The early scholars of Islam, particularly those who were deeply invested in understanding the inner dimensions of prayer and worship, did not take lightly even the smallest words uttered in the ritual prayer. There is supplication that is recited during the sitting between the two prostrations in salah,
اللَّهُمَّ اغْفِرْ لِي، وَارْحَمْنِي، وَاهْدِنِي، وَاجْبُرْنِي، وَعَافِنِي، وَارْزُقْنِي، وَارْفَعْنِي’
"O Allah, forgive me, have mercy on me, guide me, support me, give me health, provide for me, and elevate me."
This du'a is often referred to by many as a “soul-soothing” or “heart-calming” du’a, even though it originates from a specific moment within the salat. Why is this particular supplication often described as a “du'a that soothes the soul”?
This supplication is recited during the sitting between the two prostrations in the prayer rather than during the act of prostration. This placement carries profound spiritual significance. When a person is in sujood (prostration), they are in the position of ultimate humility and closeness to Allah. It is a time for glorifying and exalting Allah, often with phrases such as Subḥāna Rabbiyal A‘lā — “Glory be to my Lord, the Most High.” The focus in sujood is divine praise, a surrendering of the self entirely before the Most High, in the lowest bodily posture one can take.
This particular supplication encapsulates the most essential human needs: forgiveness for the soul, mercy for the heart, guidance for the mind, health for the body, and sustenance for one’s life. It is as if, having bowed down in humility, the servant now lifts their head and asks their Lord with hope — vulnerable, yet trusting. The sitting becomes a space of emotional and spiritual release.
The act of sitting holds deep symbolic and spiritual meaning in Islamic worship and ethical conduct, far beyond being just a physical posture. In both formal prayer (ṣalāh) and emotional self-regulation — such as managing anger — sitting is not merely about stillness, but about conscious submission, inner grounding, and restraint guided by awareness of Allah.
In the context of worship, the Prophet (ﷺ) taught specific forms of sitting in ṣalāh, including the sitting between two prostrations and the final tashahhud posture. These are not arbitrary; they are structured acts of devotion with meanings that settle into the heart. When a person moves from prostration — the position of utter humility and closeness to Allah — to sitting, it marks a moment of inner composure. One is no longer with their face to the ground, yet they are not standing either. Sitting here is a pause for reflection, a space where the servant gathers themselves to ask Allah for forgiveness, mercy, guidance, wellness, and sustenance — in other words, the very essentials of a sound life. This sitting symbolizes the state of a servant who has been broken before their Lord and now rises not to boast, but to plead with sincere hope.
In managing emotions, particularly anger, the Prophet ﷺ gave very wise counsel. In an authentic hadith narrated by Abu Dawud and Ahmad, the Prophet (ﷺ} said, "If one of you becomes angry while standing, let him sit down. If the anger leaves him, good; if not, let him lie down."
This instruction reveals a deeply psychological truth: our physical posture affects our emotional state. When someone is angry and standing, they are in a heightened, potentially aggressive state — ready for confrontation. Sitting is not simply a safer position; it is an intentional act of humility. Sitting slows the body, eases the breath, and quiets the impulses. The act of sitting becomes a method of restoring spiritual balance, showing that the body itself can participate in the pursuit of virtue.
Some scholars, like Imam Ibn Rajab al-Ḥanbalī, saw in this hadith a profound reminder of the Islamic approach to self-control: the body, the mind, and the soul must all cooperate in achieving ethical conduct. The sunnah encourages not just inner patience but outer actions that reflect and reinforce that patience — and sitting is one of them. Moreover, sitting has always been a symbol of knowledge and humility in Islamic tradition. Scholars would sit for hours teaching and learning, indicating that tranquility of body leads to receptivity of the heart and mind. In this way, the act of sitting bridges the outer and the inner. Whether in prayer, study, or emotional discipline, it signals the movement away from haste and ego and toward submission and contemplation.
So, to summarize in one thought: sitting in Islamic worship and ethics is a bodily expression of surrender, calmness, and control. It is a posture that reminds the soul to breathe, to reflect, and to seek divine guidance — not from a place of pride, but from a seat of humility. It is no wonder that both in prayer and in moments of anger, the Prophet ﷺ advised us to sit — because the soul is best governed when the body is still.
