CONTENT WARNINGS
Possible triggers in HardtoLetGofor violence due to bullying.
Possible triggers in HardtoHoldfor references to off-page sexual abuse of a minor.
Hard To Let Go
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue Hard To Get
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
CONTENTS
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Hard To Hold
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Author’s Note About the Author Also by Jaclyn Quinn
HARD TO LET GO
CHAPTER ONE
“Son of a bitch! Stupid, fucking box!” Owen hopped on one foot, grabbing his throbbing toe and cursing the box of pots and pans sitting on the hallway floor that he’d just walked into. Limping, mumbling a stream of curses under his breath, he made his way to their makeshift kitchenette in the living room. The damn thing consisted of only a microwave, coffee maker, and paper products on a card table in the corner of the room, with a mini fridge underneath―and it was all they’d been using as a kitchen for the past three fucking months. Why had he ever agreed to this renovation?
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Jonah came out of their bedroom and stumbled down the stairs, his voice groggy and barely heard in his half-asleep state.
Owen squeezed the back of his neck and took a deep breath, swallowing his anger as best he could.
“I can’t live like this anymore, that’s what’s fucking wrong.” So muchforswallowingthatanger. Those words ran deeper than either of them wanted to admit at this early hour. Most of the town wasn’t even awake yet, and here Owen was, already showered and ready for the day. It was only four in the morning, and looking at Jonah, Owen started to feel guilty for waking him with his temper tantrum. “Sorry, I walked into that fucking box,” he said, waving his arm at the thing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He sighed, closing his eyes as he took another deep breath.
Owen looked up at Jonah across the room with his blond, short hair a mess, boxer briefs and tank top clinging to his muscular body, those blue eyes―and wondered what the fuck had happened to them. They were living as roommates, not lovers. He wished like hell he still felt something stronger than that.
Jonah had been in Owen’s life for over three years and had changed him for the better, helping him through some pretty deep shit. They were both living in New York when they’d met. Owen had gone to a party an old friend from college was throwing—instead of ditching at the last minute like he usually did—when he inadvertently met the man that would work him out of his standoffish attitude. Well, for the most part anyway. It didn’t take long for their friendship to turn into something more. Jonah was determined to break through Owen’s wall of protection that no one else bothered to try and demolish. And he’d done something no one else had managed— help Owen trust someone, wholeheartedly. He was one of the most important people to Owen, but the passion had taken an indefinite leave of absence. Somewhere along the way, they’d just gotten comfortable with each other, which of course you needed in any good relationship.
It wasn’t supposed to be allthere was.
Fuck, Owen could remember a time when one look from Jonah had his cock so hard, pants were a daily inconvenience. Now, neither one of them even bothered to make it interesting. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Jonah, because he did. In love though? If he was being honest, he hadn’t been for a long time, and no doubt Jonah wasn’t in love with him anymore either. Yet, they stayed. They stayed because it was comfortable. They stayed because it was safe. They stayed out of gratitude.
But it was too damn early to try and figure all that shit out, so Owen brought his thoughts back to the immediate problem. “Jonah, will you please just admit this is too much for us to take on? I need my fucking kitchen back and every other goddamn corner of this house that’s been taken over with boxes. I don’t know how you convinced me this was something you could handle while working and taking classes.” Owen picked up the gallon of water and poured
some into the coffee machine. He couldn’t stomach the idea of filling the coffee pot in the bathroom sink.
Jonah scrubbed a hand over his face then through his short blond hair. Again, that guilt slammed into Owen, reminding him that this was not an argument to have at four in the morning. He knew once he calmed down though, he’d let it go just like he always did.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m in over my head.” Jonah yawned, his shoulders rounded as he leaned against the back of the couch, clearly fighting the urge to go back to bed. “I really thought I could do it and save us some money, but I’ve just been so burned-out with work and class.”
Owen saw the exhaustion in Jonah’s eyes so often lately. The guy was too hard on himself. He never took a damn break, and he sure as hell never put himself first.
Owen crossed the room and leaned on the couch next to Jonah. Softly, he said, “I know you wanted to do it. I appreciate it, but it’s too much.” When the silence between them stretched, Owen sighed, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Turning his gaze back to Jonah, he said, “Your day doesn’t start for four more hours. You shouldn’t be up this early. Go back to bed, and when I get home later, we can talk about hiring someone. I think we need to at this point.” He nudged Jonah’s arm and smirked. “You’re not superhuman, Jonah. You’re just a mere mortal like the rest of us.” Owen winked, trying to lighten the mood.
Jonah nudged back against Owen with a mischievous grin planted on that dimpled face. “How do you know it’s not all part of my plan? I don’t want to show you up too much.”
“How considerate of you.” Owen shook his head and laughed. Slapping a hand on Jonah’s thigh, he stood back up. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” Owen filled his travel coffee mug, stopped by the door and slipped his sneakers on, and grabbed his keys off the hook on the wall.
“See ya,” Jonah said through a yawn, already making his way back up the stairs to their bed.
There was no kiss goodbye; no I love you before Owen left. Those things people take for granted all the time—like Owen once
had—had disappeared from any hello or goodbye. Besides sharing a bed, living with Jonah really was like having a roommate. Owen didn’t want to fall down that sad rabbit hole right now or dwell on the fact that he had once felt whole and now something was missing. He never thought they would come to this point, never imagined there wouldn’t always be heat between them. Words didn’t need to be said to see the same emptiness in Jonah. Owen had no idea how to walk away though. How do you leave someone who has changed your life for the better? How do you leave someone who is so deeply a part of your life in every way?
Except Jonah wasn’t anymore.
Owen headed out the door and breathed in the damp, early morning spring air. As he drove through town, he felt relieved about the idea of hiring someone to finish the kitchen. Maybe they could even get the second bathroom updated and the deck built in the back. Who knew how much fucking money that would be? However, his bakery was doing well, and he had that small cushion in the bank that his great-aunt left him in her will along with the house. It might be worth it to just get it all done and not have to think about it anymore.
