The Alchemy of Devotion: Portals into the Infinite

The alchemy of devotion is a force that can either extinguish or expand you, depending on the nature of your offering. It is the art of transmutation, a process in which the raw elements of the self undergo transformation—not inherently for better or worse, but shaped by the intention and depth of one's surrender. I've learned; devotion without discernment can lead not to ascension but to erosion. After all, how often have we found ourselves devoted to our own undoing, mistaking it for transcendence? To be devoted to an idea without cultivating a true relationship with what it represents is to risk annihilation rather than illumination. Yet, when devotion is rooted in a genuine surrender to forces greater than the self, it becomes a path to expansion. In the alchemy of selfhood, every experiment whether it leads to dissolution or revelation is ultimately part of the refinement. There is no absolute failure, only the continuous interplay of breaking and becoming. Rituals and sacred practices serve as vessels for transformation, guiding the soul through structured passages of renewal. These pathways, found within faith and tradition, create frameworks that shape the unfolding of the self. The holy month of Ramadan is a profound example of this facilitation. Ramadan is analogous to an alchemical process - one that is less about conquest or accumulation and more about release and dissolution. It is the practice of unmaking, emptying, and surrendering the self to make space for something vast and unseen. And like all sacred transformations, it demands an inward turning and a true willingness to be reconstituted.

Islam, as a process of surrender, when practiced as a method, offers an experience fundamentally different from that of a fixed system, an answer, a declaration. Physical and metaphysical access to an elevated vibration can be facilitated by this process of spiritual surrender to a higher power and detachment from the lower frequencies that tether our matter. I began to ask myself: what, truly, is being surrendered in the practice of surrender to the Divine? I began my search for an answer with what I knew intimately- my intuition and my feelings. I have felt a consuming - desire for, and willingness to - explore the vastness of infinity be it intellectually or spiritually that has captivated me beyond reason. At its core, this longing stems from a pursuit of Truth and Knowing—an insatiable yearning to access the states of ecstasy felt when the veil of the material is lifted and higher Knowing is revealed. Often, I have been ceaselessly curious (at times without cause) about everything that exists beyond what is perceptible around me. Even so, the fervour of my seeking was not reflected in the methods by which I practiced my faith. My practice of Islam unfolded more habitually than consciously, lacking the intimacy and true communion I was seeking with my Creator. Islam was more a habit than a living, breathing relationship with the Divine, and often, I found myself mistaking motion for meaning. I had been practicing Islam, compassed by the promise of a destination, chasing the frequency of Nirvana, seeking a totality of answers. I would follow paths, unravel thoughts, feel deeply into experiences, believing that if I pursued them far enough, I would arrive somewhere. But each arrival only birthed more questions, more seeking. This was the limitation and fundamental misalignment of my pursuit -- a paradox I had yet to recognize.

In the charged space between resistance and revelation, I came to the realization that surrendering the self -the vessel of the human ego— is the key to transcending its tether to form, time, and space on Earth. Until this moment, I had been orbiting the truth without fully entering it, circling around surrender without truly relinquishing control. My practice, though passionate, had merely been a dance at the edges of devotion—an unconscious evasion rather than a full immersion. Islam, as an ongoing process of ego-death (Nafs/ نفس), can facilitate a deeper connection to our truest essence (Fitra/ فطرة), existing beyond selfhood altogether. In this realm of deep Knowing, the self dissolves, and spirit merges with the universe, allowing the material to fade into the boundless ether of the Infinite. Ultimately, a deeper communion with the Infinite necessitates the transcendence of the finite, which can happen through an ongoing submission of our self into Oneness.

Here, I came to see that my entry point to faith had been misaligned. I had placed my trust in an outcome, in a framework, in something fixed and unmoving. But true faith is not in certainty—it is in surrendering to the infinitely unknown. It is in allowing what comes to move you, shape you, change you. This was the source of my blockage —subtle yet resistant— caught between my thirst for certainty and the truth that certainty itself is not an endpoint, but a journey. As best described in the Holy Quran:

وَاعْبُدْ رَبَّكَ حَتَّى يَأْتِيَكَ الْيَقِينُ

"And worship your Lord until certainty comes to you." (Qur'an 15:99)

Ah. So, I do not need to worship in certainty. I can worship towards it. Certainty is not a prerequisite for faith; it is an unfolding through faith. This realization changed my approach to worship, allowing me, in part, to move past my inner resistance toward deeper spiritual devotion.

