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“A good word is like a good tree, firmly rooted, whose branches reach the sky.” (Surah Ibrahim 14:24) Many people are afraid of being copied. Yet if what is copied is the intention to make the world a better place, then it becomes a blessing for all humanity. When ideas are repeated, even under different names, it is a sign that they carry meaning and light, and that they inspire transformation. What truly matters is how we share our limited time on this earth. The Qur’an reminds us: “And We did not create the heavens and earth and everything between them except in truth and for a specified term.”(Surah Al-Ahqaf 46:3) Everything is sustained with purpose—every flower, every cloud, every soul. Faith is the trust and certainty that behind all creation there is One Source, one energy that supports everything. Without this central force, nothing would exist. We are all interconnected. Souls move toward the places where they feel peace, just as the Qur’an describes the believers’ final home: “Indeed, the righteous will be within gardens and rivers, in a seat of honor near a Sovereign, Perfect in Ability.”(Surah Al-Qamar 54:54–55) The garden teaches us this truth. A flower may appear, and the instinct is to pick it, fearing its loss. Yet it is precisely when it is cut that it is lost. Isn’t it better to share it, to let it bloom for all? After all, everything in nature exists for a reason. And every person, too, carries a clear purpose. Perhaps the most beautiful vision of the future is a world filled with gardens—reminders that even forgotten and neglected places can be brought back to life. “And He is the One Who produces gardens trellised and untrellised…”(Surah Al-An‘am 6:141) Let us become gardeners of this world—restoring, planting, sharing. In every flower, every act of kindness, every word of hope, there is the possibility of inspiring someone else to nurture life where once there was only neglect.

In my garden lies a universe waiting to be discovered. The roundness of a melon reminds me of distant planets; the sweetness of a fig reflects the tenderness of the heart. Each fruit is more than nourishment — it is a sign of Allah’s wisdom, a living proof that “ Indeed, We created all things in due measure” ( Surah al-Qamar-The Moon - Verse 54:49). When I look at the fruits of the earth, I see more than food — I see the signs of Allah. Each fruit is like a verse written in color, shape, and taste, a reminder that creation is not random but perfectly measured. The melon, round and luminous, rests on the ground like a small planet, reminding me that the universe and the earth share the same design. The symmetry of their form whispers of balance and harmony. Then comes the fig — soft, sweet, and filled with secrets. Its heart-like shape speaks to me of love and mercy. Its flower matures hidden within, teaching us that what is most precious often ripens in silence. The Qur’an swears by this fruit: “By the fig and the olive…”  (95:1), elevating it among the sacred gifts of creation. And when I taste it, I feel both its blessing and its wisdom: the fiber that cleanses the body, the minerals that strengthen bones, the sweetness that gives energy, the calm that helps me rest. Even in its benefits, the fig reflects the care of the Creator, who made food not only to sustain us but also to heal us. Every fruit carries this dual message: nourishment for the body, and remembrance for the soul. The olive with its golden oil, the grape with its bursting sweetness, the pomegranate with its jeweled seeds, the date with its sustaining strength — all of them signs that guide the heart back to gratitude. So, when I hold a fig in my hand, I do not see just a fruit. I see a reminder of Allah’s generosity, a symbol of wisdom, and a taste of paradise. Figs are more than a sweet treat; they are gifts of the Creator, full of wisdom and nourishment. Their benefits include: Digestive health:  Rich in fiber, figs help the stomach and intestines stay healthy and prevent constipation. Heart support:  Potassium and antioxidants help regulate blood pressure and protect the heart. Bone strength:  Calcium and magnesium in figs keep bones strong and healthy. Energy and vitality:  Natural sugars, vitamins, and minerals provide a gentle boost for the body. Relaxation and sleep:  Magnesium helps calm the mind and improve sleep quality. Traditional vitality:  Historically, figs have been valued as a source of energy and sexual vitality. Colon health:  Fiber aids in cleansing the body and may reduce the risk of colon cancer. Weight management:  Fiber promotes fullness, helping to control appetite. Antioxidant power:  Compounds in figs fight free radicals, supporting skin and cell health. Melons are another fruit full of both health benefits and subtle symbolism. Hydration:  Melons, especially watermelon and cantaloupe, are over 90% water, helping keep the body hydrated. Rich in vitamins:  High in vitamin C and A, supporting immunity, vision, and skin health. Heart health:  Potassium in melons helps regulate blood pressure and maintain heart function. Digestive support:  Fiber aids digestion and promotes healthy bowel movements. Antioxidants:  Contains beta-carotene, lycopene (in watermelon), and other antioxidants that fight free radicals. Weight management:  Low in calories and high in water, making them filling but light. Anti-inflammatory properties:  Some compounds in melons can help reduce inflammation in the body. Natural cooling:  Melons are soothing in summer, helping regulate body temperature. Energy boost:  Natural sugars provide a gentle and quick source of energy.

