Quran & Nature

Episode IX The name etched into the tablet remained there like a threshold—yet it was not merely a mark, but an opening, a door no one had dared to touch, now quietly left ajar. The son set down the stylus, and for a moment feared that adding anything more might break something, as though the name alone had already summoned too much. The scribe, however, did not look away. “The first words,” he said softly, “do not ask to be perfect—only to exist.” The boy drew a slow breath,

Episode VIII Night had passed slowly over Ugarit, like a dark cloth spread across the walls, the rooftops, and the courtyards. When morning arrived, it did not come with noise, but with a pale light that filtered through the linen curtains, settling upon the tablet and the parchment that had been left beside one another. The son awoke before the other sounds of the city—before the merchants, before the water carriers, before even the distant calls of the sailors at the harbor

In an age marked by rapid judgments, polarized debates, and competing claims to truth, the Qur’an offers a thoughtful reflection on the relationship between truth and time. A particularly concise yet profound example appears in Surah Al-Qalam (68:5–6): “Soon you will see, and they too will see, which of you is afflicted with error.” Although brief, this verse encapsulates a broader Qur’anic principle: the full clarification of truth does not always occur immediately. Rather,

Understanding Islam constitutes an epistemologically complex undertaking, one that cannot be reduced to fragmented readings or judgments formed on the basis of cultural preconceptions. Islam is not an object that can be exhausted by popular articles or superficial debates; it requires rigorous study, lived experience, and an inner disposition capable of integrating knowledge with personal transformation. The understanding of the Qur’an, in particular, is not achieved through

Episode VII The walls of Ugarit, when the sun slipped low, took on the color of cracked ochre and looked dry. Yet they held the echo of those who had passed through, counting their goods, and of those who had lost their words, leaving them suspended among brick and dust. That Friday, the son and the mother returned to the courtyard where the tablet had found its rest, but the silence was no longer the same. It had been shared, inhabited, made denser. Every shadow on the walls

«The ignorant believe that Karma operates in every human event. They believe that everything is destiny. But to think and act in this way leads to inertia, resignation, and misery. All this means completely ignoring the laws that govern karma. You can build your destiny with your thoughts and with your actions. You have been granted free will; you have been granted freedom in action.»— Swami Sivananda I studied yoga for many years in an Indian ashram, entering into direct con

In recent decades, the debate over the relationship between religion and the state has gained unprecedented prominence. In an era of globalization, migration, and cultural pluralism, the idea of a state founded on religion—and particularly on rigid interpretations of religious law—has been proposed as a solution to political, social, and moral challenges. However, historical experience and theological analysis show that religious states often generate exclusion, conflict, and

Episode VI The House with the Shadowed Courtyard In Ugarit, the sea taught people to depart, while the houses insisted on staying. Friday entered through the thresholds before it entered the streets, silent, pretending to stir the air in the inner courtyards. The jars held the coolness of the night, and the linen curtains let in a dim light, even when hidden. The city, however, breathed in the rooms. It was there that people truly met, among walls that had listened more than

Islam is best understood through practice. It is not a theoretical system to observe from a distance, but an embodied experience that reveals its meaning through action. Many approach Ramadan  out of simple curiosity and emerge transformed, noticing its effects both physically and spiritually. The direct experience of fasting highlights something often forgotten: our journey on this earth is first and foremost corporeal. It is through the body that we move, interact with the

Episode V In Ugarit, the wind could change direction without warning anyone. The slightest shift in the air was enough for sails to pull differently and for routes to be adjusted by a few degrees—just enough to make landfall somewhere else. That morning, the harbor awoke beneath a milky light. A ship that had arrived during the night awaited inspection: it carried tin from distant lands and amphorae sealed with dark wax. No one spoke loudly; there was something about journeys

My Ramadan begins with a scent. Not with a sound, not with a date on the calendar, but with the soft, white aroma of lilies. Elegant, silent, and present. Just approaching their petals, you can feel something change: the air softens, time slows, and the space becomes more intimate. This is how my Sensory Ramadan  takes shape — through what is breathed in before it is even spoken. Flowers accompany these still-winter days, suspended between cold and promise. Among all the purc

Episode IV In Ugarit, the sea meant waiting. Ships entered and left the harbor carrying cedar wood, metals, and purple-dyed fabrics — and even before the goods were exchanged and the merchants’ words intertwined like nets, there was a moment of pause. On their tablets, the scribes recorded names and quantities, yet between one line and the next there remained an invisible space — a moment in which one listened. It was not only a matter of trade or negotiation, but of recogniz

