TO TRULY UNDERSTAND the essence of a person, or perhaps more urgently, to understand the state of our own souls, we must look beyond the surface of daily routine.
Imam al-Ghazālī (may Allah have mercy on him) offered a profound analogy for this inward search, inviting us to envision a cup filled to its very brim. If you see poison or a foul liquid spilling from that cup, you would naturally conclude that the vessel contains nothing but bitterness. Conversely, if honey or a wholesome, sweet drink overflows, you would rightly conclude that the cup is filled with something pure. Such is the reality of the human heart (qalb); it is the vessel of our existence, while our speech and actions are merely the “spillage” of what lies within.
This relationship is not merely metaphorical but is rooted in the Prophetic tradition. The Messenger of Allah ﷺ taught us that there is a morsel of flesh in the body which, if it is upright, the entire body becomes upright, and if it is corrupt, the whole body follows suit. Our tongue and limbs are essentially the “translators” of our internal state, turning the hidden contents of the soul into the visible language of behaviour.
The true nature of this vessel is most clearly revealed during moments of fitna, when we are shaken by the trials of life. When we are caught in the grip of anger, the exhaustion of a long day, or the sudden sting of a loss, our internal guard drops and the cup is disturbed. It is a common misconception to believe that pressure creates our reactions; in reality, pressure merely exposes what was already there. These moments of “spilling” serve as a divine diagnostic tool, a mercy from Allah that allows us to see the sludge at the bottom of our souls that we might otherwise ignore in times of ease.
When that overflow consistently reveals a preoccupation with the dunya, it signals a heart that has become saturated with the temporary. This is seen in a tongue that speaks incessantly of wealth and status and the acquisition of the world and a soul that craves comfort and luxury. It suggests that the heart has become a container for the very things we are meant to pass through, not hold onto.
On the other hand, a heart attached to the akhirah produces a different kind of overflow. When a person is shaken, what spills out is the fragrance of dhikr, the natural remembrance of Allah. Even under duress, their “spillage” is characterised by sabr (patience) in difficulty and shukr (gratitude) in ease. Their preoccupation is not with how they appear to the creation, but how they will stand before the Creator on the Last Day. This is a heart that has been filled with the sweetness of iman, where humility and concern for others have displaced the ego.
This realization calls us to a consistent practice of muhasabah, or self-accounting. While we all have moments of weakness where our nafs causes us to stumble, the defining characteristic of a believer is the pattern of their lives. If we find that what repeatedly spills from us is not what we wish to present to Allah, we must change what we are pouring into ourselves. We must ask: if my life were shaken today, what would the world see? Ultimately, we are the ones who choose which fluid we use to fill our cups.
Living For Islam 