Owen loved this town early in the morning, so calm and quiet with no one on the streets. Haven’s Cove was like some small town pulled out of a TV show. When he was younger, it felt like a prison. Like he was under some kind of magnifying glass and certain people in the town had no problem aiming that thing at the sun and burning him every chance they got. But, somewhere along the way, he started to miss Haven’s Cove, miss his family.
Though the drive was short, it was the best time for him to think about his life with some kind of clarity. God knows, he had a lot of shit to think about lately. Besides the massive project he was about to hire someone for at home, he was also training his cousin to be a new employee at the bakery. Thatshouldbeinteresting. He was living with a man he was no longer in love with, making his relationship a platonic joke. No, that wasn’t fair. Jonah was his best friend, regardless of their romantic situation, and he always would be. He owed Jonah more than he could possibly repay.
But holy shit did Owen need to get laid.
It had been months. In fact, the last time was about five months ago, and something had been so off between them that they hadn’t had sex since. That definitely was not a fucking normal relationship. There was no way in hell he would ever cheat on Jonah, even with his starving libido. So there he was, a thirty-three year old man, horny as a fucking teenager, who rekindled a romance with his right hand―but man that old flame never let him down.
The sound of tires screeching snapped Owen back to reality, and he slammed on his brakes on reflex. Owen braced himself for the impact that never came then pried his eyes open. Heart pounding, hands shaking, he looked up to see a red truck stopped in front of him on Main Street. Shit, that was a close fucking call. His bright headlights reflected off of the shiny red finish of the truck, blinding him.
Owen jumped out of his car, realizing instantly he’d been in the wrong. He totally blew the stop sign when he got to Main, so used to being the only one on the road at such an early hour.
“Shit! Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” Rushing around his open door to the front side of his car, he watched the other man get out of his truck, the hood of Owen’s car between them. A little further to the right and the guy’s door would’ve been completely blocked by the front of Owen’s Civic. Owen ran around the back of his car to the passenger side, needing to make sure the other driver was okay.
He saw the beat up work boots first, followed by blue jeans that showcased thick, muscular thighs underneath. The guy wore a plaid flannel over a T-shirt stretched across his broad, muscular chest. What guy wasn’t hot in plaid? The deep voice of the guy vibrated through Owen, telling him that he was fine.
Owen’s eyes landed on the man’s face. It was scruffier, less groomed—the clean-cut baby face from fifteen years ago a mere hint. Still, recognition knocked the wind out of Owen.
“Fuck,” Owen growled, both in shock and with a boiling anger he hadn’t felt in years. He flexed his fingers, squeezing them into fists.
“Dicky―”
“Don’t fucking call me that. That’s not my fucking name. Never was.” Blood rushed in Owen’s ears as a fierce rage surged through him. Damn, he wished his brakes had given out and he’d hit the fucker. All the shit that had been weighing on Owen that morning didn’t compare to the rock suddenly sitting on his goddamn chest.
“Owen, I―”
“Save it.” Fuck. If this was the way his day was going to go, he should’ve stayed in bed.
Walking back around his car, Owen got in and slammed his door. He threw the car in reverse, moving far enough back to get around the truck. Kicking it into drive, he avoided looking at the massive roadblock as he swerved around it. Owen took a few deep breaths, trying not to think about shit that went down so long ago—or the fact that he was gripping the steering wheel to settle his shaking hands. Most of them had gone to college and never came back or moved to neighboring towns. It was like he conjured that asshole up. Hell, how many times had that jackass held the fucking magnifying glass while Owen burned?
Doesn’t fucking matter. A lot had changed in the last fifteen years. He wasn’t that gangly, quiet, ashamed-to-be-gay teen anymore, shoved into lockers and harassed on a daily basis. No way in hell his life was going to be affected just because one of the assholes was back. Owen could fucking take care of himself now. Nothing scared him anymore.
And he sure as hell could take on Brody Walker.
Thatwentwell. “Fuck!” Brody yelled, kicking the front tire of his truck. That wasn’t exactly how he wanted to make an entrance back into the town he hadn’t seen in thirteen years. Brody slammed his fist down on the hood and started pacing, squeezing his hips tightly.
Brody had a bad feeling about coming back here, but he’d had no choice. Life led you in weird directions―sometimes completely
fucked-up directions―but he had learned the hard way not to mess with what was meant to be. Coming back here had not been an easy decision for him to make. But it was the right one.
Still, Brody would’ve liked a day or two to adjust to being back before he had to face the scared-shitless bastard he used to be.
The look in Owen’s eyes.... Man, if pure hatred had a face, Brody just saw it. And who could fucking blame him? “You called him Dicky. Brody, you are such an idiot!” And now…he was yelling at himself in the middle of the street. All he needed was for some early morning busybody to see, completing his grand arrival back into Haven’s Cove.
Dicky. The name just came out. A stupid play on the nickname for Richard, cleverly thought up in the brilliant minds of immature teenagers. It was like time-warped diarrhea of the mouth. His name was Owen Richards; Brody knew it, and still, that fucked-up name they’d given Owen long ago spewed out of his mouth.
Brody slammed his hand on the truck again before finally getting back in it. Settling into his seat, he dropped his chin to his chest and took a deep breath. He had to focus on what he came here for. Slowly, he began to drive. He didn’t want to remember how to get there so clearly, but his hands turned the wheel automatically, his foot pressed on the gas as he headed in the direction of his mom’s home. He couldn’t even say it was his home. It hadn’t been since he’d left all those years ago. It was too early to stop there now, but he couldn’t head to the hotel without at least driving by the house first.
Brody tried clearing his mind, because he was going to need his sanity intact if he was going to make it through however long he needed to be here. He couldn’t even wish for this to be over quickly, because getting back to his life in Boston meant someone else’s life had ended—someone who used to mean the world to him. He’d already dealt with enough guilt and pain in his past; there was no fucking way he wanted anything else weighing on his conscience.
Thirteen years. Thirteen longyears—fifteen, if you counted when he first left for college—and this town still looked exactly the same. Same old green, wooden Haven’s Cove sign as he drove in. Most of
the stores hadn’t changed; Max’s still sat on the corner—and he’d bet money the food still tasted the same.
