There are days when nothing spectacular is committed.
No visible great fault.
No fall that makes noise.
No mistake that could be told in a sentence.
And yet, in the evening, the heart returns heavy.
We have looked too much.
Talked too much.
Eaten too much.
Socialized too much.
Not necessarily in obvious forbidden things. Sometimes only in excess. In that surplus which seems light at first, but eventually takes up space inside.
In a translated document about a beneficial rule reported from Ibn Al-Qayyim, may Allah have mercy on him, it is mentioned that among the causes that allow the servant to protect himself from the evil of the devil, there is the fact of not exceeding what is necessary in four areas: the gaze, speech, food, and company.
This reminder is simple. But it is profound.
Because it does not only speak of the great visible sins. It speaks of gates. Of those discreet entrances through which the heart lets itself be reached.
The gaze: what we let in
The gaze seems quick.
A moment.
An image.
A scene.
A screen we scroll through without thinking.
But the gaze does not always stop at the eyes. It goes down. It settles. It works on the heart silently.
The document reminds that excess gazing can become the basis of many trials. By looking at something repeatedly, the soul gets used to it. What seemed distant becomes close. What seemed serious becomes ordinary. What seemed dangerous begins to seem acceptable.
Perhaps this is the finest danger of the gaze: it does not always force the door. It simply makes the door lighter.
Sometimes we think we look without consequence. But some images do not leave on their own. They remain. They come back at prayer time, in silence, in solitude, in imagination.
The gaze feeds something.
And everything we feed eventually asks for more.
Speech: what we let out
The tongue is lighter than the hand, but its traces can be longer.
A word spoken too quickly.
An unnecessary remark.
A misplaced confidence.
A mockery disguised as humor.
A discussion that starts harmlessly and ends up staining the heart.
In the translated reminder, excess speech is presented as a gate through which evil can enter. Holding back from speaking more than necessary closes doors that we sometimes would not even have seen open.
It is a strange thing: we often watch what we do, less what we say.
Yet many regrets begin with a sentence.
A sentence we should not have said.
A word we should have kept.
A silence that would have been nobler.
The ancients warned against excess speech as they warned against excess gaze. Not because all speech is bad, but because an unguided tongue rarely ends up in the right place.
Speaking little is not necessarily being cold.
Sometimes it is letting the heart have time to remain pure.
Food: what we let dominate
Excess food does not only affect the body.
It can weigh down the soul.
The document reminds that eating beyond need can push the body towards disobedience and weigh it down against obedience. It is a phrase better understood when experienced.
After certain meals, everything becomes heavy.
The body.
Concentration.
Prayer.
Willpower.
We are not talking here about unjust deprivation, nor about despising Allah's blessings. We speak of that subtle boundary between thanking for sustenance and letting oneself be ruled by it.
There is food that strengthens.
And there is food that dulls.
There is satiety that soothes.
And there is satiety that extinguishes.
The man who wants to advance towards Allah must sometimes look at his plate as he looks at his schedule: with honesty.
Does this help me?
Or does this weigh me down?
Company: what we let shape us
Not all company is equal.
Some awaken.
Some heal.
Some distract.
Some destroy.
In the document, excessive company is described as a disease from which many ills can come. The reminder explains that the servant must associate with people according to his need, with discernment, without mixing categories.
There are people whose presence is nourishment.
They remind of Allah.
They soothe.
They advise.
They do not take up all the space, but they put everything in its place.
There are people whose presence resembles medicine.
They are consulted when needed. Their company meets a specific need. It is useful, but not necessarily meant to fill the whole life.
Then there are acquaintances that tire the soul.
We leave their company more scattered, harder, more vain, more attached to the dunya, or further from what we wanted to become.
And sometimes, the problem is not that these people are many.
The problem is that they have entered too deeply.
May Allah grant us useful knowledge, a living heart, and the strength to close the doors that distance us from Him.