Idolatry

Idols. The reverend offered his definition. An idol is something that attracts attention but fails to actually be "the ultimate"

I've been a muslim now for less than 3 days. We muslims would tell you...the "ultimate" is Allah.

I am now overriding the impulse to preach to you. I'll just go on telling you what happens to me, and how it is I experience the phenomenon of living.

So much of the world is a buzzing, sizzling, disordered billboard for something someone wants you to want. It's probably way less then most of the world, but the parts that vibrate and jingle are catching the attention, and the row of sparrows neatly ordered on the powerline is what I'm missing, or am disregarding, under most circumstances.

Looking at the faces that meet my eyes all throughout the day, I'm struck by contantly wondering what everyone else must think amidst this state, this location, their personhood, their internality, and their externalities. I think I'm wondering about this, because the idol of my self is demanding to know how it's doing and where it exists along the continuum it imagines there to be between awful and radical. It wrings out of every glance, every word, every smirk or blank stare or expression..."who am I?"

An idol then, is what informs us of the answer.

By what standard am I gauging my own situation, and in relation to what? What external impressions am I drinking inward, hoping to fill a void I'm experiencing through my contrary, violated, subjective experience. What am I doing to me?

And upon asking, the answer appears.

I'm thirsty hungry bored tired lonley poor slow dumb average craving greedy selfish loud quiet lazy inadequate in every way dismissible accidental temporary unfortunate disposable junk ornament.

That's where I surrender, give up and retreat into a place below my self. And there, do I pray.

I pray not because it does or does not work, or for peace or justice or insight or forgiveness, at those times. I do it in reflex. Like a hiding place, yet one that makes one vulnerable, exposed, disarmed. I go there to establish or recognize that the idol isn't welcome there, and has no power. In prayer, I establish a state of pure relatability to Allah. If I tried to write about this place, you would read words that make you think of either nothing, everything, or the wrong thing. The place exists so transcendentally that langauge would have no legs to carry the message. But not because there is no message, but because it is not transferable.

The idol needs us to be stupid and bored and impatient. I take note of how I dress and parade and mock myself around like a clown. It's demise (the idol's) demands a simple pause, in order that I might simply consider for a second, what it is I think I'm doing, and that my answer is isn't a conditioned response but a spontaneous and intellegent one occuring from a place of true originality.