In the dead of the night, when creatures become silent and the noise of the world subsides, man advances toward his truth, not because anything has changed outside of him, but because the daily veil has been removed from within him.
In the dead of the night, when creatures become silent and the noise of the world subsides, man advances toward his truth, not because anything has changed outside of him, but because the daily veil has been removed from within him.
During the day, obligations confuse you, voices dispute with you, and faces attack you until you lose the ability to hear your first pulse.
But in the stillness of the night, when there is no audience or witnesses, a person is extracted from the depths of his soul, his motives are exposed, his fragility is revealed, and he returns to what he was created for: contemplating the meaning of his existence and his position in relation to his Lord.
There is nothing greater than a moment in which the servant stands in the middle of the night, having extracted himself from his bed, and stands before his Lord, reading His words. There, the Qur’an is not a voice on the tongue, but rather a code for reforming the genes of the heart, a precise dismantling of its perceptions, and a restructuring of the scales of life in it.
Then the dawn does not rise unless the person emerges from his night with new insight, a soul washed with monotheism, and a more steadfast heart in the face of the maze of the day. Night, in the history of the human believer, is not a biological time for sleep, but rather it has always been a time of selection and serenity. And here is Abu Hayyan al-Tawhidi whispering: “The night is more truthful about the secrets of man than the day.” And be honest, the night does not lie, does not flatter, and is not good at acting.