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The relationship between the soul, consciousness, and the structure of reality has traversed eras and disciplines, from religious metaphysics to philosophical speculation, and up to the most recent scientific hypotheses on complex energy systems. Although contemporary science does not provide empirical evidence for the existence of the soul, the emergence of advanced physical models—such as quantum fields, subatomic interactions, and the informational nature of energy—allows for the reformulation of ancient concepts in new and interdisciplinary ways. The following text explores a possible theoretical convergence between a hypothetical physical definition of the soul as an energy structure and the Qur’anic understanding of the survival of the nafs and rūḥ beyond physical death, keeping the two registers distinct while highlighting their potential conceptual resonances. The concept of the “soul” has long been part of the domains of philosophy, religion, and mysticism. However, as science advances in the understanding of complex energy systems, consciousness, and quantum fields, it becomes increasingly plausible to reconsider the soul in physical terms: not as a metaphor, but as an energy structure. One possible model is to consider the soul as a subtle electromagnetic charge: a highly organized, low-density energy field incorporated into the body during life. Unlike classical electricity, this charge would not behave like current flowing through wires; rather, it would operate at quantum or sub-quantum levels, interacting with the body’s electromagnetic and possibly biophotonic fields in ways that current instruments are not yet sensitive enough to detect. It could be conceptualized as a kind of “molecular field structure”: not composed of ordinary matter, but formed by micro-energy units, potentially analogous to the energy quanta that define particles in quantum field theory. Such a structure would be non-material in the traditional sense, and yet real, functioning as a coherent system of electromagnetic information that coexists with biological processes and perhaps influences them. At the moment of death, when the body is no longer able to sustain biological life, this field would dissociate from the body. But instead of being destroyed, it could de-phase or dissolve into the surrounding electromagnetic environment, similar to a signal that fades within a larger field. It might even follow field gradients, moving toward zones of lower resistance or higher resonance—perhaps aligning with preexisting cosmic or atmospheric electromagnetic patterns. This could offer a modern interpretation of the ancient belief that the soul “ascends to the heavens”: not as a flight into an abstract afterlife, but as a return to a broader energy system—a reintegration into the universal field from which it may have originated. Contemporary physics increasingly recognizes that “empty” space is not empty at all: it is full of zero-point energy, quantum fluctuations, and complex field interactions. Similarly, the human body is not just a biochemical machine, but a system deeply immersed in and influenced by its electromagnetic environment. In this context, the idea of the soul as a structured and transient energy field is not only compatible with some emerging scientific models, but invites further interdisciplinary investigation. This approach does not intend to demonstrate the existence of the soul in measurable terms, but proposes a reformulation as a testable hypothesis: the possibility that consciousness—or an energetic identity core—could persist beyond physical death in a non-local form, based on fields. Qur’anic Perspective In the Qur’an, the concept of the soul is not expressed in the terms of the “energy” of modern physics, but through the notions of nafs and rūḥ, and the continuation of consciousness after physical death. Some fundamental points emerge clearly. The Soul Returns to God The Qur’an emphasizes that, at the moment of death, the soul is taken by divine command and continues to exist in another domain: “Every soul shall taste death, and you will be fully recompensed only on the Day of Resurrection” (Qur’an 3:185). “It is Allah who takes the souls at the time of their death” (Qur’an 39:42). This indicates that human life does not extinguish with the cessation of biological functions, but is transferred from the earthly dimension to a different mode of existence. Barzakh — The Intermediate Realm After death, the soul enters the barzakh, an intermediate stage preceding the Day of Judgment: “And behind them is a barrier (barzakh) until the day they are resurrected” (Qur’an 23:100). This is not a condition of unconscious non-existence, but a transitional reality in which the soul awaits the final resurrection. Transformation From the Qur’anic perspective, nothing that God creates is wasted or destroyed without purpose. While the body decomposes, the “vital force” of the soul persists. A distant analogy can be observed with the scientific principle that energy is not destroyed but transformed, although in Islamic theology this “energy” corresponds to the immaterial and personal essence of the individual

The day when no one believes your word anymore often marks a crucial existential threshold. In that moment, a fundamental awareness emerges: trust in oneself becomes the only stable point of reference. This condition is not a sign of pathological isolation, but rather of a form of inner autonomy that allows an individual to remain grounded in the face of the conforming pressure of the social environment. In the Qur’an, many prophetic figures embody ways of perceiving, interpreting, and responding to the world that diverge radically from the dominant norms of their communities. These differences are not presented as deviations to be corrected, but as alternative forms of moral, spiritual, and cognitive intelligence. From this perspective, prophetic narratives can be read as archetypes of neurodiversity: individuals who perceive connections, meanings, and responsibilities where the majority fails to do so. Noah, for example, persists in a vision that appears irrational and obsessive to the collective eye. His behavior is mocked and interpreted as a sign of alienation, yet the Qur’anic text overturns this judgment, showing that his insistence stems from an ability to anticipate scenarios and