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I was experiencing what Calvinists would call irresistible grace, and I was freaking out on all levels. I drank half a pint of brandy the first night; the second night; the third night I settled for beer because I couldn't afford more brandy. I consulted with people whose opinion I respect to see whether I was crazy. None of them delivered the good news that I had indeed lost my sanity and that this was all a Very Strange Delusion. Before a week was out, having made ritual ablution, I was marching myself to the local mosque. I was in a daze, not believing what I had set out to do; and after making the shahada I returned home in the same daze.
The news went over with my family like a lead zeppelin.
The day I converted I already knew what legal school I would follow and why, the rules of prayer and purification proper to that school, all the words to salat in Arabic, and Surat al-Fatihah along with Surat al-Ikhlas (I've always had a knack for languages). I say this only because it illustrates what a tightly-wound bastard I am by nature.
The next step was to decide on a tariqa, what we in the West often call a Sufi “order;” for in reality it was tasawwuf--Sufism--to which I had converted. The observance of Shariah, while indispensable, is after all the vehicle within which Sufism operates.
I applied myself to that task with my usual combination of focus and hazard; it was difficult and sometimes painful work, and the amount of material I had to comb through is more vast than outsiders could possibly imagine. I finally decided on the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order, and made my bayah (pledge) in August of that year. This brings me effectively to the present day: still seeking Truth assiduously wherever I can find it, albeit in a much more well-provisioned vehicle.
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