One of the principles of the Nimatullahi Order is contemplation: the practice of reflecting deeply on ourselves and the world we inhabit. Through contemplation, we become more attentive to our inner lives, more receptive to others, and more conscious of how we spend the brief time given to us.
Contemplation differs from the rational examination of arguments. Its concern is our lived experience: what moves us, what troubles us, and what our responses reveal about ourselves. We attend to anger and jealousy, love and generosity, greed and desire. We consider why we feel drawn to one person and turn away from another. What lies behind these movements of the heart? What can we learn by observing them honestly?
Such reflection requires a willingness to see ourselves without immediately defending or condemning what we find. When anger arises, we may ask what has been wounded within us. When jealousy takes hold, we may consider what we fear losing or feel we lack. Even our love deserves contemplation, so that we may recognise how much of it is given freely and how much depends upon being loved in return.
As this awareness deepens, we begin to recognise familiar feelings before they overwhelm us. We may still experience anger, jealousy, or resentment, but we become less readily consumed by them. Gradually, this understanding can change the way we respond.
Contemplation also draws our attention to the changing world around us. Everything we encounter is subject to change, including our own bodies, our relationships, and the circumstances we imagine to be secure. We are temporary inhabitants of a world in which nothing remains as we first knew it. To reflect on this impermanence is to recognise how fragile our certainties are, and how precious the people and moments we so often take for granted.
We should bring the same reflective attention to our religious beliefs and ideologies. Every tradition offers a perspective through which existence is understood, yet our grasp of truth remains limited. Remembering this can help us hold our convictions with humility and listen more openly to those whose beliefs differ from our own.
Attachment to a doctrine can become so strong that we lose the capacity to question our understanding of it. Contemplation asks us to remain alert to this possibility within ourselves. When we encounter dogmatism in others, an awareness of our own limitations may help us respond with compassion rather than anger. We can disagree firmly while still recognising the humanity of the person before us.
There is also contemplation of the cosmos: the immensity of a universe containing billions of galaxies, each with its multitude of stars. Against this vastness, our lives occupy scarcely a moment. Much of what absorbs us—our grievances, conflicts, and longing for recognition—begins to assume a different proportion.
This awareness can loosen our preoccupation with ourselves. We begin to question whether the things to which we devote so much energy deserve the importance we give them.
Contemplating our mortality brings that question closer still. Our time is limited, and we do not know how much remains. To remember death is to become more attentive to life: to the affection we leave unexpressed, the kindness we postpone, and the opportunities to serve that pass unnoticed.
For the Sufi, contemplation finds its fulfilment in the way we live. A clearer understanding of ourselves should make us more considerate towards others. An awareness of our limitations should deepen our humility. The knowledge that our lives will end should awaken our gratitude for the time we have.
And the best use of that time is to love and serve others.