By now, every plant has found its place, each one drawn to the space it was meant to fill. Isn’t that a reflection of divine wisdom? The small ones, the unseen ones — the insects. A garden that welcomes birds must first welcome insects. They are guided here by native trees and wildflowers, by humble shelters of wood and stone, by the gentle invitation of stillness. Even what has fallen is not lost. Deadwood becomes nourishment, a resting place, a cradle for new life. A fading plant may be embraced by a climbing rose, showing us how beauty can cover what once seemed broken. Wild corners whisper of abundance. They are both food and sanctuary, mystery and refuge. In every season, Nora’s Garden breathes with hidden life. And now comes September , a month that balances beginnings and endings. I still sow seeds—parsley, savoy, lamb’s lettuce, radish, garlic. Even as the light softens and the shadows lengthen, the earth receives and gives. Soon, I will enclose my land with chestnut wood—posts rich with tannin, steadfast against decay. Not only to guard the harvest from wild creatures, but to shape a sanctuary of peace, where plants may flourish and where words may flow. For I long for a place of quiet, where writing becomes prayer, and prayer becomes harvest. Nora’s Garden expands as my spirit expands. The pumpkins stretch outward like rivers of green, as if they too are reaching for the horizon. And beyond the fruit and the flowers, the true garden is within: a garden of wisdom, a reflection of Jannah . Paradise is not only a promise of the hereafter—it is a seed already planted in the mind and the heart. We are the soil of every movement, and Allah is the energy that sustains us. September asks of us: ·        To free the tomato from blossoms that drain its strength. ·        To hide cloves of garlic and onions among the strawberries, as secrets waiting for spring. ·        To guide self-sown herbs and flowers to the places where they will flourish. ·        To return what has ended to the earth, so that in compost it may rise again. And so the cycle continues. I have tested, I have tried—and still, everything grows. Perhaps because I speak to the plants, and they answer. Perhaps because the divine breath moves through every stem and leaf, through every thought and silence. Even when the mind still slumbers in the backyard of forgetfulness, the garden is awake. The garden remembers.

The global demand for halal food is rising — and not only because of the growth of Islam. More and more people, including non-Muslims, are drawn to food that is ethical, natural, and nourishing for both body and soul. For me, my garden is the clearest example of this truth. Planting seeds, watching them grow, and harvesting with my own hands is more than a healthy habit — it is a spiritual act. It reconnects me to nature, to the earth, and to the idea that true sustenance comes from purity and intention. As Allah teaches us, what matters most is what lies in the heart. We are imperfect beings, yet God’s message is perfect. Living by this principle is the path to keeping both ourselves and our planet alive and well. Today, many people are tired of food that is overloaded with additives and stripped of meaning. They long for something genuine. Urban gardens are beginning to spread, but what is still missing is the collective awareness — and the shared responsibility — to care for them. I believe the future of food is halal. The work of the farmer will once again be a necessity, and local, homegrown production will become the key to protecting our economies and reducing waste. When local fishermen in Europe are forced to stop working for 40 days while markets are filled with imported fish, when farmers throw away tons of fresh produce while foreign goods are sold on supermarket shelves — something is deeply broken. Halal offers a different way forward: local meat, handled with care, slaughtered only when needed, never through faceless global industries. Yet even here, labels and certifications can lose authenticity, and some nations have even tried to ban halal practices altogether. Why? Because a world that embraces halal — with its call for fairness, moderation, and respect for creation — threatens powerful industries built on excess: processed foods, alcohol, intoxicants. Islam stands against all that corrupts human beings and harms the environment. And so, change must begin with us. Planting a garden. Choosing mindfully. Living with awareness. These are small acts, yet each one has the power to transform the future. Every individual matters. But the distractions of modern life — gambling, endless entertainment, fleeting pleasures — have pulled humanity away from its essence. We have forgotten to ask the most important questions: Who are we? Why are we here? Surah Al-Insan reminds us that our true nature is the key to understanding the divine message. By returning to that nature — by living simply, consciously, and with gratitude — we rediscover who we are meant to be. And in doing so, we take part in healing not only ourselves, but also the world around us. Honesty, Intention, and Halal Food Surah An-Nahl (16:116) reminds us: “And do not say, based on what your tongues describe falsely: ‘This is lawful and this is unlawful,’ to forge a lie against Allah. Indeed, those who forge lies against Allah will not prosper.” In the context of food, this verse highlights the importance of truthfulness and integrity. Declaring something halal or haram is not merely a formality — it is a responsibility that carries spiritual weight. In today’s globalized food market, where industrial production and labeling can be misleading, this guidance is more relevant than ever. By growing your own garden or sourcing food locally, you regain control over what you consume. You know where it comes from, how it’s grown, and that it aligns with ethical and religious principles. This is a direct application of the Qur’anic principle: avoid false claims, act with sincerity, and ensure that what you eat is truly lawful and wholesome.