Owen Richards, however, had changed tremendously. Brody didn’t recognize him at first and still couldn’t blend the angry man he just saw with that lanky kid from high school. His hair was a darker brown than it used to be, though he still wore it short. Man, the guy must have put on at least twenty pounds of muscle.
But then, Brody had changed too. Brody could hear that punk kid he used to be howling in the wind about what a fucking cocksucker he’d become.
And damned if he couldn’t disagree. Ain’t that some hypocritical shit,Brody?
He’d come to terms with many things in his life. Some of them were like ripping a Band-Aid off, and some were like ripping off a fucking limb. He laughed to himself humorlessly. He wasn’t proud of the things he used to do or say, or of the person he was when he lived in this town all those years ago. He wasn’t proud of the people he used to call friends, either. Separating himself from all that and going to college in Boston was the best decision he’d ever made, even if he’d never gotten his degree. Didn’t stop him from making a few more huge mistakes, but those also made him the man he was today. He wouldn’t apologize for that; he was done apologizing for decisions he’d made in his life.
Well, almost.
Brody needed to make one more apology. One long overdue, heartfelt apology to someone that he’d hurt a long time ago—and just witnessed how much. Brody had been a scared teenager with no fucking backbone, doing everything he could to hide who he really was. At the time, he didn’t care who got hurt along the way as long as no one—namely his dad—found out the truth about him.
That wasn’t who he was anymore. Brody had faced his demons head on and won. Not without a few bumps and bruises along the way, but here he was. That meant that he could and would try to make things right with Owen. It also meant that he would be honest with anyone here about the man he’d become. No more hiding.
CHAPTER TWO
Afew hours later, Brody sat in his truck, staring at the house that held all of his childhood memories. Good or bad, they all happened here. He knew he must have some happy memories hidden in that thick head of his somewhere, but it was the shitty ones ricocheting off every wall of his mind like a ball in a pinball machine. Too bad life wasn’t really like that game―that no matter how much you fucked up, you still always had the opportunity to start over with a clean slate. Of course, you always had to pay to start over again, but what victory comes without sacrifice?
He had made sacrifices though, hadn’t he? First, he sacrificed his dignity, then his heart, his family, and finally, his college dreams. Maybe he was getting a chance to start over, and he was just being too chickenshit to see it? One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to start over with anything until he got his ass out of the fucking truck. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened the door, and got out. He didn’t plan on staying long. He’d been told by his aunt that she had round-the-clock care. He was just here to be the emotional support she needed in her last days. He’d already checked into the hotel and left his things there. Even though he was there to be with his mother for however long she had left, he wasn’t going to stay with her. He couldn’t block out the bad memories that place held. Eventually, he would find a place to rent, but until then, the hotel was good enough.
The old wooden stairs leading up to the front porch creaked under his feet. The house was a worn version of the home Brody had in his memory. The once white exterior now looked grey and obviously hadn’t been painted in years. But then, his aunt said his dad left right after his mom was first diagnosed. Why doesn’t that surpriseme?There was a darkness over this house that matched the emotions soaked in those walls. Brody immediately stopped that train of thought, refusing to let it lead to memories of his dad that weren’t worth remembering. If he could wipe them out completely, he would.
Brody knocked on the door, hesitant to just walk in for fear of what he might find, but also because it hadn’t been his home in over a decade. The door was opened by a middle aged woman, obviously the hospice nurse given the scrubs she wore.
“May I help you?” The woman had a warm, kind face as she smiled at Brody.
“Hi, ma’am. I’m Brody Walker, Kathy’s son.” Brody was fidgeting, getting more and more nervous the longer he stood in front of the door.
“Brody?” a female voice called out in surprise before the door was pulled completely open. His aunt Nora smiled wide, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and wrapped her arms around him. Brody awkwardly hugged her back before quickly releasing her small frame. She lived in Maryland and rarely came to visit when he was younger. They were practically strangers, as far as he was concerned. Still, he could see her eyes and mouth matched that of his mother.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the nurse said as she stepped aside. “I’ve only seen pictures of you from when you were younger.”
As he entered the house for the first time in years, he was overwhelmed with emotions. It really hadn’t changed―the same antique furniture, the same warm colors―but the air was thick. Thick with the dread of life deteriorating. It was sensory overload, and he almost forgot his aunt and the nurse were standing in front of him.
Brody realized he still hadn’t responded to either one of them. “I know you weren’t expecting me today. There was really no reason for me to stay in Boston any longer since I can work from anywhere.” His heart was pounding with his admission. He knew his aunt would be wondering what took him so long to get there. Suddenly, he felt a wave of guilt and fear wash over him. What if his mom didn’t want him there?
When he’d first gotten the call about his mother three months ago, he’d told his aunt it would be awhile before he could get away from work. At the time, it hadn’t been a lie. He’d been in the middle of a renovation and couldn’t just leave the project incomplete. There was no hiding the disappointment in his aunt’s voice because he couldn’t come right away. The guilt ate away at him until he had no choice but to close up shop and tie up loose ends so he could head to Haven’s Cove. Restless, knowing he’d already packed his truck, he left Boston around two forty-five that morning. Little did his aunt know, it could be the last thing his mother wanted in her final days— to see the son who had disappointed her all those years ago.
Aunt Nora’s smile faltered as a look of confusion furrowed her brow. “What do you—”
“Can I see her?” Brody asked the nurse, avoiding the questions in his aunt’s eyes.
The nurse studied him, and then a soft, sad smile slightly curved her mouth. “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brody.” She extended her hand, and with it, he felt she was also extending her understanding and compassion. He was immediately aware that the last thing the woman would do was judge him, and it calmed his nerves some, even with his aunt still staring at him. “I’m Nancy Bowman,” the nurse said. “I help Nora take care of Kathy during the day, Monday through Friday. Stacy, you’ll meet her, helps out on the weekends.”
He shook her hand and returned her smile as best as he could. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Nancy. I’m glad you’re here.” He couldn’t say the same for himself, as he glanced back at the door like it was his only escape—but he couldn’t run now.