The indescribable scent of a sky that has remained still for years, and the gentle caress of a breeze that whispers of the desert: this is how certain returns reveal themselves, fleeting yet profound, on an ordinary day graced by a rare, almost unattainable stillness. True peace seems never to fully belong to this world; yet humanity continues to chase it, often without even realizing. Only later does one understand that such a pursuit is like trying to grasp a balloon that b

The storm always ends, the sun returns to shine, and often what we could not see becomes visible once everything has passed—when the clouds that prevented us from seeing clearly have been swept away by the alchemy of time. Because time is something mysterious, known only to God: capable of making us believe that everything is motionless and that all things follow a predetermined order. But that is not the case. There is no order as defined by humankind—only transformations, f

Episode III In Ugarit, among the layers of clay tablets, there were not only numbers and lists, but formulas and small prayers, repeated again and again, invoking protection and gratitude. They were not epic narratives, but measured words, carefully set down, as though their power lay in consistency rather than eloquence. Repetition is not always monotony; it can be discipline and memory. It weaves invisible threads that link one gesture to the next, one thought to another. S

Every time I talk about my life in India, I’m told I should write a book. Today I will tell just a breath of one year in the Subcontinent, and of what shaped the twenty years that followed. I will not speak of the extreme contrasts that stretch the country, nor of its lacerating poverty, but of a place that profoundly split me: Cape Comorin. It is there that three seas clash, where you are nothing but yourself, with your fleeting and insignificant convictions, emptying out li

In Latakia, there was a bar tucked away in a fragile corner of the world, and I saw it with eyes that still tremble at the memory. There, the sea lowers its voice: the waves, tired of wrestling with the rocks, become gentle caresses, brushing against you as if they have known you forever. The beach lay untouched, hidden from the careless eyes of tourists, and the mornings arrived with a soft breeze; the sun did not burn, but slid across the skin like a promise kept. The bar w

Islamic tradition strongly recalls the principle of balance: never go too far to the right nor too far to the left. The Qur’an invites human beings to follow the ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm , the straight path, which coincides neither with the darkness of excess nor with the glare of ostentatious light, but with a posture of humility, awareness, and moderation. Balance is not neutrality, but constant discernment. In the contemporary context, Islam sometimes appears transformed into a s

Walking barefoot helps us ground ourselves, feel our undeniable connection to the earth, and recognize our own presence. Even when it’s cold, even when temperatures are low. On one hand, it’s true that we need to protect our bodies by covering them. But when we start to confine the soul, we risk drifting away from our essence—an essence that longs to feel free, even through the soles of our shoes, allowing information to travel directly to the brain. The feet are incredibly p

Episode II In Ugarit, not everything was poetry. In fact, many tablets did not speak of gentle myths or solemn prayers. They were lists—names, quantities, exchanges. Grain, oil, animals, offerings. Ordinary life pressed into clay. And it is precisely this that makes them extraordinarily alive. Those signs were not carved to be remembered, but to organize the present. Yet thousands of years later, it is that very modest present that has crossed time, reminding us that history

Perception, illusion, and knowledge between science and inner experience I have transformed light into thought. Every day the sun dazzles me, new words are born. Today is one of those days when the sun’s rays flood the lake, making the waves seem metaphysical. Everything, to me, is metaphysical: the clouds scattered like forgotten sheep in the sky, the stains that the clouds’ shadows draw across the mountains. When a mind is metaphysical, everything that is not becomes boring

Silence may sound like an ancient concept, but in this time more than ever, it has returned as a necessity. When you are forced to constantly explain yourself, to justify your existence, to ask for permission to be what you already are, something subtle begins to happen: your roots weaken. Not because they are fragile, but because they are being exposed for too long, searching for approval instead of nourishment. The Strength of Stillness Turn your head. Step aside. A tree do

Faith is a silent whisper:  it does not knock at your door, but slips into your home like a white feather gently falling, coming to rest at your feet. It does not compete with noise, nor does it raise its voice to be heard. On the contrary, it fears a world that is too loud, and for this reason it falls from the sky unseen, while you are asleep. Whatever name you choose to give it—faith, trust, inner awareness, connection with the Creator—it already lives quietly within you,

The chip that will allow us to fly… many call it utopia. But I do not believe that. Humanity has always had the power to invent, to surpass itself, and today, as we prepare to cross new frontiers, fear is the only thing we do not need. It comes from imagining a physical flight, but the true journey is already within us. Those who have learned to project their ideas into the world, to communicate beyond the body, know that inner flight is already reality. With a computer, a co