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Implementing this understanding into daily practice proved far more difficult than arriving at the realization itself. This challenge revealed itself most clearly during Ramadan. For years, I had received Ramadan as a holy month with a beginning and an end, an event with a final destination (Eid) and a time to refrain from food and water. Often, I entered Ramadan with the productivity conditioning of the matrix clinging to me— the pressure to maintain normalcy and optimize productivity while fasting. My excitement for Ramadan was tainted by the capitalist underpinnings that shape our very perception of time. The capitalist logic of efficiency and optimization revealed itself clearly: less time spent eating, drinking, and preparing meals meant more time for productivity. With these reclaimed hours, I could read more, accomplish more, do more - be more. Beyond that, the capitalist imagination leaves little room for disruption, often violently insisting on maintaining normalcy. This resistance surfaced in my relationship with the gym, fitness and my body. I knew that fasting during Ramadan would inevitably disrupt my gym routine and impact my body—both of which I wanted to remain unchanged. The thought of losing progress at the gym, or veering from my carefully calibrated protein intake and fitness goals, unsettled me. Without realizing it, I had framed Ramadan as an obstacle to be managed, a test to be endured, a mere bridge to Eid—the culmination, the reward. But in doing so, I had missed the premise entirely, reducing it to a means to an end. There it was again—the same resistance I had once confronted in my journey of faith.

Last Ramadan, I sought to actualize my reflections on Islam as a process of surrender through the embodied practice of fasting. I asked myself: How would Ramadan feel if I fully allowed it into my heart—to be what it wills to be, rather than what I will it to be? In relinquishing my grip on outcome-driven practices, I began to question the very beliefs that had once constrained the depth of my connection to Ramadan.

Perhaps Ramadan is more about the means than the end.

Perhaps it is meant to disrupt my flow with the gym, to unsettle the natural rhythm and energy of my body when I am not fasting.

Perhaps I should focus on my body less.

Perhaps I was never meant to resist its tides, but to allow them to guide me toward the space where my soul most needs nourishment- a clarity I could only reach when I was no longer preoccupied with nourishing my body.

In this process of filtration during Ramadan, I felt a heightened attunement to the energy I carried and the frequencies I allowed into my energetic space. The music I listened to, the words I absorbed, the conversations I entertained—all revealed themselves with newfound clarity. Ramadan, in its divine wisdom, meets each soul where it stands, offering different gifts in different seasons of life. Some fast for perspective—the absence of food fostering gratitude, encouraging charity, and deepening communal care. Others fast to cultivate discipline, refining the self through restraint. The truth is, there is no singular reason, nor universal rationale that fully encapsulates the essence of fasting. Seeking meaning may be meaningful for some, but for others, reason itself serves as a limitation—a veil between human intellect and divine mystery. The reality is that the full wisdom of Ramadan, like all that is sacred, cannot be grasped in its entirety. This perspective granted me a newfound appreciation for that which is fardh (فرض)—the religious obligations set upon Muslims. To have faith and to follow that which is divinely prescribed is itself a surrender, a means of deepening trust in Allah’s ultimate guidance and expanding the inner space of the heart to receive what it most needs. Shifting focus away from my material reality for one month created the experience of an inward pilgrimage, where the dissolution of the false self became possible, and connection with Essence felt within reach. Like all that comes from Allah, Ramadan is a gift—an open invitation to return, to realign. It serves as a portal through which we are called back to the vibration of our Essence, a higher Self, our infinite form beneath our flesh. No amount of self-development I could strive for would surpass non-self—a state accessible only through complete surrender to the Divine Will of Allah, a surrender facilitated by the processes of Ramadan.

In the journey of metamorphosis, self stands at the threshold where the finite meets the Boundless. Our matter, though limited, holds the potential to touch (or better yet, inch nearer in proximity) the essence of the Eternal. Just as no element can be transformed in isolation, faith, too, cannot deepen without a true intimacy with its Source. Ramadan is a portal into the realms of the Infinite that invites us to become familiar with the depths of connection we can reach. Certainly, this is a lesson I will have to re-learn and practice time and time again. Awareness is the beginning of Truth seeking, true Knowing is in the constancy of practice. I sit with this lesson in silence, my breath anchored in its wisdom, allowing my being the space to catch up with what my spirit has glimpsed. Inhaling, exhaling. Inhaling Truth, exhaling Knowing. Releasing the impulse of doing, surrendering to the unfolding of Being. Ultimately, Islam is a constellation of sacred gateways, like Ramadan, whereby access to a realm that transcends the material is accessible. There is no rigid path or singular way -- only movement. Where time and space collapse, distance becomes an illusion. In the still point between moments—where past and future are shifting coordinates, we can dissolve into our essence. The Creator is not elsewhere, as the Creator is the very fabric of existence, the singularity from which all emerges, the unseen force binding all that is. It is only the inertia of our own form, the density of matter, that skews our perception of nearness. But in surrender, in the release of resistance, we are pulled into alignment, ultimately, naturally, gravitating towards Light.