consequences invisible to most. This dynamic closely mirrors many neurodivergent experiences, in which intensified or unconventional perception is initially delegitimized. Abraham represents a form of radical critical thinking: he deconstructs inherited symbolic systems, rejecting idolatry not out of instinctive opposition but out of logical coherence and cognitive integrity. This stance, often associated with neurodivergent minds, entails a high exposure to social conflict and marginalization, as it challenges structures considered untouchable. Moses embodies an additional layer of complexity. He is described as the bearer of a powerful message, yet also as an individual who struggles with communication and is easily misunderstood. His authority does not rest on rhetorical skill aligned with prevailing standards of power, but on a profound relationship with the meaning of justice. This highlights how communicative competence does not necessarily coincide with adherence to neurotypical models. The figure of Joseph offers a paradigmatic example of emotional and interpretive hypersensitivity. His ability to read dreams, signs, and relational dynamics is initially perceived as a threat or as arrogance, leading to exclusion and punishment. Only later is this sensitivity recognized as a collective resource. The Qur’an thus suggests that what is marginalized as “excess” can become the foundation of social balance. Jesus (ʿĪsā) as well, in the Qur’anic perspective, is a figure who destabilizes the cognitive and moral expectations of his time. His symbolic language, his attention to the excluded, and his distance from power dynamics render him incomprehensible to many. This incomprehension does not arise from a lack of truth, but from the context’s inability to accommodate a mind operating on a different plane. Across all these narratives, a common element emerges: neurodiversity, understood as a structural difference in the way experience is perceived and organized, is neither corrected nor normalized. On the contrary, it becomes the vehicle through which ethical and social transformation is made manifest. The conflict is not between truth and error, but between cognitive plurality and normative rigidity. From this perspective, true richness does not lie in forced adaptation to dominant models, but in the ability to recognize and inhabit one’s own mental specificity. Resilience, therefore, does not coincide with camouflage, but with the capacity to remain faithful to one’s cognitive structure even when it generates solitude, accusations, or misunderstanding. Norasgarden symbolically fits within this framework as a space that legitimizes neurodiversity. It is a garden of difference, where the care of living beings becomes a metaphor for the care of nonconforming minds. Like the Qur’anic prophetic figures, it resists homogenizing pressures—economic, cultural, and cognitive—that seek to reduce complexity to what is immediately productive or easily understood. Defending Norasgarden thus means defending the right to exist of non-standard perceptions, deep sensitivities, and slow, meticulous forms of attention. It means recognizing that certain minds, precisely because they diverge, are able to perceive invisible balances and to generate possibilities for more just and peaceful coexistence. In this sense, neurodiversity is not a limitation to be overcome, but an essential resource for the collective future.

The sky still exists, but almost no one looks at it anymore. Not because it has changed, but because our gaze no longer lingers; it has lost the ability to rest on a fixed point for more than a few seconds. In Lamu there was nothing else. At night above me stretched a dark, infinite surface, dotted with lights that, like small beacons, cut through every doubt. I watched it for a long time, trying to understand it, as if it were possible to separate it from the rest of the universe, but it wasn’t, and after a few weeks I stopped forcing it. Surah al-Mulk invites us to look at the sky and search for flaws. The more you observe it, the fewer you find, not out of distraction, but because of their absence. I understood that I see only what I give my attention to. When the gaze lowers, things lose weight. In that place, devoid of noise and artificial light, where cars do not even exist, the sky was dominant—clear and impenetrable. In the silence it seemed to vibrate. The platform of this life is called the mind. Death is not an interruption; only our thought shifts into another field. The Qur’an suggests this in Surah az-Zumar, distinguishing between the soul that is retained at death and the one that is returned during sleep: the passage is not an end, but a change of state. Even life itself is scaled down. In Surah al-Hadid, worldly existence is described as play, distraction, and appearance. It is not ultimate reality, but a temporary form of existence. This is why life is an illusion: a projection that gains substance only when the mind adheres to it. Thought, when set in motion, generates images. Authentic seeing, instead, dissolves them. Thinking is building; seeing is releasing. I stayed in Lamu for a long time. There I listened to the sound of the Earth, its primordial vibrations, and my physical dimension shrank until it became pure light. In certain places, free from distractions, inner noise, and superstructures, the mind grows quiet and what remains is the essential. The nights among the mangroves confirmed it to me: we are made of energy. In a psycho-physical state of absolute peace, the self dissolves and integrates into cosmic energy, without opposition, without separation. Perhaps the time has come to stop taking religion literally. To dismantle the surahs—not to deny them, but to truly understand them. The Creator never stops urging us to acquire knowledge. And if there is no God outside of Allah, then there is no separation between the divine and the universe itself. The shahada, read deeply, does not merely refute atheism; it dismantles the idea of a distant, external, anthropomorphic God. The Qur’an is a key, not a closed dogma, but a map for understanding the universe. Lamu showed me the sky for what it truly is. And in that sky I recognized, one by one, the 99 names of Allah, not as abstract concepts, but as living, present, palpable vibrations. To know, not to believe. To see, not to imagine. To remember what we have always been.

