Seeing the World through Different Eyes

Autistic minds are often misunderstood as rigid, yet they perceive the world in multiple dimensions. They experience reality in layers, noticing connections that might escape others, seeing not only what is visible but also what lies beneath. Their thinking flows through multiple channels at once, integrating thoughts, emotions, and observations into a rich, expansive awareness.

The Qur’an provides guidance that resonates with this perspective, emphasizing human uniqueness and the diversity of creation. It reminds us that in the heavens, the earth, and all living beings, there are signs for those endowed with understanding and reflection (Surah 3:190-191).

These verses highlight complexity, diversity, and nuance, inviting contemplation of a reality that is not simply black or white. Knowledge, morality, and consciousness operate across a spectrum of shades, colors, and dimensions.

Colors in the Qur’an are more than just visual phenomena, they symbolize richness, diversity, and the subtleties of creation. Surah Fatir (35:27) invites reflection on the variety of colors in fruits, mountains, and life itself, showing that diversity is a sign of divine wisdom. Surah Ar-Rahman (55:64) describes lush gardens with deep green tones, representing vitality, abundance, and life. Just as every color contributes to the harmony of the world, every mind contributes to the richness of existence.

Autistic individuals, like the colors of creation, embody uniqueness and nuance. They are not in need of a “cure,” because neurodiversity is not a disorder, but a way of being. Their minds are attuned to complexity, capable of perceiving and integrating vast layers of experience. Homogenized or repetitive environments may feel stifling, not because of inflexibility, but because such contexts fail to engage their full cognitive and sensory capacity.

Technology can be a bridge, enabling autistic individuals to communicate, create, and express themselves without forcing conformity. They often excel in analysis, invention, and artistic creation, processing the world with depth and precision.

Sensory sensitivity, intense perception, and profound reflection are part of their experience, but so is resilience. Like a spectrum of colors, autistic minds add depth and beauty to the human collective.

Listening to Qur’anic recitation can support emotional and cognitive balance. Studies show it reduces stress, promotes relaxation, and increases neural coherence. In this sense, the Qur’an acts as a guide, inviting reflection and awareness, encouraging us to perceive the full spectrum of human experience, and to recognize the signs of creation in all their richness.

Being on the spectrum is like existing at the center of a vibrant continuum. Life is never just black or white—it is a vast spectrum of colors, dimensions, emotions, and ideas. The Qur’an guides us to honor this spectrum, showing that neurodiverse minds are not outside creation—they are an integral part of it, like colors woven into the infinite tapestry of the universe.

In Our Minds and in the Universe: When The Qur’an Speaks of Worlds

“We will show them Our signs on the horizons and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that it is the Truth.”

Qur’an 41:53

Living in two worlds can frighten those who measure reality only through the senses. For those who truly do so, however, it is not madness: it is the ability to move between what we see and what exists beyond it, in the unseen worlds spoken of in the Qur’an. The real challenge is not crossing these dimensions, but helping others understand that they exist.

According to the Qur’an and Islamic tradition, there are multiple “worlds” or levels of reality. These are not parallel universes in the scientific or science-fiction sense, but spiritual and cosmological realities created by God (Allah). Today, when a person seems to access these dimensions naturally, they are often diagnosed with depersonalization or dissociative disorders and directed toward medications or therapies meant to “ground” them. But perhaps we are looking at the phenomenon from the wrong angle: perhaps flying is part of our nature, and the ability to traverse other levels of reality is not madness, but reality itself.

In the Qur’an, the word closest to “world” is ʿālam (عَالَم), which refers to realms or levels of existence:

• al-ʿālam al-dunyā – the earthly world, everyday life and material trials;

• al-ʿālam al-ākhirah – the Hereafter, Paradise and Hell, invisible to the living yet real according to faith;

• al-ʿālam al-ghayb – the world of the unseen, which includes angels, jinn, and knowledge reserved for God;

• al-ʿālam al-malakūt – the celestial realm of the angels, where divine laws manifest without mediation.

  
  

The Qur’an (41:53) says:

“We will show them Our signs on the horizons and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that it is the Truth.”

This suggests that there are levels of reality beyond human senses: the visible world is only a fraction of the universe created by God. Angels, jinn, and humans inhabit different worlds—coexisting and interconnected.

Yet today, those who access these inner worlds are often considered “disconnected from reality.” But what if these experiences were part of our true nature? If we were celestial beings, if our destiny one day is to move freely through dimensions and time, then clinical science might offer only a partial view of what is real.

Perhaps the problem is not those who see beyond the material world, but those who confine themselves to earthly life alone. Recognizing that our existence is only one stage of a much greater journey would change everything: suffering, priorities, even the very concept of normality.

We are souls waiting to be set free, sparks of light capable of crossing the universe. Looking beyond is not madness—it is part of who we are.

Time Does Not End—It is to be traversed.

When one year ends and another is about to begin, we return to talking about time.

We speak of it as if it were an absolute force, an invisible law governing every step, every choice, every breath. Yet the Qur’an insists: time is not the ultimate reality, but a tool or measure granted to humans to orient themselves on Earth, not to define what truly is.

Reality is something else, and it is who we are when we no longer feel the body.

The moment God takes the soul (ruh) through the appointed angel, time ceases to hold sway. That moment cannot be decided by humans, anticipated, or postponed, for it belongs solely to the Creator. From there begins the Barzakh, a state of transition, a threshold between earthly life and what comes after.

“Behind them is a barrier (Barzakh) until the day they are resurrected” (23:100).

The Barzakh is not nothingness. It is not darkness. It is not an end. It is a conscious waiting.

In an almost paradoxical way, even science has approached this insight through near-death experiences: accounts of those who crossed a threshold and then returned. What many interpret as the “end” is, in fact, intermediate. Science can recognize signs, processes, functions, but it cannot decide the essence of death.

A body may continue to function thanks to artificial support, while the soul may have already left that temporary dwelling. In this light, brain death takes on a profound significance even from a Qur’anic perspective: the platform has been abandoned; what remains is no longer the person.

Thus, even the beginning of a new year takes on a new meaning, offering us the possibility to experience a threshold—there is no reason to fear tomorrow, nor death. Everything is already inscribed in a larger order.

“Indeed, to God we belong and to Him we shall return” (2:156).

In the Qur’an, death is not a loss, but a return.

The concept of “nothingness,” so central to Western anxiety, simply does not exist. Islam does not conceive of absolute void; death is liberation from fatigue, injustice, and suffering.

“They will have no fear, nor shall they grieve” (10:62).

The soul does not dissolve but remains unique, no longer carrying burdens that do not belong to it.

“No soul shall bear the burden of another” (6:164).

Justice is personal, but responsibility is also collective. The Ummah is not an abstract idea, but a living body. If one part suffers, the others respond. Distinguishing right from wrong, caring for the most fragile, sharing joy and sorrow: this is the bond that remains.

If humans broadened their view—if they understood that the body is only on loan and time only a convention—many wars would lose their meaning. Time is not a cage, but a numerical map that supports us in an ocean of abysses, without defining who we are.

Life then becomes an ascent, a ladder of awareness toward peace.

Reaching that peace requires transcending a rigid idea of the Self—a Self that often clings, that does not let go. Not everyone is ready, and sometimes it is necessary to move forward without hate, without blame.

Entering the new year with intention means this:

Do not fear the end, do not chase time, but cross it.

For we are not going toward nothingness.

We are coming home.