In his monumental work Iḥyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn (The Revival of the Religious Sciences), Imam al-Ghazālī devoted an entire book to the secrets of prayer. While he doesn’t quote this exact du‘ā word for word, he does write extensively about the moment between the two prostrations. He explains that this sitting is a symbolic return to life — a rising from one’s utter abasement before Allah— and now a pause to ask Him for what you truly need to live meaningfully.
Al-Ghazālī emphasizes that when a worshiper sits and says, “O Allah, forgive me,” they should remember every sin they carry. When they say, “Have mercy on me,” they must feel their inability to earn Paradise except through His grace. When they say, “Guide me,” they are asking not just for knowledge but for the subtle light in the heart that turns truth into action. When they say, “Grant me well-being,” they are asking for both bodily and spiritual safety — because spiritual disease is more deadly than any physical illness. And when they say, “Provide for me,” they are asking not merely for food or wealth but for the kind of provision that will support their journey to Allah: knowledge, companionship, patience, clarity, and yes, even physical resources. To Imam al-Ghazālī, these words were not a formality — they were the core of the soul’s plea in prayer.
Ibn al-Qayyim, a student of Ibn Taymiyyah and one of the most eloquent scholars of the heart, also wrote beautifully about prayer in his book Asrār al-Ṣalāh (The Secrets of the Prayer). He discusses how every posture and every word in the prayer reflects a station (maqām) on the journey to Allah.
He interprets the sitting between the two prostrations as the posture of the hopeful servant, who rises from absolute surrender and now pleads gently with his Lord. He suggests that the believer in this position should imagine themselves as someone who has just been saved from drowning — and in that moment of gasping relief, they turn their entire being toward God and say: “Forgive me. Have mercy on me. Show me the way. Keep me healthy. Sustain me.”
According to Ibn al-Qayyim, the du‘ā is not just asking for things — it is a declaration of total dependence. And in this, it becomes one of the most sincere moments of the prayer.
There is a narration about Sufyān al-Thawrī, the ascetic scholar of Kufa, who once lingered in the sitting between two prostrations far longer than usual. When someone asked him why, he replied:
“How can I rush through it when in it I am asking my Lord for everything my heart truly needs?”
For Sufyān, these were not empty words; they were the entire agenda of the believer’s soul.
Some later scholars, like Imam al-Nawawī, noted that this du‘ā, despite its simplicity, is among the most complete supplications one can make. It doesn’t simply seek the Hereafter, nor only the worldly life — it balances both. And that is the way of Islam: the middle path, the path of harmony.
In all these reflections — whether from al-Ghazālī’s mystical introspection, Ibn al-Qayyim’s passionate insights, or Sufyān al-Thawrī’s piety — we are reminded that the moments of prayer are not simply rituals but profound conversations between the soul and its Creator. The sitting between two prostrations, and this du‘ā in particular, becomes a moment of spiritual honesty — when the servant, having bowed and surrendered, now lifts their voice in hope.
As we draw this discussion to a close, it becomes evident that the beauty of the doa penyejuk jiwa lies not only in its profound words, but in the deeply personal connection it builds between the servant and the Creator. When a believer sits humbly between the two prostrations and whispers, “Allāhumma ighfir lī, warḥamnī, wahdinī, wa ‘āfinī, warzuqnī,” they are not merely reciting a formula — they are opening the door to divine mercy, inviting calm into their hearts, and surrendering their needs and worries into the hands of the Most Merciful.
This prayer soothes the soul because it addresses the most essential needs of our spiritual and worldly existence: forgiveness for past faults, mercy to endure the present, guidance to find our path, well-being to carry on, and sustenance to survive. Each word is a balm, chosen not by us but taught to us by the Prophet ﷺ — who knew the heart of the human being better than anyone else.
In moments of stillness within the prayer, this supplication becomes a sanctuary. It teaches us that even in the rhythm of worship, there is space for vulnerability and hope. It shows us that Islam is not a distant set of rituals but a living mercy that embraces our daily struggles. And so, as we walk away from this reflection, let us carry this prayer not only on our tongues but within our hearts — repeating it often, especially when life feels overwhelming, uncertain, or heavy. In doing so, we allow our souls to breathe again and our hearts to rest in the tranquility that only Allah can provide.
May this prayer always be a refuge for our soul, and may its meanings bloom within us, bringing light, peace, and unwavering trust in our Lord. Ameen. And Allah knows best.