Growing native wildflowers and planting ornamentals in between go hand in hand for me. I love the biodiversity in my vegetable garden, and this summer I have a rich and colorful harvest that allows me to cook fresh, healthy dishes every day. I simply eat what grows — I don’t have to spend much time thinking about what to prepare for lunch or dinner. My garden takes care of that, providing food for the whole family. Every day I discover something new. For example, I’ve learned that strawberry plants multiply on their own. At night, they send out a runner from their base and root it in nearby soil, creating a new plant. It’s an incredible process, one I should really study at night with a lamp, because it all happens while we sleep, without us even noticing. My garden is a place where everything happens naturally. No effort, no outside interference. There are butterflies, bees, and even spider webs. A fascinating biodiversity that awakens life every day. I’m sharing a little piece of my garden with you to inspire you to create one of your own. One thing I’m proud of is that 80% of the plants growing here I’ve raised myself. It’s almost an experimental garden, where you can study plants and see how they work. Observing all this has taught me about life. A garden is an art — it’s growth, connection, and a place where exciting encounters happen. Qur’an 36:33–35: "And a sign for them is the dead earth brought to life: We give it life, and We bring forth from it grain, and they eat from it. And We placed therein gardens of date palms and grapevines…” Botanical Insight: This passage eloquently illustrates the process of soil revitalization and the emergence of plant life from seemingly inert ground. It underscores the fundamental roles of water, nutrient availability, and ecological conditions in enabling the germination and growth of crops such as grains, date palms, and grapevines. My experimental garden seeks to investigate these interactions systematically, enhancing understanding of sustainable cultivation practices and the intricate dynamics of terrestrial ecosystems.