“You can follow me. She just woke up, so she’s a little groggy, but she’s aware.” Nancy turned and walked back toward the room that used to be his dad’s office. Aunt Nora squeezed and released Brody’s hand before following the nurse. Nancy opened the door, and both women turned to Brody—who hadn’t moved from where he’d been standing by the front door. The women glanced at each other in concern then back at him as if he were a frightened animal ready to bolt at the slightest movement. Maybe this isn’t such a goodidea.
His aunt walked back over to him and took his hand. “This isn’t going to be easy for you, Brody. It hasn’t been easy for me either. Just speak softly, let her know you’re here. She may not respond to you right away, but rest assured, she hears you. Like Nancy said, she just woke up, so it takes her a bit to get her voice and her breathing to cooperate. Don’t let that discourage you. She knows exactly what’s going on.”
Brody nodded his head and let his aunt Nora lead him down the hall. Had this hallway always been so damn long? The walls were lined with pictures. There were Brody’s school pictures, holidays, and family photos of the three of them smiling.
It was a hall full of lies.
As he crossed the threshold into the room, it was like breaking through a thick wall. His chest hurt and every muscle in his body tensed. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. A hospital bed was against the soft blue wall to his right; an IV stand with a bag hanging from a hook at the top blocked his view of his mother’s face. The room had the same beige carpet he remembered, but his father’s desk was replaced with a big reclining chair. There was another chair in the room on the far side of the bed. A small table on wheels sat next to it and on it were tissues, a pair of glasses, and the last thing he expected to see—a framed picture of him from when he was little. Next to that was an oxygen tank with tubing connected to it. The tubing led up to where it hooked around her ears to hold the small prongs in place in her nose. There were no big machines, no sounds of incessant beeping.
Then it really hit him. She wasn’t there to get better; she was there to let go. Brody stepped softly into the room, afraid to disturb her, afraid to breathe too heavily and throw off the serenity of her room.
Brody’s heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He felt a light touch from his aunt on his back, as if she was telling him it was going to be okay—even though they both knew it wouldn’t be. He walked to the side of the bed cautiously, praying he didn’t upset her if she didn’t want him there. As he lowered himself into the chair, his breath caught, and he looked into his mom’s eyes for the first time in too long. Oh God, was that panic in her eyes? Pain? He didn’t want to cause her either in her final days.
“Brody? Honey, is it really you?” Her voice was so soft, but there was no mistaking the words as a tear slid down her cheek, and her eyes had a sudden light.
Just like that, Brody released the breath he’d been holding and let the tears fall down his face. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me. I’m here.”
“M
an, I wish I could’ve been there.” Owen’s cousin, Leslie, laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly pissed off.”
“Shut up. Trust me, I was sufficiently pissed off,” Owen said defensively, but couldn’t keep a straight face. “Les, you didn’t live here back then. You have no idea the hell that guy made my life.” Owen grabbed an oven mitt off of the counter and opened the oven door. The room was filled with the smell of vanilla, cinnamon, and sugar. He removed the muffins from the oven, placing them on the counter.
“Do you want me to kick his ass? Say the word. Dude will never see me coming.” She kicked her leg high, showing off her years of karate lessons.
“Calm down there, Bruce Lee. I don’t need you or anyone else going to bat for me this time. I could’ve used you back then, though.” Shit, he could’ve used anyone on his side back then. High
school was shit for him. All he did was try to survive it. And he fucking did, thank you very much. Owen moved back over next to her and stirred the contents of the bowl in front of him.
“Do you always put chocolate chips in your blueberry muffins?”
He looked down at the bowl then up at Leslie. He’d been fucking up all morning and it pissed him off to know it was because of that asshole. “Shit. Guess today’s special has been decided, chocolate chip blueberry muffins.”
“Sounds yummy if you ask me, but then, I pretty much like chocolate in everything.” Leslie laughed and tossed some chocolate chips in her mouth.
Owen shook his head and said, “Yeah, I know you do. If you eat one more chocolate croissant, I’m docking your pay.” He bumped her with his hip to move her out of the way as he reached for the muffin pan.
“Like hell you will. It’s called quality control. How else are you gonna know if this stuff is good enough to sell? You’re welcome,” she deadpanned, shrugging her shoulders. “Besides, if you being distracted gets us more chocolate in your baked goods, I don’t see a problem.” Leslie winked at him and tucked a red curl that had fallen out of her hair tie back with the rest of them on top of her head. They each had pale skin, but with Owen’s dark chocolate brown hair and her red curls, they didn’t even look related.
“Who says I’m distracted?” he asked defensively. He was totally fucking distracted. Man, he really needed to get his mind off of the shit-storm that barreled into town this morning. Luckily, all of the mistakes he’d made were ones he could salvage…so far.
Owen’s mind had been going back to the close call that morning over and over again. He knew he was being immature blaming Brody for anything that happened. Owen’s the one who almost caused the accident by running the stop sign. He was just so damned pissed at himself, because before he recognized Brody, he’d let his eyes wander over his well-developed body. The perfect fit of his jeans, the plaid shirt that clung to a broad chest, the goatee that made him look rugged and mysterious, and the brown hair just long
enough to tuck behind his ears. That was not even close to the clean cut, all-star athlete that used to make Owen’s life a living hell.
Without his high school jacket or him hiding behind the ring leader, Chuck, no one would know it was Brody Walker. Except it was him. He was one of Chuck’s lackeys, always there, taunting Owen and egging Chuck on. The fact that Owen had let his eyes wander over his perfectly sculpted—no…shit,Owen—over that piece of shit yeah that’s better—disgusted him. Proof positive he just needed to get laid.
Owen jumped at the sound of his cousin’s voice. “Yeah. What was I thinking? You’re totally not distracted. Becca only said your name three times.” Leslie crossed her arms, tilted her head, and smirked.
Shit, he was up in the clouds again. Looking down at the filled muffin pans, he realized Les must have done it while he tripped back down memory lane. He looked at the clock on the wall and knew the reason Becca came to get him. “Shut up, and go put these in the oven.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Leslie said, as she brought the pan over to the oven. “Don’t make me call your mom. You know I’ve always been her favorite.”
Owen raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, Red.” She hit his arm at the nickname he’d given her years ago, even though he knew she secretly loved it.