There exists an ancestral language, the language of the Earth, which expresses itself through sound. In the ashram we chanted OM, and it vibrated through the silent universe, seemingly flattened among countless prominent stars. The recitation of the Qur’an, instead, attunes our breath in ways very similar to a meditative practice or a mantra, thanks to its rhythm, its pauses, and its vibration—yet in an even more structured and refined way. The recitation of the Qur’an also has significant effects on the physical level, not only on the spiritual and mental one. Its natural rhythm and pauses encourage deep, diaphragmatic breathing; the Arabic syllables produce vibrations that connect the chest, head, and oral cavity; and the nervous system calms, sweeping away stress and muscular tension. It is a subtle physical exercise that synchronizes body, breath, and mind, transforming recitation into a bodily and meditative experience. It may also have positive effects for those who suffer from asthma or anxiety, thanks to its calming influence on the nervous system. The Earth emits a series of measurable vibrations and signals: from earthquakes to ground oscillations, to tides generated by gravitational interaction with the Moon and the Sun. These are mechanical, electrical, and magnetic variations that constitute the planet’s “breath.” On a broader scale, the solar system displays regular orbits and gravitational resonances, while the universe itself produces gravitational waves and density oscillations within galaxies. Thus, natural cycles on Earth, such as day and night, the seasons, and atmospheric phenomena, are directly connected to astronomical and physical processes governed by precise laws, demonstrating that our planet is part of an interconnected cosmic system. Surah Ar-Rūm 30:48 states: “Allah is He who sends the winds, which raise the clouds, and spreads them in the sky as He wills, and causes them to fall upon the earth, giving life thereby after it was dead. Surely in this are signs for people who reflect.” Analyzing this verse, we observe that Allah is presented as the ordering principle who creates the wind, raises the clouds, and disperses them in the sky according to His will. Scientifically, wind arises from air movement caused by differences in pressure, uneven heating of the Earth’s surface, the Coriolis effect, and the shape of the land. It transports moisture and heat, thus promoting the formation of clouds and rain. Nature, although it possesses self-regulating cycles and mechanisms, cannot sustain itself indefinitely on its own without an external ordering principle, for both scientific and philosophical-spiritual reasons. The Qur’an affirms that the universe and nature do not maintain themselves autonomously but are constantly sustained and ordered by Allah. This concept aligns with scientific observation: nature follows laws, cycles, and delicate balances that allow life, but without an external ordering principle, such systems would collapse. One may therefore say that the world breathes like a great diaphragm. The natural cycles of the Earth, rising and falling tides, winds moving through the atmosphere, and the alternation of seasons, resemble the movement of the human diaphragm during inhalation and exhalation. Plants absorb CO₂ and release oxygen; animals breathe; oceans exchange gases with the atmosphere. All of this generates a global breath, a constant flow of energy and matter similar to that of the human body. When we connect with nature, our own breathing tends to synchronize with these rhythms, as if we were sensing the Earth inhaling and exhaling. This is why meditating in nature creates relaxation, harmony, and a sense of unity with the universe. The Qur’an indirectly teaches conscious breathing through the recitation of its verses. This occurs through rhythm and pauses, vibration and resonance of Arabic syllables, relaxation of the nervous system, and the cultivation of presence and awareness. Breath becomes a meditative tool that synchronizes body and spirit, transforming every word into an act of inner balance. The Arabic language is extraordinarily deep and complex. It is based on triliteral roots, from which many related words emerge, each carrying nuanced shades of meaning, allowing for a unique semantic richness. Classical Arabic, especially that of the Qur’an, is musical and rhythmic: syllables, consonants, and vowels produce natural vibrations in the body, transmitting emotional and spiritual intensity even independently of the literal meaning of the words. Each term has a distinct character, and the combination of meaning, rhythm, and sound makes this language a powerful instrument for connecting with the Divine, capable of influencing everything around it. Thus, while the Earth breathes like a great diaphragm, the Qur’an breathes through our words. Every verse, every syllable, every pause synchronizes body, breath, and mind with the rhythms of the universe. Reciting the Qur’an then becomes an act of harmony: a bridge between humanity and nature, between the visible and the invisible, between the finite and the infinite. In this shared breath, the Divine and the world meet, and life itself becomes a song of balance and presence. Surah Al-Baqarah 2:255 (Ayat al-Kursi): “Allah! There is no deity except Him, the Ever-Living, the Sustainer of all existence. Neither slumber nor sleep overtakes Him. To Him belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth. Who is it that can intercede with Him except by His permission? He knows what is before them and what is behind them, and they encompass nothing of His knowledge except what He wills. His Throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and preserving them does not tire Him. He is the Most High, the Most Great.”

