July

Khushoo‘ in Prayer: A Journey into the Presence of the Beloved

When the heart is purified and the world fades from your sight, and you find yourself standing before your Lord, uttering words not of your own making but rising from the depths of your being—there, khushoo‘ begins.
Khushoo‘ is not merely the bowing of the back, nor the shedding of tears, nor the stillness of limbs alone; it is the soul’s immersion into the Ocean of Presence, where none remains but Him.

In prayer, the heavens open their gates, and veils are lifted one after the other. The servant stands—not only with his body, but with a trembling spirit—before the One who created him and taught him love. It is a moment of ascension, like the Mi‘raj (Night Journey) of the Beloved Prophet ﷺ.
Every prayer is an ascension; every rak‘ah a heartbeat of longing.

The Sufi masters say: “Prayer is the conversation of the lover with the Beloved.” And how could it not be? You begin it with Allāhu Akbar—declaring that you have left the world behind. You proclaim that God is greater than your sorrows, your fears, even your self. Then you recite the Opening of Love, the Fātiḥah, and chant verses of yearning, as though you were composing a poem known only to Him—heard only by the One who truly hears.

Khushoo‘ is not an act—it is a state. A state in which the wall between servant and Lord melts away. Time and space disappear, and only Presence remains. You find yourself in prostration, as if returning to your origin: humble earth, surrendered. And in that moment, not only your limbs fall still—your heart whispers to the Secret of Existence:
“My Lord, here I am—for You, with You, from You, and to You.”

The Sufi, when he prays, does not count rak‘āt—he measures prayer by how much his heart melted within it. Two units of prayer may pass like an entire night, or a single Allāhu Akbar may send him into a trance. He returns from it washed and renewed. Those who have not tasted it cannot understand; and those who have never prostrated with their heart… have only stood—they have not prayed.

Imām al-Junayd said: “Khushoo‘ is the stillness of the heart, which causes the limbs to become still.” It is not khushoo‘ when the eyes weep and the heart remains heedless. True khushoo‘ is when the heart weeps, even if the eyes remain dry.

In the silent retreats of the lovers, one hears their sighs echoing in the depth of night. They pray not to fulfill a duty, but to attend a meeting. For them, prayer is not an obligation—it is an appointment. In it, they pose the eternal question:
“Let me see Your Face, O You in whom my prayer and my stillness find refuge.”

Let us pray as the Greatest Lover prayed—our Master Muḥammad ﷺ—who used to say:
“O Bilāl, bring us comfort through it,” not “bring us comfort from it.”
Let us pray as the gnostics do—not merely with our bodies, but with spirit, with taste, with longing, and with that silent tear that falls in the heart.

Prayer is Presence. And khushoo‘ is the key to its gate.
Whoever possesses it—enters.
Whoever enters—finds.
Whoever finds—rests.
And whoever rests… tastes something of the tranquility promised in:
“Establish the prayer for My remembrance.”