She was probably right though. It was always the women against Owen, especially ever since Les moved to Haven’s Cove six months ago. Aunt Laurie, Leslie’s mom, moved in with Owen’s mom a few years back. The sisters spent so much time together they’d figured, why not? Les was two years younger and the only cousin Owen had and she did whatever she could to piss him off. Her spark was back to being as bright as that red mop on her head, but it had dimmed for a bit after her dad left. When Owen’s dad died, she was there with a stupid joke or his favorite movie. Anything to get him to laugh. And when Owen had come out, Les didn’t bat an eye. She also did whatever she could to annoy the shit out of him, the same
way she always had. She’d been a thorn in his side ever since—and he wouldn’t trade her for anyone.
Owen wiped his hands on his apron as he pushed through the swinging door to the front of the bakery.
“How’s my favorite girl this morning?” Owen smiled at the small, older woman. She smiled politely in return as her daughter helped her over to her favorite table.
“Still here, so I suppose it’s a good day,” Gerdy responded in that feisty voice that Owen loved. “Although, it would be better if I had my Earl Grey and a muffin in front of me. Not getting any younger, Owen.”
“Mom—” her daughter began, but Owen chimed in instead, loving the banter with Gertrude Manning.
“Aw, Gerdy, you break my heart. You mean you didn’t come here just to see me?”
Owen watched Gerdy smirk, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He brought over a cup of tea and her favorite cranberry muffin.
“That cute smile won’t work on me.” She feigned indifference, but the mischievous glint in her eye gave her away.
“Never hurts to try.”
She’d had this routine for years, even before Owen started working at the bakery in high school. Every Tuesday and Friday, like clockwork, she’d spend an hour at Cove’s Curl and Cut, getting someone to do whatever it was that made her hair defy gravity the way it did. Then she’d come over to Milton’s bakery, still named for the original owner, and get her usual.
“How’s that young man of yours doing?” It always surprised Owen when she asked about Jonah. It took her awhile to get used to a gay couple in the Cove and she probably still couldn’t quite understand it—but she came around.
And how was he supposed to answer? He’sgreatas a roommate anda friend, but… “He’s good. You know Jonah; he works too hard and studies too long.” Now that the town finally started to act normal around them, Owen needed to admit they were having problems like he needed a hole in his head. Gossip spread like
wildfire in this town. The last thing Owen wanted to do was light the match. Gerdy nodded her head in acknowledgment, and Owen knew their bi-weekly conversation was over.
Thankfully, the rest of the day went pretty smoothly. There was only one more minor mishap with some cookies, but nothing that set them back too much. By closing time, Owen was more than ready to get the hell out of there and left a seasoned employee to show Les how to lock up.
Jonah wasn’t home yet and wouldn’t be for another four hours. That was the shitty part about baker’s hours. Owen ended up being in this house by himself for long periods of time, every day. He climbed the stairs to the bedroom, stripping down to his boxers before climbing into bed. Usually, he didn’t take a nap after work, staying up for several more hours before going to sleep around ten. Even though it was only three in the afternoon, his bed was calling to him today. As he lay there, the scene from that morning reared its ugly head again. He didn’t know why he was making such a big deal out of it, although hearing that nickname had hit a nerve. Obviously, Brody hadn’t changed one goddamn bit if he had the fucking nerve to call Owen Dicky. Owen closed his eyes and tried not to think about how quiet the house was. Most people would welcome the silence, but silence only let his mind run in circles…
“Where ya going there, Dicky?” Chuck shoved Owen hard into thelockers,aself-satisfiedsmirkonhisface.
Owenhadbeendealingwiththisshitforayearandahalf, andit hadn’t seemedto letup. He was theoutcast now, not thatheever fitinbefore,buthehadbeenabletoflyundertheradarasthequiet one.Nowthattheschoolknewabouthim,hewastheloser , thegay punching bag for Chuck and his brainless minions. It was his own faultforlettinghimselftrustsomeonehethoughtwasafriendatthe beginningofsophomoreyear. He’dbeenplayedthough,andwithina dayofhimtellinghissecret,theentireschoolknewhewasgay.
Andhislifehadbeenhelleversince.
“What’stherush,Dicky?Gotsomedicktogosuck?”AgainChuck andhisminionslaughed,eventhoughhisjokeswereshit.
“Chuck, just let me go. I haven’t done anything to you.” Owen tried standing his ground, but he knew his trembling voice was givingawayhisfear.
Slam! Owen’s body was yetagain shovedup against the locker. “Damnstraightyou haven’tdone anything tome. Idon’tswingthat way, cocksucker. Betyou wishedIdid.Is thatwhatit is?Yougot a thing for me, pretty boy?”Again, Owen’s body met the locker with force, pain shooting through his left arm. “Whaddya think, guys? Thiscocksucker needto betaughta lessonfor eventhinkingabout wantingmydick?”
Owen had never even done anything sexual with a guy, but he knew for damn sure that, even if Chuck was the last guy on the planet, and it took Owen sucking his dick to save the world— the worldwouldcometoafuckingend.
The brainless minions laughed—Adam, Brody, and Dave. All junior varsity football players moved up to varsity sophomore year because of their willingness to take down anyone in their path on thefootballfield...andsometimesintheschoolhallways.
“Yeah,heneedstobetaughtalesson,”Adamchimedin.
“Take hisarms,”Chuckordered,andAdamandDave didasthey weretold,whileBrodystoodtherewithastupidsmileonhisface.
Owen was trying to prepare himself for the first blow when someone shouted from down the hall. “Hey! What are you boys doing down there?” Mr . Wilkins, one of the history teachers, was walkingtheirway.Immediately,thetwoassholesletOwengo.
“Oh, hey, Mr . Wilkins. Owen tripped and Adam and Dave were justhelpinghimbackup.”Mr . Wilkinsstudiedthemallskeptically, as ifhewastryingtofigureoutifhecouldbelievethestory.
Owen knew better than to say anything. Ratting them out now would only cause him a shitload more trouble in the future. So instead,hekeptquiet,hiseyesgluedtothefloor .
“Allright,well,schoolisover. Aren’tthefour ofyousupposedto beatpractice?”Oh,thankGod.Hewasn’tgoingtojustleave Owen there.