Masks are like flowers and last only one season. You can flee anywhere, but they will chase you, because they know you need them to cover the worn spots on your face. During Carnival, you can hide your identity and social status, blending like a chameleon among the crowd of other jesters, but in reality, it is much harder: the mask will always lose its brilliant petals and leave you like a withered stem in the Garden. This happens when the mask itself grows tired of supporting you and its colors begin to drip into a garden of lies. Hiding behind tulips is useless. The garden, guardian of Its Nature, knows Creation and the laws that govern it. Wearing a face that is not yours devours the energy of body and spirit, diverting it from the other plants of the Garden. It turns you into a toy without roots, more puppet than human, and condemns you to feed the lie endlessly to sustain a place that does not belong to you. By doing so, the surrounding vegetation withers, and sometimes the price the Garden pays is life itself, because some botanical species lack the strength to regrow after being altered. The events of the twentieth century have not disappeared; they repeat under new names. The dramas that once unfolded in aristocratic neighborhoods and feudal palaces now take place in digital squares, exposed without the veil of privacy. The mask, which once protected, has become a spectacle; pretense has become a measure of legitimacy. The more one performs, the more one is recognized as authentic. Hiding is no longer an act of shame but a survival strategy: it avoids the moral lynching administered by judges who answer to no law. In this sense, social media are the new public squares: places of display and condemnation, not so different from those where, between the 17th and 18th centuries, witch burnings were celebrated. You can hide behind a fiction for a set time, but the Day will come when no algorithm, strategy, or image will protect you, because on that Day, what will be judged is not what appears, but what is kept in hearts, as it is remembered: "And do not hide from your Lord, who knows the secret and what is even more hidden"  (Ṭā-Hā 20:7). Man desires to appear different, to be approved and pleased, perhaps because he loves illusion and often mistakes it for life, thus changing his face without fear, with flesh or with symbol, parading as if he were always at the Venice Carnival. But the Qur’an reminds: "Every community has a term appointed; when their term comes, they cannot delay it for an hour, nor advance it"  (Al-A‘rāf 7:34). Judgment does not come immediately, not because God is absent, but because His mercy precedes the reckoning, and He grants time so that man may return, not so that he may persist in error: "Whoever does good, it is for the benefit of his own soul; whoever does evil, it is against it. Your Lord is not unjust to His servants"  (Fuṣṣilat 41:46). Many claim not to perceive the presence of God when in need, yet it is the very disguise that hides His presence: "Do they not travel through the land, so that their hearts may thus learn wisdom? Not their eyes"  (Al-Ḥajj 22:46). Then comes the Hour, and the Hour asks no permission: tricks fall away and vision sharpens. No camouflage will be carried onto the Scale, for deeds will be laid out one by one, and even the weight of a speck will be assessed: "So whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it, and whoever does an atom’s weight of evil will see it"  (Az-Zalzalah 99:7–8). Those who built upon appearances will discover they have no support, and those who mistook God’s patience for absence of judgment will understand, too late, that the time granted was a test, for: "He knows what is apparent and what is hidden"  (Al-Ḥajj 22:46). Then the Venetian masks, so beautiful to display, adorned with gold and vivid colors, will begin to melt like snow in the sun, their pigments blending until they turn into indistinct mud, and what seemed art will reveal itself as merely a fake painting. In the face of Truth, in the silence of the Garden, no shapes or decorations remain, only what man has truly carried within himself.

“O you who believe, it is not lawful for you to inherit women against their will, nor to oppress them to take back part of what you gave them, unless they have committed a manifest indecency. Live with them in kindness. If you dislike them, perhaps you dislike something in which Allah has placed much good.” — Sura An-Nisāʾ (The Women) 4:19 Bismillah A woman protected by God has nothing to fear—not because she is spared from pain, but because pain holds no power to destroy her. It is she whom the world should fear. She is neither dangerous nor domineering, yet any attempt to harm her is destined to fail. She carries an invisible seal upon her heart and knows how to wield her Light—a silent, ancient flame, powerful and enduring, which rises every time she must keep her enemies at bay. The more cruelty and injustice she endures, the more she is being tested by Allah, and in divine logic, every trial comes with compensation, often proportional or even greater. She does not despair. Her light grows through suffering, not comfort, and when it shines brighter, it cannot be ignored. It begins to unsettle those who observe her, reveal the intentions of others, and disturb those who wish her harm. For this reason, the woman under divine protection continues to walk in truth, even if it makes her a target of destruction, knowing that what is guarded by God cannot be broken. There are many signs to recognize such a woman: she learns swiftly from pain and grows without bitterness, yet remains vigilant. She does not fall twice into the same trap, as every wound becomes wisdom. God allows her to suffer to teach her defense and strengthen her inner foundations. She loves with boundaries, gives with balance, and turns every lesson into a light that illuminates future dangers. She does not walk alone, but she is not lost in the world’s noise. She has few friends, but true ones, and she is surrounded by souls that endure. Solitude is not emptiness, but a sacred space where God dwells. Allah protects pure hearts, those that endure: even if she does not always realize she is favored, she can sense inner stillness—a calm born not from the absence of problems, but from the constant presence of God. She loses people but gains peace. Friends leave, relationships break, colleagues sabotage her work. God protects the woman He loves by removing what could harm her further, often without her immediately understanding why. Despite wounds, her heart remains pure. She faces humiliation, false accusations, and slander. This could make her hard, vengeful, or closed off, yet she remains good and pure. This is one of the highest signs of divine protection: she does not seek revenge but entrusts her pain to the Creator. She forgives even those who do not deserve it, so as not to poison her own heart. God protects sensitive hearts, and forgiveness becomes a covenant with the Creator, who sends her signs before a final decision is made. She is awakened gradually through many signs, perceiving subtle warnings and trusting her instincts. Her soul becomes her alert system; what others call intuition is her attentive listening. Allah does not send loud messages, but protects her through broken steps: sudden detours, unexpected paths, missed encounters. She is guided where she did not intend to go, yet always where she must be. She grows strong but not hardened. She does not close her heart but sets boundaries, preventing pain from destroying her. Even when the world attempts to strip her of this strength, she preserves it, for it does not belong to her—it has been entrusted to her. Finally, she remains calm in chaos and steps away from drama. Not out of coldness, but wisdom. She observes without reacting, elevates without hardening, and becomes wise without losing sensitivity. When a woman realizes that no one can protect her outside of God, she becomes inwardly indestructible. Her light, now strong, attracts attention and hostility, but cannot be extinguished. She remains unconquerable by the “devil,” for her resilience is not born of the world, but from a silent, intimate union with the Creator. Alhamdulillah.

