The operating platform of life is the mind

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.