“Right. On our way, sir,” Chuck said in his most innocent voice, makingOwenwant to vomit. “Seeyou around,Owen.”Thebastard
flashedasadisticgrinasthefourofthemleft,leavingOwenandMr . Wilkinsstandinginthehall.
Oncetheguysweregone,Mr . WilkinsturnedtoOwenandasked, “Isthereanythingyouwanttotellme,Owen?”
Anddamn, did he want to. He wanted to tell him what shit his lifehadbeensincethebeginningofsophomoreyear, butheknewit wasn’t smart. Hejust had toget through the next year and a half andthenhewouldneverhavetodealwiththosedickheadsagain.
At least, he thought he’d never have to. Owen was pissed at himself for even letting the memory take center stage in his mind for the last few minutes.
All those memories were due to one thing and one thing only, and Owen refused to let that douche take over his thoughts. Even though Owen had to deal with their shit in high school, he never let them convince him being gay was wrong. Luckily, he had a mother who felt the same way. After the first time he came home with a fat lip, his mom forced him to tell her what was going on. She was the only one he’d had to confide in, and she immediately accepted that he was gay. After he’d shared his biggest secret with her, they were closer than ever. Afterward, he’d done everything in his power to hide what was happening to him at school. He didn’t want to be the reason for her constant worry.
Once Owen went to college, he really had a chance to be himself. No one gave him shit for being gay or treated him any differently. Hell, New York City was the mecca for people of all different walks of life. Owen accepted who he was and explored that part of himself for the first time. But in reality, Owen had allowed himself to believe he was truly living his life without fear of rejection or persecution. Truth was, he was terrified. It wasn’t until he’d met Jonah several years after graduating that he realized how guarded he was keeping himself. Jonah was the first person he’d finally opened up to about the hell he went through when he’d come out. Jonah had forced his way through Owen’s barriers and finally made Owen see he could truly trust someone. When Owen said two years ago that he wanted to move back home, Jonah came―no questions asked. For Owen, it
felt like something he had to do to face his past and move on. Carefulwhatyouwishfor.
So they’d moved to Haven’s Cove, put up with the whispered comments about Owen Richards and his boyfriend, and eventually, people moved on to something else. When he was younger, the people of the town—other than the four assholes from high school— generally left him alone. Yet, he’d always felt different because some people didn’t know how to act around him, as if being gay made him another species. For the most part, people gossiped until something more interesting came along, exactly how they had when he and Jonah moved into town. Jonah had dealt with it all...for Owen.
That was one of the reasons Owen was finding it so hard to admit things had changed. He’d brought Jonah here, and now he wanted to break up with him? What kind of asshole does something like that?
And what kind of sick, clearly confused man, finds his former high school bully sexy? It was only because Owen didn’t realize who it was at first. If he had known, there was no way in hellhe would be feeling this way. He was sure of it.
Really, he was.
Owen’s eyes slowly opened, and he stretched as he looked up to find Jonah standing next to the bed. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I was trying not to wake you. Guess that didn’t work out so well, huh?” Jonah smiled at him, but there was no hiding the sadness just under the surface.
“You didn’t wake me. I didn’t even realize you were here.”
And that was the root of their problem, wasn’t it? There was no rush of emotion, no warm currents rushing to the brain, or cock, sensing that the one you loved with all of your heart was nearby. Neither of them felt that way anymore. They just both had to realize
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Title: Some religious and moral teachings of Al-Ghazzali Being brief extracts from his Ihya-u-Ulum-id-din
Author: Ghazzali
Author of introduction, etc.: Alban G. Widgery
Translator: Syed Nawab Ali
Release date: March 11, 2024 [eBook #73140]
Language: English
Original publication: Baroda: A. G. Widgery, 1921
Credits: Fritz Ohrenschall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME RELIGIOUS AND MORAL TEACHINGS OF AL-GHAZZALI ***
The Gaekwad Studies in Religion and Philosophy: X
SOME RELIGIOUS AND MORAL
INTRODUCTION
The Comparative Study of Religions, interesting as a form of intellectual research, has for many a further value in the influence it may exert upon the widening and the deepening of the religious life. The practical value may become more and more acknowledged, if, as signs suggest, the reality of the religious experience is more keenly felt and mankind recognise the place of religious goods in the highest type of life. Though it is certainly premature to say that there is much serious acknowledgement and recognition of these values amongst the peoples of the world, there are reasons to think that tendencies of thought and feeling in this direction are increasing in power One of the best means of aiding the Comparative Study of Religions and promoting these tendencies is by the publication of important books connected with the religions, representing the views of leading thinkers and saints.
