Unveiling the Light: Consciousness and the Divine

"In the time of identity, we are summoned to choose between allegiance to our own people and openness to the universality of the human condition." ~Amin Maalouf

Identity is a structure (constructed, inherited, performed). And yet, the yearning for belonging exists alongside the yearning for self-actualisation, each shaping the contours of the other. The Muslim ummah, once a fluid and expansive reality, has now become a bastion - an entity that must be defended, an identity that must be preserved. But what is being preserved? The essence of ummah, or the rigid construct that has replaced it? Talal Asad, in Consciousness, reminds us that no structure is immune to history; each transformation is embedded in context, shaped by power, fear, and survival. What does it mean, then, to come together as a Muslim? Is it a return, a preservation, or an act of resistance? And if we are resisting, against what? The external forces that seek to reshape us, or the internal fractures that have already reshaped us from within?

The Quran states: "And We have created you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another. Indeed, the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you." (Quran 49:13). Here, diversity is not a flaw to be corrected, nor a weakness to be feared; it is the very mechanism through which divine recognition occurs. To "know one another" is not merely to coexist but to witness, to see the divine across multiplicity. The ummah, then, was never meant to be a singular expression but a plurality that echoes back to the One. The Bible, too, articulates this concept: "For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." (Romans 12:4-5, The Holy Bible, New International Version). Belonging is not about sameness but about coherence; a wholeness composed of differentiation. And yet, wholeness is a fragile concept. The more it is defined, the more it is fractured.

If consciousness is shaped by the structures around it, what does it mean to move beyond structure? The Bhagavad Gita states: "I am the same to all beings. To Me none is hateful, none dear. But those who worship Me with devotion, they are in Me, and I in them." (Bhagavad Gita 9:29). The divine does not categorise, does not exclude. It is human nature that imposes limits. And yet, within these limits, within the structures we inherit and the boundaries we enforce, there is an internal yearning. If every journey is different, how do we reconcile oneness with fragmentation? If all roads lead to the same light, does it matter which path is taken?

My first umrah experience "should" have been a moment of transcendence, of divine witnessing. Instead, it was ruptured. A man, caught in his own despair, chose to leap from the first floor, ending his life in the very space where others sought salvation. What does it mean to witness such an act? To be in the holiest of places yet be confronted with the stark reality of human suffering? Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah (I bear witness that there is no god but God). But to witness is not merely to see; it is to absorb, to be implicated, to be altered. In that moment, the notion of divine proximity felt suspended. Was umrah meant to be a reaffirmation, or was it, in its rupture, an unveiling of my own distance? If witnessing is the dissolution of illusion, then what was I being shown? The separation was never between myself and the divine, but between myself and my own perception of what the divine encounter should be.

Asad speaks of how consciousness is always mediated, always shaped by forces beyond our immediate grasp. But beyond the structural, there is the essence - the divine light that pre-exists form. The Quran states: "Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The example of His light is like a niche within which is a lamp... Light upon light." (Quran 24:35). If the divine is light, then to witness God is not an external act but an internal unveiling. The mystics speak of the soul as a mirror, reflecting the divine. But what happens when the mirror is covered? When the self is obscured by ego, fear, and doubt? The reflection distorts, the light dims, and the illusion of separation emerges. It is not the presence of God that fluctuates, but the ability to perceive the divine.

It is in this unveiling that dhikr (remembrance) takes its meaning. Not as a summoning of the distant but as a clearing of the obstructed. In Al-Wadud (the Most Loving), divine love permeates all things, but love, too, must be witnessed. And witnessing requires surrender. To love as God loves is not merely to feel warmth but to dissolve into its totality. Yet, dissolution is rarely comfortable. The self resists; insecurities rise, the mind interferes. But love, in its highest form, does not bend to comfort. It expands, it overtakes, it forces the self beyond its edges. If love is the force that moves all things, then to surrender is to move with it, not against it.

To love oneself, then, is not an indulgence but an act of divine alignment. If God is An-Nur (the Source of all Light), then the spark within each soul is not separate from the divine but a reflection. Al-Fattah (the Opener) removes barriers and unveils clarity; Al-Ghani (the Self-Sufficient) thus signifies an abundance that is never depleted, a radiance that does not wane. The self, when aligned with divine attributes, becomes a vessel through which love and light flow. But to love as God loves is to witness without judgement, to give without expectation, to surrender without condition.

Love is not passive. It is not a fleeting sensation, nor is it bound by human limitation. Love, in its highest form, is the dissolution of illusion. It is the recognition that separation never existed, that the journey toward God is not a movement across distance but a removal of veils. To accept divine love fully is to become a vessel for it, to reflect it outward. And in doing so, the self does not dissolve into nothingness; it becomes, at last, what it was always meant to be: a witness to the infinite.

In the end, the light and love we seek is not a distant star, but an eternal flame that resides within us, veiled only by the illusions we have created. Our experiences, both painful and joyful, are the crucibles in which we are purified. The trauma I witnessed during umrah - an overwhelming moment of loss and despair - was not a break in the divine flow, but a catalyst for a deeper understanding. The very event that fractured my perception became the moment that reoriented me to the truth: that God’s light is present in everything, even in the darkest corners of our suffering.

The act of remembrance, dhikr, is not merely a prayer or an utterance, but a call to dissolve the veils of our own making. Allah’s light, mercy, love: these are not concepts to be grasped, but realities to be embodied. To love is to embody God’s love, not as an abstract force but as a lived reality—one that demands surrender, reflection, and action. The many paths we take are not contradictions but reflections of a singular truth, seen from different vantage points. Perhaps the ultimate surrender is not in seeking to unify them, but in recognising that every moment of remembrance, every act of devotion, and every unveiling of the self is already an arrival.

So let us not fear the journey, nor the veils that obscure our path. For in every step, every decision, and every moment of surrender, we are drawing closer - not to a distant light, but to the radiance that has always existed within.

Primary Sources

• Asad, Talal. Consciousness and the Question of History. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993.
• Maalouf, Amin. In the Name of Identity: Violence and the Need to Belong. Translated by Barbara Bray. New York: Arcade Publishing, 2001.
• The Holy Bible. New International Version. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2011.
• The Holy Quran. Translated by Saheeh International. Jeddah: Dar-us-Salam, 1997.
• Vyasa, Krishna-Dwaipayana. The Bhagavad Gita. Translated by Eknath Easwaran. Tomales, CA: Nilgiri Press, 2007.

Islamic Theological References

• Al-Ghazali. The Ninety-Nine Beautiful Names of God. Translated by David Burrell and Nazih Daher. Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1992.
• Al-Tirmidhi. Shama'il Muhammadiyah [The Sublime Qualities of the Prophet]. Cairo: Dar Al-Hadith, 1999.