Although the Rose of Jericho revives with just a few drops of water in our vases, it grows in a land, Jericho and its surroundings, that is suffering. Not only due to drought conditions exacerbated by water privatization and the control of natural resources, but also as a result of economic and geopolitical interests that, for nearly a century, have undermined a territory sacred to Jews, Christians, and Muslims, as well as the ecological balance itself. This miraculous plant, resilient in nature, has become a subject of reflection and a symbol of renewal. "Do not say of those who are killed in the way of Allah, 'They are dead.' No, they are alive, but you do not perceive it." Qur’an – Sura al-Baqarah (2:154) Not only humans are subject to God, but Nature itself reflects divine will. Every organism feeds on a transcendent energy that sustains its existence. Ākhirah, understood more in a spiritual than literal sense, represents the dimension in which the soul transcends earthly life and unites with ultimate truth, analogous to the Sahasrara in yoga, the point of opening to universal consciousness. The Rose of Jericho, like every living being, follows this path of resilience and transformation. The plant illustrates a principle of universal resurrection: human bones regenerate approximately every ten years, and science confirms that cells are in constant renewal. In this sense, life and matter follow interconnected cycles that reflect a profound and intelligent order, consistent with the teachings of the Qur’an. The Rose of Jericho transcends its ornamental function: it symbolizes latent survival, patient waiting, and renewal contingent upon favorable conditions. Matter, seemingly dead, contains vital potential; similarly, human existence, though subject to physical limitations, maintains the capacity for transformation through the activation of consciousness. Observing natural and cosmological phenomena, human knowledge encompasses only a small fraction of reality: approximately 5% of observable matter in the universe is understood, while the remaining 95%—dark matter and dark energy—remains largely unknown. The Qur’an itself reminds us: "And you were not given of knowledge except a little."  Qur’an 17:85 The Rose of Jericho also demonstrates the cycle of perception: what appears absent or dead may exist in invisible forms, like the sun hidden behind clouds or a person in a state of unconsciousness. Thus, the laws of nature reflect spiritual principles of continuity and resilience. Every natural element, from leaves to the wind, manifests a deeper reality; the pairs of phenomena mentioned in the Qur’an (Sura Adh-Dhariyat 51:49) highlight symmetries and interconnections between mind, thought, and matter. The quality of consciousness is reflected in the surrounding world: positive thoughts generate constructive actions and harmonious realities, while negative ones may produce destructive outcomes. Hence, the Rose of Jericho becomes the diagram of life, a silent representation of the cycles of birth, death, and renewal that characterize every being and phenomenon. Even when apparently inactive, it registers and responds to the surrounding environment. Jericho, one of the oldest cities in the Holy Land, hosts this extraordinary plant. Its biology, capable of extreme survival, has inspired studies in biomimetics and plant adaptation to climate change. Understanding natural processes—plants, animals, tissues—not only provides technological insights but also invites reflection on the spiritual functioning of human beings, who are born, die, and are reborn in a continuous cycle of transformation.

Winter, characterized by short days and often harsh temperatures, necessitates a higher intake of energy and warmth to sustain the human body. Yet, in contemporary society, the act of eating has increasingly become mechanical and inattentive, guided more by convenience, immediate impulses, or commercial influence than by conscious awareness of health and well-being. The constant availability of industrially processed foods—laden with added sugars, chemical preservatives, and antibiotic-treated meats—has engendered tangible consequences for both physical and mental health, manifesting as chronic fatigue, heightened vulnerability to illness, and a pervasive sense of weakness. In response, many seek fleeting “energy” from unnecessarily sweetened products, while even herbal teas have become saturated with additives. These phenomena transcend biological effects, reflecting a broader spiritual and psychological crisis wherein food has lost its original function as nourishment for both body and soul. Food has, in many contexts, evolved into a form of addiction—a daily distraction employed to fill an inner void, which paradoxically dissipates when one intentionally abstains for a prolonged period. Within this landscape, halal nutrition  emerges as a holistic model, addressing not only physical health but also emotional equilibrium and ethical responsibility. Halal dietary practices are distinguished by the selection of pure and beneficial foods, encompassing a nuanced spectrum—from prohibited to recommended items—far beyond the simplistic dichotomy commonly perceived. From the consumption of healthy, uncontaminated meat to the abstention from alcohol, toxins, drugs, poisonous mushrooms, pesticides, chemical solvents, and excessive medications, halal encapsulates six levels of classification, which will be examined in greater detail in a dedicated discussion. Adoption of this dietary framework does not signify arbitrary restriction; rather, it constitutes a form of primary prevention with benefits extending beyond the individual to the broader community. Public health, family cohesion, safety, economic stability, legality, youth education, and cultural inclusion are all influenced by everyday nutritional choices, highlighting the intricate interconnection between individual behavior and societal well-being. The foundational principles of moderation and mindful consumption inherent to halal nutrition facilitate the rediscovery of food’s intrinsic value—not merely as a source of energy but as a sacred gift of creation. Mindful and deliberate consumption fosters gratitude, reflection, and recognition of the sacredness of nourishment. This consciousness extends beyond alimentation to encompass cosmetics, medications, and other everyday products, which ideally should comply with standards of purity, abstaining from alcohol, pork derivatives, genetically modified organisms, and animal testing. In Western contexts marked by rampant consumerism and ethical erosion, the halal paradigm provides concrete tools to counteract alcoholism, substance