If we turn to Islam, we find that some Western writers describe it as in a condition of progressive decay, while others would have us believe that its onward march is a menace. It is well to be able to avoid the obvious purpose which lies behind both contentions. Nevertheless, to the present writer it appears true to say that there is much stagnation in Islam (In which religion is there not?), and that its spirit is often lost and its real teachings neglected owing to the general use of Arabic in the recitation of the Quran by persons entirely ignorant of that language, and also to the prevalent mechanical conception of the character of the Quran as a form of divine revelation. We believe that the Comparative Study of Religions will help to turn the attention of Muslims away from these to the emphasising of the essential spirit of Islam. This should be central and normative in the rising movements of reform and rejuvenescence. In this connection, as bringing out this spirit, it is especially appropriate, both for the students of the religions and for those directly interested in the spiritual revival in Islam, to publish in
an easily accessible form some of the religious and moral teachings of Ghazzali. A Western scholar has written of him that he is “the greatest, certainly the most sympathetic figure in the history of Islam ... the only teacher of the after generations ever put by Muslims on a level with the four great Imams.”[1] And he goes on to remark further; “In the renaissance of Islam which is now rising to view, his time will come and the new life will proceed from a renewed study of his works.”[2] But Dieterici says of him: “As a despairing sceptic he springs suicidally into the all-God (i.e. all-pervading deity of the Pantheists) to kill all scientific reflection.”[3] To justify such a judgment would indeed be impossible if the whole course of Ghazzali’s works is taken into consideration. The greatest eulogy is perhaps that of Tholuck: “All that is good, worthy, and sublime, which his great soul had compassed, he bestowed upon Muhammedanism, and he adorned the doctrines of the Quran with so much piety and learning that in the form given them by him they seem, in my opinion, worthy of the assent of Christians. Whatsoever was most excellent in the philosophy of Aristotle or in the Sufi mysticism, he discreetly adapted to the Muhammedan theology. From every school he sought the means of shedding light and honour upon religion, while his sincere piety and lofty conscientiousness imparted to all his writings a sacred majesty.”[4]
One feature of Ghazzali’s attitude has considerable significance in looking to an increased study of his works as a factor towards the revivification of Islam: his tolerance. Although regarding Al Hallaj’s expressions, (for example, I am the truth, i.e. God) as incautious, he helped to defend him and to save him from execution on a charge of blasphemy. He wrote a treatise on tolerance: The Criterion of the Difference between Islam and Heresy. In this teaching of tolerance he felt himself to be pointing back to the policy of the earliest Muslim times and to the greatest authorities of early Islam. He “strove to attract the souls of his fellow Muslims to spiritual faith which unifies, to worship at the altars which are in the hearts of men”.[5]
The influence of Ghazzali has been represented by Mr. Macdonald as chiefly that he led men back from scholastic labours upon
theological dogmas to living contact with, study and exegesis of the Quran and Traditions; gave Sufiism an assured position within the Church of Islam; and brought philosophy and philosophical theology within the range of the ordinary mind.[6]
Al Ghazzali has given some account of his own religious development in a work entitled: Munqidh min-ad-dalal. This account is significant, but as the Baron Carra de Vaux remarks, his eventual explicit adoption of a Sufi mysticism was not merely a consequence of the failure of his other attempts to find a solution to life’s profoundest problems but a result of his early influences. For, soon after his birth at Tus in Khorassan in 450 A.H. (1059 A.D.), his father died and he was brought up by a Sufi. Nevertheless his mystical leanings did not assert themselves vigorously till he was well on to maturity. Up to that time he devoted himself to the usual studies of canon law, the orthodox theology, the doctrines of the Mutazillites, and a variety of other subjects including the works of the Sufis. For a time he was a student of the Asharite Imam Al Haramayn at Nysabur. He himself represents his attitude as at this time that of one working and wishing for reputation and wealth. In 484 A.H. he was honoured by appointment to the “University” or “Academy” of Baghdad, where he soon acquired great renown as lawyer and theologian.
On the threshold of maturity he was afflicted by doubts as to the validity and worth of the theological and philosophical bases of his religious belief. The strain of his reflection and the intensity of his anxiety to reach a secure faith seem to have caused a breakdown of health. With unexpected suddenness he left Baghdad. That was in 488 A.H. (1095 A.D.) He had examined in all details the traditional orthodox scholastic system of the Kalam, the positions of the Mutazilites and the philosophers, and in the light of his new doubts and experiences turned again also to a closer study of the writings of the leading mystics, such as Abu Talib, Al Muhasibi, and Al Junayd. His early training had predisposed him to the acceptance of mysticism, and this acceptance was led up to by the conclusions of his reflection, in which it has been maintained he carried doubt as far back as did Descartes.
Thus he himself writes: “A thirst to comprehend the essential natures of all things was, indeed, my idiosyncrasy and distinctive characteristic from the beginning of my career and prime of my life: a natural gift and temperament bestowed on me by God, and implanted by Him in my nature by no choice or device of my own, till at length the bond of blind conformity was loosed from me, and the beliefs which I had inherited, were broken away when I was little more than a boy.”[7]
Carra de Vaux[8] thus graphically describes the process in Al Ghazzali’s mind, as he himself suggests it to us: “Religious beliefs, he reflected, are transmitted by the authority of parents; but authority is not proof. To arrive at certitude it was necessary for him to reconstruct all his knowledge from the very foundation. With a vivid feeling of this necessity, he aspired to certitude, defining it in a purely psychological fashion as a state in which the mind is so bound up with and so satisfied with a piece of knowledge that nothing might henceforth deprive him of it. This curious definition, which is applied to religious faith as well as to scientific knowledge, does not escape from being purely subjective. As one might foresee, the great desire for certitude only led him at first into a series of doubts. As he sought this state of perfect assurance, step by step he saw it recede before him. He looked for certitude in the perceptions of the senses, with the result that he could no longer trust his senses. Sight, the most powerful of the faculties of sense, for example, led him to the perception of an immovable shadow on the sun and an hour afterwards this shadow was gone. Sight showed him a star which is very small, and geometry made him recognise it to be greater than the earth. Then he turned to the first principles of reason; but the perception of the senses took its revenge in saying to him: ‘Previously you believed in me and you abandoned me when this judge reason presented itself. If this judge had remained hidden you would have continued to believe in me. Who can tell you that beyond the reason there is no other judge, which if it made itself evident, would convict reason of falsehood?’. That is a movement of thought which is dramatic enough, though perhaps a little artificial.—The thinker continued his search for the certain. He halted and
concerned himself with the famous comparison of life with a dream and death with an awakening. Perhaps after that awakening he would see things in a different manner from that in which he then saw them. Mysticism thus suggested itself to him: This actual dream of death could be anticipated by the condition of ecstasy, by less than ecstasy, by a light which God pours into the heart. In this light, he saw not only the truth of the dogmas of the faith or the beauty of the moral life, but he was assured of the truth of the first principles of reason, the basis of all knowledge and all reasoning. He doubted no longer; he was cured of his pains; he had found certitude and peace.”
On leaving Baghdad, he retired to meditate in the mosques of Damascus, and is further reported to have made pilgrimages to Jerusalem, Hebron (the burial place of Abraham), Medina and Mecca. In abandonment to his immediate religious experience of the love of God he found more peace. In the course of time he associated again more definitely with his family. Eventually in 499 A. H. (1106 A.D.) he was ordered by the Sultan to teach in the Academy at Nysabur. After a life in which he had written a large number of independent treatises and indeed brought about a great change in the tendencies of Islam, he died at his native town of Tus in 505 (1111 A.D.).
