Church of Byzantine-period and the military museum, the members of the military band with huge quilted turbans, baggy red trousers, silver vests, and yellow and red flags had stopped. Living history saluted the coffin with derference and respect.

The funeral procession left the Imperial Gate. The streets were empty. Two rows of soldiers lined the way from Ayasofya Mosque to Sultan Mahmud’s Tomb. The trees, houses, windows, and roofs were filled with women and children. The coffin advanced amidst poignant prayers and proclamations of God’s greatness and unity. Those watching the funeral procession were moved. One woman leaned her head on a wall and sobbed. Some looked on indifferently, but sensitive hearts wept at the sad spectacle, the mournful cries, and religious magnificence. The final ceremony of the Ottoman sultan who had held the Caliphate for thirty-four years was being performed with reverence.

The coffin entered the tomb, the procession chanting the name of God. Sultan Abdulhamid was placed in the grave with deference and respect. A thirty-four-year page of Ottoman history was concluded in sorrow

(Vakit by Ahmet Refik, February 18, 1918)

ref: Aydin, Hilmi (2005). The Sacred Trusts (pg 43). New Jersey: The Light Publishing

Ahmet Refik was born in 1880 in Istanbul. Graduating from Military School, he was enrolled in the army.
Refik taught Geography and French in military schools, and later wrote columns for various papers. After World War I he taught at university as well. Ahmet Refik died in 1937 in Istanbul

Timas Publishing has translated Ahmet Refik’s works into Modern Turkish, as they are deeply resonant studies of Ottoman culture, from its victories to its military officials, from its scholars to its artists

The entrance to the Apartments of the Holy Mantle, which opens to the Inner Courtyard, is called the fountain Gate. It was restored during the reign of Ahmed III (1703-1730).  Above the door hangs a calligraphy, Kalima al-Tawhid (Proclamation of God’s Unity), written by the sultan, who was a gifted calligrapher. There are two lines of script, one on each side, in the shape of a tugra (sultan’s monogram). The line on the right reads “Lord of the World, Glorious Ruler,” and the one on the left reads “Devotee of the Shari’a, Sultan Ahmed.” A smaller monogram of Sultan Ahmed III is engraved above these lines. On each side of the monogram are two lantern brackets from bronze supports.

ref: Aydin, Hilmi  (2005). The Sacred Trusts (pg 17). New Jersey: The Light Publishing

Reverting to what early Ottoman Naqshbandis made of the rabita, we may begin with the following description by Mustafa al-Sadiqi (R).

Rabita requires that the practitioner attach himself in obedient service (khidma) to a shaykh who has reached [the station of witnessing], and that he keep the shaykh’s company (suhba) continually, fill himself with utmost attentiveness to him, cement his love for him in his heart, and [learn to] preserve the shaykh’s visual form (sura) in his imagination. Thus is generated between them such a bond and union that the emancipation of divine energy (fayd) reaching the shaykh can pour forth to the disciple without a need for a great deal of ascetic exercises (mujahada wa ijtihad). When the rabita occurs and [the practitioner] feels its effect in his heart, he should strive to preserve it. Whenever there is slackening of that [effect] he should return to companionship with the shaykh, time after time, until the effect returns to him and becomes a natural disposition (malaka).

ref: Le Gall, Dina (2005). A Culture of Sufism: Naqshbandi’s in the Ottoman World, 1450-1700 (pg 113) New York: State University of New York Press.