How I Approach Ramadan This Year

The moon has been sighted. The rhythm of life shifts. Tomorrow, I will wake before dawn, take a sip of water, and surrender to the fast. But this time, I want it to be different. Not just an act of abstinence but a passage into something deeper. In the past, I have fasted, but have I truly fasted? Have I only deprived my body while my mind remained restless? This Ramadan, I want to step beyond the surface, beyond the ordinary fasting of hunger and thirst, into a fast of the soul.

Imam Al-Ghazali, in Ihya Ulumuddin, describes fasting in three degrees. The first, Ṣawm al-ʿUmūm, is the common fast—refraining from food, drink, and physical desires. The second, Ṣawm al-Khusūs, is deeper, requiring discipline of the senses: guarding the tongue from idle speech, lowering the gaze from distractions, and shielding the heart from negativity. Then there is the highest level, Ṣawm Khusūs al-Khusūs—the fasting of the soul. At this level, the heart detaches from worldly concerns and is absorbed in divine remembrance. This is not just self-restraint but self-purification, not just withholding but transforming. This year, I want to strive toward that highest form.

Fasting as a Gateway to Inner Silence

To fast only with the body is Ṣawm al-ʿUmūm, but to fast with the mind is Ṣawm al-Khusūs. Hunger may quiet the indulgence of the body, but it does not silence the chatter of the mind. This Ramadan, I want to fast from more than just food—I want to fast from distractions, from unnecessary worries, from the compulsion to react. True Ṣawm Khusūs al-Khusūs means stepping into inner silence, allowing the mind to settle, and listening to the whispers of intuition. When the body is empty, the soul speaks—if only I am still enough to listen.

The Sacred Act of Breaking the Fast

How often have I broken my fast thoughtlessly, rushing to fill my stomach without first filling my heart? Ṣawm al-Khusūs demands more than just physical restraint; it requires mindfulness. This year, I want to experience Iftar as a sacred moment. To feel the first sip of water like a blessing, the first bite of food as a return to life. I want to pause before eating, to truly taste, to be fully present. The body hungers, but does the soul thirst as well? If Ṣawm Khusūs al-Khusūs is about detaching from the world, then Iftar is a moment of reconnection—but with gratitude, not indulgence.

Aligning with the Rhythm of the Cosmos

Fasting is not just about discipline; it is about realignment. The body adjusts to the sun’s rising and setting, syncing with a rhythm older than time itself. But Ṣawm al-Khusūs requires more than obedience to time—it asks for surrender to the greater flow of existence. How does hunger change my state of mind? Does it teach me patience, sharpen my awareness, refine my presence? Does the stillness of the night invite deeper reflection? Perhaps Ṣawm Khusūs al-Khusūs is not about emptiness at all, but about harmony—about fasting not just from food, but from everything that pulls me away from my natural state of being.

From Self-Restraint to Self-Realization

The deepest form of fasting is not about food—it is about letting go of the self. Ṣawm al-ʿUmūm starves the body, Ṣawm al-Khusūs refines the character, but Ṣawm Khusūs al-Khusūs dissolves the ego. What if I viewed Ramadan not as a challenge, but as a transformation? Not as deprivation, but purification? Every impulse I resist, every emotion I master, every reaction I tame—it is all part of the journey toward something higher.

This Ramadan, I do not just want to fast. I want to fast—with my body, my senses, my heart. To let the hunger cleanse me, the silence refine me, and the stillness reveal what lies beneath. Perhaps, in letting go of myself, I will find something greater. Perhaps, in the emptiness, I will be filled.