If in his initial process of doubt Ghazzali resembled Descartes, in his view of causality he reminds us of Hume; in his general attitude he approaches Kant and Schleiermacher. On the one hand he insists on the limitation of the efficiency of the theoretical reason, on the other he finds in will, in the moral and the religious experience a more immediate avenue to real knowledge. For the study of religion in our day it is important to note that Ghazzali (here unlike Kant) sees in religious experience a way to certitude. But in this he is led to acknowledge that the advance of the human mind towards its goal of real knowledge and peace is dependent upon an active influence of God upon man. It may be maintained that he puts here in religious terminology the central idea of the Aristotelian conception of Scholastic times, the relation of the “Active Intelligence” to the minds of men. His view enabled him to give a due position to the Prophet
and the Quran. For the knowledge of God is to be conceived as coming not in immediate mystical intuition to all alike, but while in some degree to all, to some in a special degree. These are the prophets. The position which Maimonides presents in his Guide to the Perplexed[9] with relation to religious knowledge and the functions of the prophets is parallel with that of Ghazzali.
From the accompanying list and classification of the works of Ghazzali, it will be seen that he was a writer on all sides of the theory and practice of his religion. He was an authority on canon law and jurisprudence, and a commentator of the Quran. He examined the positions of the Scholastic theologians, and found that they depended entirely on the acceptance of their initial dogmatic assumptions. The disputes of the Scholastics amongst themselves appeared to have little or no relation with religious life, rather if anything they were a hindrance to true religion. And in face of the philosophers the Scholastic theologians were almost helpless. But the books which exerted the greatest influence both within and beyond Muslim circles, and the books that still retain their interest today are the Maqasid ul Falasafa (The Aim or Goal of the Philosophers) the Tahafat ul Falasafa (the Refutation of the Philosophers) and the Ihya-u-Ulum-id-Din (The Renovation of the Sciences of Religion.) In the first of these he gives an account of the different philosophical positions which were more or less prevalent. In the second he critically examines those positions. In the third he gives a general survey with a constructive purpose chiefly moral and religious. It is due to this last work more than all others that Ghazzali has been called “The Regenerator of Religion”, “The Proof of Islam”. The Ihya “expounds theology and ethics from the moderate Sufi school”. Though it was committed to the flames, chiefly in Spain, probably by those holding opinions which Ghazzali had bitterly attacked, it soon established its position in the Muslim world, in which it has been widely studied up to today. From it the passages translated in this book are taken. The following table of contents will show the range of the subjects with which it deals.
THE RENOVATION OF THE SCIENCES OF RELIGION.
P I.
1. On Knowledge. Articles of Faith.
2. On Purification.
3. Prayer and Its Meaning.
4. Zakat and Its Meaning.
5. Fasting and Its Meaning.
6. Pilgrimage and Its Meaning.
7. The Reading of the Quran.
8. Varieties of Orisons.
9. The Order of Praying, and Vigils.
P II.
1. On Eating.
2. On Marriage.
3. On Business.
4. The Lawful and the Unlawful.
5. Social Relations and Etiquette.
6. On Retirement.
7. On Travel.
8. On Music.
9. On Enforcing Good and Checking Evil.
10. Good Living: Description of the Prophet’s Mode of Living.
P III.
1. Psychological Description of the Nature of Man.
2. On Virtues and the Purification of the Heart.
3. On Appetite and Passion.
4. On the Tongue: Its Goods and Evils.
5. On Anger: Enmity and Envy
6. The Evils of the World.
7. Parsimony and the Evils of the Love of Wealth.
8. On the Evils of Reputation and Hypocrisy.
9. Pride and Vanity
10. Self-deception.
P IV
1. Repentance.
2. Patience and Thanksgiving.
3. Hope and Fear.
4. The Poor and the Hermit,
5. Unity of God, and Dependence on Him.
6. On Love, Ecstasy, and Joyous Submission to His will.
7. On Intention, Sincerity and Truth.
8. Meditation.
9. Contemplation and taking a Warning.
10. On Death and the After-Life.
Against the philosophers he argued for the belief in the reality of the divine attributes and against the view of the eternity of the world. He contended against the theory that there would be no physical punishments and rewards hereafter, maintaining, as he did, the doctrine of the resurrection of the body. He virtually denied that there is real causal connection in events as experienced by us: but only sequence: in this he adumbrates the theory of Hume. For Ghazzali, God is the only efficient cause. From the scepticism to which his consideration of philosophy led him he turned to the acceptance of revelation, this as found in the mystic experience and in the words of saints and prophets, especially the Prophet Muhammed.
The knowledge of moral principles Ghazzali conceived as coming not through rational reflection but by immediate intuition of the divine character revealing itself. Moral truths come especially through moral and religious teachers, as the most fit persons for the transmission of these revelations. He possessed great skill in psychological analysis of moral conditions, and passages in illustration of this have been included here, treating of pride and vanity, friendship and sincerity. As almost all great practical moral and religious teachers, Ghazzali makes considerable use of apt stories, and of striking sayings from the saints and prophets. He continually harks back to the time of the Prophet and his “Companions”.
Ghazzali’s abandonment of his academic position at Baghdad, his retirement to mosques and journeyings on pilgrimage, are sufficient evidence that he recognised that the truth of mysticism could not be tested by theoretical reflection but only by an attempt at practice. Only the experience itself could prove its own reality. He appears to have held that for the attainment of the condition of ecstasy the means of asceticism and meditation should be used. But it does not seem quite correct to suggest as does Carra de Vaux that Ghazzali did not recognise the fact of divine “grace”, though he did not use a corresponding term. The beatific vision of the mystic certainly depended in part, for Ghazzali, on God’s mercy in removing the veil. How far he himself was successful in attaining the bliss of the mystic vision it is impossible to tell: in this direction he gained no such reputation as did several other Sufis. He taught that repentance, a moral conversion, is a necessary preliminary to the mystic life, and he fought against a common tendency of mystics towards antinomianism. Similarly he tried to avoid the danger of interpreting the union of the soul with God as its identification with God in a pantheistic view of the universe. Goldzieher says he differed from the Sufis generally in the rejection of their pantheistic aims and low estimate of religious ordinances.[10]
