Recent Reads: Women of Sufism

photograph of rainbow prayer beads draped around a book that sits on a multicolored geometric carpet. the book is called women of sufism: a hidden treasure: writings and stories of mystic poets, scholars and saints. it was edited by camille adams helminski. the cover features a sufi woman clad in white robes, head bent in prayer while holding a veil above her head. a metal pedestal rests on the carpet before her and upon it is an incense holder. the smoke wafts up and blends with her robes.

SUMMARY

The first section "In the Heart of the Prophet," traces a history of women's active participation in the early Muslim community and highlights the example set by three women of the Prophet's (PBUH) family: Khadijah, Fatima, and 'A'isha. Helminski explains, "Because the original impulse of Sufism is classically understood to have opened with the example of Muhammad and the revelation of the Qur'an, even though these women lived before anyone used the term 'Sufi,' we might consider them to be foremost among the first Sufi women" (Helminski 2003, 3). 

Having explored accounts of the first Sufi women, the book turns to early Sufi women. Helminski describes this transition as follows: "After the death of the Prophet Muhammad and the first four caliphs who followed him, the spiritual authority he initiated became fragmented. These early Sufis sought to clarify and deepen that interior spiritual connection that they saw as the essence of Islam" (20). Many of these accounts have been compiled from historical biographies, some of which have been made accessible through the efforts of contemporary Sufi women scholars.

Helminsky describes Sufism as "popular Islam" that, in contrast to "official Islam," was instrumental to the spread of the religion across the world. (I am a little skeptical of this division since many leading Muslim othodox theologians were Sufis, and tasawwuf is a central Islamic practice, but I digress.) Attributing Sufism's greater role to its higher tolerance of local customs and promotion of more egalitarian relationships, she writes: "The resulting social integration of essential Islamic principles occurred as Sufism not only spread to farther lands but also repenetrated the heartland of Islam, enabling the 'heart's blood' to flow more freely throughout the whole body of Islam" (75). From the 12th century onwards, there was a shift from mystics practicing autonomously to mystics clustering around and following particular saints around whom tariqas formed.

REFLECTION

Opa gifted me Women of Sufism 11 years ago when I first decided to major in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies. It feels appropriate that this is the book that welcomes me back into doing scholarship.

1. Women's Work & Creations as a Form of Zhikr

While zhikr is traditionally conceptualized as the "continuous repetition of various words and phrases in praise of God" (75), Helminski expands this definition to encompass non-verbal forms of expression including "the handmade masterpieces of Spirit woven with the dedication of hearts" (86). She situates women's creations, which often included Islamic imagery, as forms of "remembrance" (86). Helminski recognizes the ways that "women have often occupied their hands in prayer" (86).

​Annemarie Schimmel also frames women's work as a kind of zhikr. She writes: "[W]omen were also the addressees of mystical folk poets who were able, particularly in the Subcontinent, to explain the mystical path in simple, easy verses which the women would sing while spinning or grinding grain so that their household chores were transformed into symbols of spiritual activities" (107). In these ways, women's remembrance takes place in the midst of daily life. She goes on to use spinning as a metaphor for zhikr: "Just as by unceasing spinning the thread becomes fine and so precious that it can be sold at a high price, thus the heart becomes refined by the constant repetition of religious formulas or the names of God so that God will 'buy' it at Doomsday for a high price. (The relation between the constant murmuring of the sacred words and the humming sound of the spinning wheel makes this image particularly fitting)" (107).

2. Pain & Zhikr

Michaela Özelsel (pg. 169-176) published a journal from her first 40-day retreat. Forty Days: A Diary of a Traditional Solitary Sufi Retreat recounts this period of seclusion with the Holy Qur'an and writings by Ibn al-'Arabi and Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi. Through an exercise called the Way of the Dervish in which one thanks Allah despite feeling ungrateful as a way to acquire love, Özelsel begins experiencing the pain of Allah's presence. She writes, "I'd want more and more pain, till I'm burned completely and utterly clean [...] till finally I stay 'open'" (171). She likens it to a physical pain through the analogy of ear piercing: "While the ear heals, you have to keep turning the new earring so that it doesn't become ingrown, to make sure a hole is really formed. This turning hurts as long as the ear is still trying to close itself. Only when the hole stays open voluntarily does the turning not hurt any more, at which point it also isn't needed any more" (171). Understanding this process as the transference of her obsession with her teacher to Allah, she welcomes the pain and asks for more--quoting Rumi's verses: "In pain I breathe easier" and "When I'm ruined, I'm healed." I resonated with these passages, reflecting on my own relationship to pain--mediated through chronic illness, disability, and Islam--that I want to think through more deeply in my WIP. 

3. Trials, Blessings, & Zhikr

Reflecting on the phrase "All praise is due to God," Aisha Gouverneur (254-263) describes how she came to view being paralyzed for a year as a blessing--"not a broken finger, but the full trial" (258). Nobody receives the trials or blessings that they deserve, she writes, rather "God gives us exactly what our souls need to return to the Divine Presence with hearts purified" (259). Therefore, trials and blessings are one and the same because they both offer the opportunity for remembrance.

When I became sick and disabled, I was told that God wouldn't give me more than I could bear. I found this sentiment to be in poor taste. It seemed condescending and cruel to reduce what was happening in my life to a 'test' with the chiding implication that it was one that I was failing. This feeling has only grown stronger as I've been recovering memories through the fog of dissociative amnesia that defines that period of my life. I've learnt that what happened to me was not an act of God, but rather the evil actions of a person that I was in no way equipped to deal with. With that realization, also comes an awareness that the indifference that, at the time. I felt must be radiating from the Creator, was actually stemming from this abuse. As I've been remembering what happened, I've felt badly for my failure to maintain faith through this 'trial.'

​Then, I came across a different translation of Surah Al-Baqarah (Qur'an 2: 286), which states that Allah does not hold a soul accountable for what is beyond their capacity. There is a subtle and important difference, here. We are, I think, called to be radically honest about what is and is not within our sphere of control, to reflect on what our attendant responsibilities are, and to act accordingly. For me, this includes a responsibility to divest myself of the negative affect that this abuser "dumped" (to use Teresa Brennan's phrase) inside/upon me. 

Directions for Future Research:

• Sara Sviri's The Taste of Hidden Things (pg. 60-71)
• Sachiko Murata's The Tao of Islam (pg. 177-185)
• Sayedeh Nahid Angha's Principles of Sufism (pg. 244-253)

WORKS CITED

Brennan, Teresa. 2004. The Transmission of Affect. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Helminski, Camille Adams, ed. 2003. Women of Sufism: A Hidden Treasure: Writings and Stories of Mystic Poets, Scholars & Saints. Boston, MA: Shambhala.