The concept of the “soul” has long belonged to the realms of philosophy, religion, and mysticism. However, as science progresses in understanding complex energy systems, consciousness, and quantum fields, it becomes increasingly plausible to reconsider the soul in terms of physics — not as a metaphor, but as a hypothetical energetic structure. One possible framework is to understand the soul as a subtle electromagnetic charge — a highly organized, low-density field of energy that is embedded within the body during life. Unlike classical electricity, this charge would not behave like the current running through wires. Instead, it might operate on quantum or sub-quantum levels, interacting with the body’s electromagnetic and possibly bio-photonic fields in ways that current instruments are not yet sensitive enough to measure. This could be conceptualized as a kind of “molecular field structure”: not made of ordinary matter, but composed of micro-energetic units, potentially similar to the energy quanta that define particles in quantum field theory. Such a structure would be non-material in the traditional sense, yet real — functioning as a coherent system of electromagnetic information that coexists with and possibly influences biological processes. At the moment of death — when the body ceases to support biological life — this field would dissociate from the body. But rather than being destroyed, it may dephase or dissolve into the ambient electromagnetic environment, much like a signal fading into a wider field. It may even follow field gradients, moving toward areas of lower resistance or higher resonance — perhaps aligning with existing cosmic or atmospheric electromagnetic patterns. This could offer a modern interpretation of the ancient belief that the soul “rises to the heavens.” Not as an escape into an abstract afterlife, but as a return to a greater energetic system  — a reintegration into the universal field from which it may have originated. Contemporary physics increasingly acknowledges that empty space is not empty — it is filled with zero-point energy, quantum fluctuations, and complex field interactions. The human body, likewise, is not just a biochemical machine, but a system deeply embedded in and influenced by its electromagnetic environment. In this context, the idea of the soul as a structured, transient energy field is not only compatible with emerging scientific models — it invites further interdisciplinary investigation. This approach does not claim to prove  the soul exists in measurable terms, but it reframes it as a testable hypothesis: that consciousness — or a core energetic identity — may persist beyond physical death in a non-local, field-based form. In the Qur’an, the concept is not framed in terms of modern physics’ “energy” but in terms of the soul (nafs / rūḥ)  and the continuation of consciousness after physical death. A few key points: The Soul returns to God The Qur’an emphasizes that at death, the soul is taken by God’s command, and it continues to exist in another realm: "Every soul will taste death, and you will only be given your full compensation on the Day of Resurrection. (Qur`an 3:185). "It is Allah Who takes away the souls at the time of their death". (Qur`an 39:42). This suggests that human life is not extinguished but transferred from the worldly phase to a different mode of existence . Barzakh - The Intermediate Realm After death, the soul enters barzakh , an intermediate stage before 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 state of unconscious non-existence, but a transitional reality where the soul awaits final resurrection. Transformation From a Qur’anic perspective, nothing of God’s creation is wasted or destroyed without purpose. While the body decomposes, the soul’s “life force” continues. This loosely aligns with the modern scientific principle that energy is not destroyed but transformed—though in Islamic theology, this “energy” is the immaterial essence of the person.

This world has become too loud. And the more noise we make, the more the axis we are trying to balance on begins to collapse. There are few people who possess true knowledge—those we can trust, those who can guide us. Allah has chosen only some, and for this reason, silence is sacred. Silence invites us to reflect, to observe, to wait. It heals wounds and shows us the way. There is only one true path: the path of God. It is not a path that seeks the destruction of all else, but rather one of balance. The path of Allah is the path of harmony. Islam teaches us to preserve the earth in its rightful balance, to neither transgress nor exceed the limits that have been set for us. Yet those limits have already been crossed—just look around. Instead of continuing to shout, we should learn to wait in silence. To pause. Because the axis we walk upon can only stabilize if we all work together—not against each other. We must let go of personal desires and selfish interests, for it is these that cause us to fall. We have already fallen so low that climbing back up seems difficult. The Qur’an foretold the decline of humanity if its guidance is not followed, but it also continually offers us the chance to return. So why don’t we? We must reconsider everything: our way of living, our priorities, and why we have willingly enslaved ourselves to an economic system. Materialism has crept into every home, through every crack left open. We can call it the devil. And if we don’t protect ourselves, the devil enters through every gap. The result? Disharmony and a loss of balance. Allah created the universe in perfect balance—mīzān—and commanded us not to disturb it. This balance is not only physical, but spiritual, ethical, and social. When we overconsume, oppress, lie, cheat, or allow injustice, we disturb the sacred mīzān that Allah has established. The Qur’an warns us clearly: “Do not transgress within the balance”  (55:8). Yet today, the balance has been ignored at every level—within ourselves, our families, our societies, and the natural world. Restoring the mīzān begins by returning to Divine guidance, by living justly, acting with humility, and honoring the limits that have been placed upon us. Only when we align our lives with the scale of justice that Allah has set can we begin to rebuild what has been broken. The concept of mīzān , or balance, is found in many religions. Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Indigenous traditions all emphasize justice, harmony, and living within limits. This shared wisdom reminds us that true balance is a divine principle—one that all faiths call us to uphold.