abuse, and environmental degradation, promoting responsible and sustainable practices. The consequences of unbridled consumption are globally apparent. The immediate availability of industrial foods and material goods perpetuates a cycle of dissatisfaction and unrelenting desire, disproportionately affecting young populations and encouraging maladaptive eating patterns, substance use, and compulsive behaviors. Such dynamics indirectly impact developing countries, where Western dietary practices exacerbate inequality and vulnerability. The experiences of those who, despite extreme poverty, forego a meal to ensure sustenance for others, underscore the profound social and global implications of food choices. Consequently, ethical responsibility toward the vulnerable and reflective awareness of consumption emerge as both moral and practical imperatives. Incorporating halal principles into youth education constitutes a vital pedagogical initiative. This approach does not aim to impose one culture upon another but rather to provide tools to cultivate an understanding of moderation, gratitude, and respect for self and society, particularly in contexts where identity and social belonging are frequently linked to the consumption of alcohol or other substances. Empirical evidence affirms that a diet rich in wholesome, toxin-free foods supports optimal cardiovascular, hepatic, and immunological function. Yet, the significance of halal extends beyond physiological outcomes, encompassing a profound psychological and spiritual dimension. Fasting practices, such as those observed during Ramadan, serve as mechanisms for bodily and mental recalibration, fostering self-discipline, gratitude for one’s provisions, and heightened awareness of global inequities. The benefits of such practices transcend the physical, promoting deep personal growth and reflection. Accordingly, the halal approach surpasses mere dietary observance or religious ritual, embodying a global framework of ethical and social responsibility. It encourages the tempering of ego, recognition of others as equals, and an understanding that individual choices exert a tangible influence on the surrounding world. For youth, the impoverished, and all those immersed in compulsive consumerism, the halal paradigm offers a concrete pathway toward liberation from alienation, greed, and chronic dissatisfaction. Gratitude for nourishment, mindful consumption, and awareness of personal actions become indispensable tools for achieving equilibrium, safeguarding health, honoring life, and contributing actively to a more just society. Alhamdulillah for the nourishment that sustains the body and for winter, which teaches us to slow down, reflect, and choose with conscious awareness, recognizing in every meal an opportunity for care, ethical responsibility, and inner development. “O children of Adam! Take your adornment at every masjid, and eat and drink, but do not waste; indeed, He does not like the wasteful.” (Quran 7:31) In Arabic: يَا بَنِي آدَمَ خُذُوا زِينَتَكُمْ عِنْدَ كُلِّ مَسْجِدٍ وَكُلُوا وَاشْرَبُوا وَلَا تُسْرِفُوا إِنَّهُ لَا يُحِبُّ الْمُسْرِفِينَ

In the Qur’anic corpus, Mary (Maryam) holds a prominent position not only as the mother of the prophet ʿĪsā (Jesus) but also as a universal paradigm of virtue, devotion, and courage. The entire Sura Maryam (19) is dedicated to her, providing a comprehensive narrative of her birth, spiritual upbringing, and the miraculous virgin birth of ʿĪsā. In verses 16–19, the Qur’an emphasizes Mary’s purity and divine selection, highlighting that closeness to God stems from inner devotion and moral integrity rather than mere outward acts (Q 19:16–19). The narrative of ʿĪsā’s birth in Bethlehem, shared within the Christian tradition and indirectly referenced in the Qur’an (Q 19:22–25), symbolizes hope and spiritual light for humanity, serving as a symbolic bridge between Abrahamic religious traditions. The Qur’an articulates universal principles of justice and equality. Moral integrity and respect for others are essential criteria for the legitimacy of faith, regardless of religion or ethnic origin. Verses such as: “O you who believe! Be just: God loves the just.” (Q 49:9)“There is no privilege of race or tribe before God: the most noble of you is the most pious.” (Q 49:13) underscore that true piety is measured in ethical conduct and compassion toward others—principles shared across many religious traditions. The Qur’an explicitly recognizes the People of the Book—Christians and Jews—as recipients of respect and as interlocutors in religious dialogue. Key verses include: “Do not dispute with the People of the Book except in a way that is best.” (Q 29:46)“O People of the Book! Come to a common word between us and you: we worship none but God and associate nothing with Him.” (Q 3:64) Such guidance emphasizes the importance of respectful engagement and the search for common ground, promoting peaceful coexistence and cooperation between different religious communities. In this regard, it is significant to recall that in 1974, Pope Paul VI formally established the Commission for Religious Relations with Muslims within the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue, creating an institutional channel for dialogue and mutual understanding between Catholics and Muslims. This initiative demonstrates that, even in the face of profound theological differences, it is possible to establish respectful and constructive relations, laying the foundation for sustained interreligious dialogue at the ecclesiastical level. Mary and the People of the Book, as depicted in the Qur’an, are therefore symbols of universal virtues: purity, devotion, justice, dialogue, and mutual respect. The centrality of these figures invites believers to an active spirituality capable of promoting peace, understanding, and harmony in contemporary society. In this context, the cultural sharing of religious festivals and symbols becomes a tangible means to translate spiritual values into daily practices of tolerance and coexistence. As Martin Luther King Jr. recalled: “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” Taking the first step toward understanding the other—the other faith and culture—is essential for building bridges of lasting understanding between communities and generations. Historical-Cultural Examples of Interreligiosity Historically, Syria represented a laboratory of interreligious coexistence. The cities of Damascus, Aleppo, and Homs hosted Muslim, Christian, Jewish, and Druze communities for centuries, sharing cultural spaces, ritual practices, and festivals. The town of Maaloula, located in the mountains northeast of Damascus, preserves