Why my teacher said 'the past is dead' with such glee
Ophelia by John Everett Millais
In those classic zombie movies from the 90s, there's always someone who can't let go. A grieving spouse or parent discovers they can bring their loved one back from the dead, and despite every warning, they do it. The reunion brings momentary comfort—until they realize everything has changed. Their beloved doesn't eat or drink, can't be seen by others, and must be hidden away. The person who returns is fundamentally different, a shadow of who they once were. What seems like love is actually an inability to grieve properly, to accept loss and move forward. If you’ll believe it, these zombie movies were based on old folk tales, passed down through generations, carrying an ancient wisdom about the necessity of letting go and the torment of living in the past.
An Arabic tradition I received from Shaykh Hamza in response to my regrets of time wasted during my studies, puts the matter so: "That which has passed is dead." He said it with such glee that I was caught off guard. All at once it was comfort and counsel. Find true joy in what you’ve accomplished and where Allah has placed you and don’t allow regrets to rend you asunder. Therein is spiritual wisdom about the danger of trying to resurrect what Allah has decreed should remain in the past. When we obsessively replay former moments, attempting to change them through rumination or desperately trying to recapture past glories, we create our own version of those zombie movies. We get the quick comfort of mental time travel, but we're no longer fully present for the life Allah has given us.
Abu Sa'id al-Khazzaz, a spiritual teacher who lived two centuries after the Prophet Muhammad, understood this dynamic well: "Ruminating on a past moment is to lose a second moment." If we're internally living in yesterday—whether in regret, nostalgia, or unfinished business—we miss the opportunities, lessons, and divine guidance available to us right now. Presence with Allah becomes nearly impossible when our focus is on the far flung corners of our past. It is difficult to discern what Allah is teaching us through our current circumstances when our gaze is distant.
Sahl al-Tustari, the great scholar of Qur'an and spiritual guide, was once asked by a student, "When will the human being finally be still?" His response cuts to the heart of the matter: "He will never be still until he knows that the only time he has is the moment he is in." This stillness—this spiritual stability—is a prerequisite for every other form of spiritual development. We cannot cultivate contentment with Allah's decree if we're fighting yesterday's battles in our minds. We cannot approach Allah with confident supplication if we're scattered across past regrets and future anxieties.
Cultivating such a heart requires what we might call habits of the heart—repeated practices that gradually reshape our inner landscape. The foundation of these habits is contentment with Allah's decree, but contentment cannot take root in a heart that remains tethered to the past. We must first learn to embrace the present moment, then actively cultivate trust through confident supplication. These three practices work together: presence clears the ground, contentment provides the foundation, and du'a strengthens the structure of a sound heart.
This disconnection from the present moment is not merely a psychological problem—it's a spiritual one that creates anxiety, sorrow, and a sense of powerlessness. The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, gave us a supplication that directly addresses the mental states that result from being untethered from the present: "O Allah, I take refuge in You from anxiety and sorrow, incapacity and lethargy, stinginess and cowardice, the burden of debts and from being overpowered by men."
Notice how this du'a links anxiety and sorrow—the rotten fruits of ruminating on what's gone or fearing what's to come—with other spiritual ailments like feeling incapable or cowardly. When we're not fully present, we cannot address our current needs properly or plan wisely for the future. We become spiritually and strategically paralyzed. I think of Hajar, may God bless her, who turned her attention away from Prophet Ibrahim, may Allah grant him peace, when she knew he had to leave her. She grieved his absence, but was not stunted by it. Hajar attended to what Allah put before her: her baby would soon be hungry in a desert expanse. She was present, so she could act.
You may have heard it said, that you can’t change what you don’t accept. It’s one of the great ironies of life. Change of circumstances is at Allah’s discretion; however, Allah has encouraged us with du’a that alters destinies.