The emergence of a new fruit can be scientifically equated to a biological birth—a culmination of complex processes driven by genetic programming, environmental conditions, and cellular development. When the stem is severed and the fruit harvested, it signifies not just the end of a growth cycle but the realization of nature's intricate design. Such precision—repeated across species, seasons, and ecosystems—strongly suggests that nature operates not by chance, but by a meticulous and governed order. This aligns with the Qur'anic principle that nothing in existence is arbitrary. In Surah Al-Qamar (54:49) , it is stated: "Indeed, all things We created with predestination." (Inna kulla shay'in khalaqnahu biqadar) This verse affirms that every entity—animate or inanimate—comes into being at a preordained time, in a predetermined form, and for a defined purpose. All living beings, from flora to humanity, are bound by biological cycles: genesis, development, maturity, and decay. No organism escapes this temporal framework. The Earth, in this context, serves merely as a host—a transient environment that permits a brief existence. As author Tiziano Terzani once reflected, life is like a ride on a carousel. The landscape may vary—beautiful at times, obscured at others—but the motion continues, inevitably returning us to our origin. This return is both physical and metaphysical. Just as each season bears distinct fruits—each with its unique morphology and chemical composition—so too does each individual possess a singular essence. Despite advances in cloning and biomimicry, no reproduction can yield perfect identity, for the nafs —the soul or inner self—is incorporeal and non-replicable. As stated in Surah Ar-Rum (30:8) : "Do they not reflect within themselves? Allah created the heavens and the earth and whatever is between them in truth and for an appointed term." (Awalam yatafakkaroo fee anfusihim maa khalaqallahu assamawati wal-arda wama baynahuma illa bilhaqqi wa ajalin musamman) Understanding this temporality fosters acceptance: of passing seasons, of impermanence in relationships, and of our mortal limitations. It encourages reverence for life’s uniqueness and a willingness to let go. The soul, the seasons, the cycle of life—all are governed by laws far beyond human control.

I’ve asked myself this question so many times. Why did I lose that job I cared about? Why did that relationship end when I gave it everything? Why did my health slip just when I needed strength the most? It’s one of the most human questions — why do things fall apart when we want them to stay? We lose things so we remember Who really owns them. Jobs, people, money — none of it was ever ours to begin with. We just borrowed them. Allah, in His wisdom, sometimes takes things away to bring us back to Him. Not to punish us — but to remind us where to look when everything else fails. "To Allah belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth..."(Qur’an 2:284) It hits different when you read that after loss. It softens the heart. We lose things so we can grow. Sometimes, you’re not being broken — you’re being reshaped . You thought that job was your purpose. That person was your forever. That situation was your stability. But maybe Allah wanted to make room for something better. Or maybe He wanted to teach you something your comfort zone never could. Loss is painful, yes. But it’s also a classroom. And when you look back later, you often whisper, “I needed that.” We lose things so we don’t attach to this world. The dunya is beautiful, but it’s not home. Everything in it comes with an expiry date — every breath, every blessing. Allah gently detaches us from this world so we don’t get trapped in it. So our hearts stay light. So we remember where we’re really going. “Whatever you have will end, but what Allah has is everlasting.”(Qur’an 16:96)