the Aramaic language—the language of Jesus—and bears witness to the coexistence of churches, monasteries, and Muslim communities, highlighting a history of dialogue and sustained cultural exchange. However, recent political events have drastically disrupted this tradition, showing that the breakdown of coexistence is not the result of religion but of political manipulation. Historical analysis of the twentieth century, including the Nuremberg trials, clearly shows that domination over peoples is achieved through confusion, division, and the instrumentalization of power, not through religious faith. In this context, religion continues to serve as a vehicle for identity and cohesion, while politics generates disorder and conflict. Convergence of Values Across Different Traditions Ramadan and Christmas, while belonging to different religious traditions, share fundamental values: discipline, reflection, and solidarity in Ramadan; generosity, joy, and hope at Christmas. Both occasions represent opportunities to open one’s heart to others, overcome cultural barriers, and build bridges of understanding. Mary and the People of the Book, as depicted in the Qur’an, are thus symbols of universal virtues: purity, devotion, justice, dialogue, and mutual respect. The centrality of these figures invites believers to an active spirituality capable of promoting peace, understanding, and harmony in contemporary society. In this context, the cultural sharing of festivals and religious symbols becomes a practical way to translate spiritual values into everyday practices of tolerance and coexistence. Academic Notes Tafsir al-Tabari, Jami‘ al-bayan ‘an ta’wil ay al-Qur’an , vol. 12, commentary on Sura Maryam 16–19. Tafsir Ibn Kathir, Al-Bidaya wa’l-Nihaya , commentary on Sura 3:64 and Sura 29:46. Al-Qurtubi, Al-Jami‘ li-Ahkam al-Qur’an , reflections on Maryam and Ahl al-Kitāb. Sura 19:22–25, narrative of ʿĪsā’s birth in Bethlehem. Sura 49:9–13, principles of justice and equality. Author’s Note The author has extensive experience in interreligious contexts, having worked in India for a year on dialogue and cooperation projects, and collaborating with migrants through the Red Cross and other humanitarian organizations. She has also traveled widely in diverse cultural and religious contexts and lived in Lamu for an extended period, deepening her studies of the Qur’an.

According to geoclimatic forecasts and scientific studies on climate change, some regions of Africa and the Middle East could become more habitable and fertile than many areas of Europe in the near future. Yet, this prospect carries a bitter realization: perhaps we will no longer be here, and the roles we know today will be reversed. In this context, an ancient and unsettling story emerges: that of a great treasure lying beneath the waters of the Euphrates River, in Syria. The Euphrates is not only one of the longest and most vital rivers in the Middle East; it is the beating heart of the Fertile Crescent, cradle of the first human civilizations. Its waters allowed the development of irrigated agriculture and the rise of Sumerian city-states such as Ur, Uruk, and Eridu, followed by the Akkadians, Babylonians, and Assyrians. Strategic for irrigation, trade, and politics, considered sacred and fertile, the Euphrates is at once history, legend, and a symbol of civilization. According to Islamic tradition, an authentic ḥadīth reported by Abu Huraira (رضي الله عنه) and confirmed by Imām al-Bukhārī and Muslim, announces: "The Hour will not come until the Euphrates uncovers a mountain of gold. People will fight over it, and ninety-nine out of every hundred will be killed. Each of them will say: ‘Perhaps I will be the one who is saved.’ Whoever is present at that time should not take anything from it." The meaning of this prophecy is not merely material; it could be a warning against greed, a cautionary note about human folly that drives us to rush toward fleeting riches while the world around us changes drastically. The gold of the Euphrates thus becomes a symbol of struggle, selfishness, and the precariousness of our existence. The geology of the Euphrates basin suggests the possibility—not yet scientifically confirmed—of gold deposits, accumulated from the erosion of surrounding mountains. But regardless of the actual existence of this treasure, the symbolism is powerful: Syria (Sham) is indicated in the ḥadīth as the theater of the great final battle between good and evil, linked to the coming of the Antichrist (Dajjāl) and the return of Jesus (ʿĪsā, peace be upon him) in Damascus. Some interpreters see these events as real wars, others as moral or symbolic struggles. Sham, crossroads of religions and civilizations, thus becomes the epicenter of human destiny. The ḥadīth of the Euphrates is not isolated: the Qur’an has anticipated historical and scientific events that actually occurred. From the victory of the Romans over the Persians (ar-Rūm 30:2-4) to the preservation of the Pharaoh’s body (Yunus 10:92), from the expansion of Islam (al-Fath 48:28) to the discovery of embryonic stages (al-Mu’minun 23:12-14), up to the expansion of the universe (adh-Dhariyat 51:47) and the barriers between fresh and salt water (al-Furqan 25:53), the sacred text has revealed a remarkable knowledge of history and nature. Today, the Euphrates is threatened by Turkish dams, such as the Atatürk Dam, which reduce the downstream flow, causing agricultural crises and political tensions between Turkey, Syria, and Iraq. This river, which was once a vital lifeline and a symbol of civilization, now reflects human fragility and greed. The Euphrates, with its willows, poplars, and tamarisks, populated by migratory birds and rare fish, crosses deserts, mountains, and plains, offering stretches of quiet introspection and extraordinarily contrasting natural scenery, yet it is fragile. Beneath its surface may lie a treasure, real or metaphorical, that will drive people to migrate toward more fertile lands, perhaps in Africa, while Europe becomes impoverished—not only materially but, above all, spiritually. We do not know what will grow beneath our feet, within us, or above us. There is no security, and life can change from one day to the next, while we are focused on getting rich, the world continues to transform—flowers bloom and die, drought destroys crops, storms annihilate what we thought eternal. The Euphrates becomes a symbol of our arrogance, our selfishness, and the fleeting nature of our certainties. Perhaps the mountain of gold is only a warning, or perhaps an inevitable future event. In either case, it forces us to reflect: to what extent are we willing to let greed shape the destiny of the world?