In Islam, Christians and Jews are known as "Ahl al-Kitab"  — People of the Book . This means we all come from a shared spiritual heritage. We believe in One God, in prophets, and in holy scriptures like the Torah, Bible, and Qur’an. Many scholars agree that the last complete verse revealed was: “This day I have perfected for you your religion and completed My favor upon you and have approved for you Islam as religion.” — Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:3) This verse signifies the completion of the religion of Islam. There is also a tradition that the last complete chapter ( surah) revealed was Surah An-Nasr (Chapter 110): “When the victory of Allah has come and the conquest, and you see the people entering into the religion of Allah in multitudes, then exalt [Him] with praise of your Lord and ask forgiveness of Him. Indeed, He is ever Accepting of repentance.” This surah is seen as a sign that the mission of Prophet Muhammad was coming to an end, as many people were embracing Islam. Sit down and talk... Most conflicts between Jews, Christians, and Muslims are not truly about faith. They’re about power, land, politics, or fear . Religion is often used as a tool or excuse to divide people, but the real reasons go deeper. Many of us don’t really know what the other believes. That lack of knowledge can turn into fear, and fear becomes hate. But when we actually sit down and talk, we often find more in common than we expected. Our Scriptures Teach Peace All three religions teach love and kindness: The Qur’an  says: “We made you into nations and tribes so you may know one another.”  (49:13) Jesus said: “Blessed are the peacemakers.”  (Matthew 5:9) The Torah  says: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”  (Leviticus 19:18) We are taught to care, not to fight. Think about it The world needs less war and more understanding. We don’t have to agree on everything — but we can still respect each other. Because at the end of the day, we’re all People of the Book . And that means we’re family. “Indeed, We sent down the Torah, in which was guidance and light... And We sent, following in their footsteps, Jesus, the son of Mary... And We gave him the Gospel...” — Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:44–46) Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:44–46) is important because it shows that Islam confirms the earlier scriptures—the Torah and the Gospel—and honors the prophets before Muhammad. It teaches that Islam is the final and complete revelation, bringing the ultimate guidance and light for all humanity. The Qur’an speaks often about Jews and Christians — the People of the Book  — with respect and recognition: ·        “Say: O People of the Book, come to a word we all agree on: that we worship only God...” (Qur’an 3:64) ·        “Do not argue with the People of the Book except in the best and most respectful way...” (Qur’an 29:46) ·        “Among the People of the Book are those who are righteous, who pray and believe in God.” (Qur’an 3:113) Islam teaches that Jews and Christians were given true scriptures before, and that we should treat each other with fairness and kindness — even when we disagree.   So Why Do We Forget? There is something deeply painful in watching people who share the same spiritual roots turn against one another. The Qur’an doesn't teach us to hate our neighbors — it teaches us to understand them. "Do not argue with the People of the Book except in the best and most respectful way..." (Qur’an 29:46) "Among them are those who are righteous, who pray at night, and believe in God." (Qur’an 3:113) It tells us to speak kindly, even when we disagree. It reminds us that true belief leads to peace, not pride or cruelty. It’s definitely worth taking the time to study Islam — there’s so much wisdom to discover.

There’s a road I used to walk often. It wasn’t remarkable, just the same path I took when returning from long journeys—dust on my shoes, thoughts scattered in the wind. But every time I passed that way, I spoke to something unseen. I didn't call it God back then. I only asked, silently, for a sign. A direction. A knowing. Then one day, without warning, the answer came.“Look left.” There it was. A tree I had passed a hundred times now held a small wooden sign: "For Sale." It was simple, almost invisible. But to me, it felt like thunder. That sign didn’t just announce a piece of land—it whispered something deeper. I knew instantly this was the beginning of something. I just didn’t know how long it would take. More than five years passed. Papers. Problems. Delays. Bureaucracy tangled like overgrown weeds. It would’ve been easy to give up, to say maybe it wasn’t meant for me. But I remembered what a friend once told me: "If something is meant for you, it will find its way to you. If it’s not, something better will." I held onto that. Now, as I stand in this garden—my garden—I know those words were true. Because this land did  wait for me.Because I am the right person for this story.Because it is mine —not in the sense of ownership, but in the sense of belonging. This garden is more than soil and trees. It carries memory. It carries the footsteps of those who came before me—villagers who planted their food, raised their animals, lived from the land. Many of them are gone now, but the land remains. Quiet. Steady. Ready. And now, it grows with me. I didn’t find the garden. It found me when I was ready. This is what I want to tell you: Trust the unfolding. Trust the Creator. Trust the timing. Sometimes we spend years chasing signs. But when it's right, the sign will appear—maybe nailed to a tree, maybe in your heart. And when it does, don't rush it. Let it take root in its own time. Because what's truly yours will wait. Just like this garden did.

I didn’t notice it at first. The vines had grown wild and lush, weaving themselves into a tangled green jungle. I had walked past them a dozen times, thinking maybe the melons were still taking their time. But today, something caught my eye—a glimmer, almost like the garden was winking at me. There it was. Nestled quietly beneath a canopy of broad leaves, my watermelon was shining—striped, round, and perfect. A secret jewel hidden in plain sight, soaking in the sun and waiting patiently to be found. I couldn't believe I’d missed it. It had been growing in silence, thriving without fanfare, like nature’s little surprise just for me. It was proof that tending to something with love and patience brings joy in return. That nature has its own rhythm. That sometimes, magic grows right in your own backyard. So here’s to the watermelon in my garden—today’s gift, today’s lesson, today’s smile.