This is the story of Jasmine, a flower that once lived widely across Syria, when the world was still dormant and seemed to breathe slowly, sweetly, and safely. Jasmine was pure and luminous, climbing with quiet modesty along the railings of homes and the balconies of Damascus, carrying elegance through the air and releasing a fragrance woven from fragile, unspoken dreams. Anyone who passed beside her, even for an instant, felt suspended — captured by an intoxicating happiness that tasted of eternity. Flowers remember those who once walked beside them, those who stained them with bright, living blood, and the children who played ball in the courtyards. Some who fled still remember; others have lost the ability to feel anything when they think of the fractured streets and alleys. Yet when Jasmine drifts into their thoughts, her scent becomes the echo of a story far deeper than memory. “Home” has an aroma that fills their senses as if nothing had ever happened, as if yesterday and today were still the same — but only for a fleeting moment. The jasmine in my garden does not carry that same scent; it lacks the enchantment that overwhelms, the light that slips through the bones. I try to draw near to a memory that is not mine, to feel the thrill of a past I never lived, but the unique flower that once represented Syria was shattered, along with its ancient history and the dreams of millions of innocents of the Levant. Jasmine is a botanical wonder, yet in Syria it was more than a flower: it embodied resilience and beauty, the fragile strength of a people who endured — a symbol no distant garden can recreate. I searched in vain for a resemblance that might let me enter its biography, but I found nothing. So I surrendered, for some flowers — some memories — must remain untouched, far from the hands that seek them, living only in the hearts of those who have not forgotten, and in the silent eyes of those who once saw them bloom. No jasmine will ever be equal to another.

The Qur’an pays great attention to a person’s inner attitude, and in particular it warns against arrogance, one of the most harmful behaviors for the heart and for society. Verse 17:37 invites us to reflect on our relationship with others and with the world: no material or social height can justify pride. Walking with arrogance means believing oneself superior, treating others with contempt, and ignoring one’s own limits. The Qur’an uses a simple but powerful image: you will never split the earth open nor reach the mountains in height. No wealth, power, or physical strength makes a person greater or more important in the eyes of God. This verse is not only a warning but also practical guidance: those who wish to live with balance must cultivate humility, respect, and awareness of their own limitations. Humility does not mean weakness; it means recognizing that every success, every achievement, is temporary and relative when compared to the vastness of creation and divine justice. In an age in which personal protagonism and competition are often exalted, the Qur’an reminds us that authentic greatness is not measured by height, power, or status, but by the ability to walk with respect and kindness, preventing the ego from turning life into a stage of vanity. Verse 17:37 calls for daily reflection: “And do not walk upon the earth with arrogance.” The choice is individual—one can walk with modesty or otherwise—but humility leads us to true inner and social harmony. Not everyone is willing to listen or to change. The Qur’an gives us clear guidance on how to behave in the presence of arrogance: 1.     Protect your heart  – Do not let another person’s ego drag you into anger or contempt. Maintain your integrity. 2.     Respond with kindness and wisdom  – The Qur’an invites us to “invite to the way of Allah with wisdom and good exhortation” (16:125). Your righteous behavior is often more effective than a thousand words. 3.     Apply justice or forgive consciously  – You are not required to forgive immediately. As verse 42:40 states, proportional justice is legitimate, but whoever chooses forgiveness receives a special reward. 4.     Cultivate patience (ṣabr) – Be patient, for “Allah is with the patient” (8:46). Calmness and perseverance protect the heart and allow you to face arrogance without harming yourself. The Qur’an teaches us that we cannot change everyone, but we can control our reactions, preserve our integrity, and respond with wisdom. Walking with humility and righteousness, even in the face of others’ wickedness, is the true greatness that verse 17:37 seeks to teach us.