كثيرًا ما أعود إلى تلك القراءات التي زعزعتني من الأعماق..لا تلك التي أكّدت ما كنتُ أظنّه عن نفسي مسبقًا، بل تلك التي فكّكت بهدوء وهمَ أنني أقف على أرضٍ معرفية صلبة، أنا لا أرتدي الشكّ كوسام، ولا أستعرضه كغرور فكري، لكنه يسكنني. وهو يُعقّد كل شيء.. خصوصًا الروحانية واليقين؛ لأنه حين يكون تفكيرك مبنيًا على استجواب معتقداتك الذاتية باستمرار، وحين يُدرَّب عقلك على محاكمة استنتاجاته بنفسه، يصبح اليقين أصعب، ويُلزَم الإيمان بالمرور عبر محاكمة قبل أن يُسمح له بالجلوس. ثمّة مفارقة عم

Sometimes the question arrives without ceremony. It doesn’t announce itself as grief. It comes disguised as a small task, a harmless errand, a reason to leave the house. I found myself driving longer than necessary, letting the road stretch, letting the motion replace my very own thought. There is something about movement that invites memory as if the mind loosens when the body keeps going. Memory needs matter. we deeply rely on what is solid, fixed, unmoving. Walls. Windows.

I stood before The Return of the Prodigal Son . Rembrandt’s light didn’t illuminate; it forgave. It gathered the lost and the weary and laid them gently at the father’s feet. The son’s head pressed into that robe as if pressing into time itself, his body collapsing under the weight of distance and the miracle of being seen. One slipper missing, one hand open in surrender. The father’s hands resting on his back, one firm, one trembling, were less of a touch, more of an underst

What are we really speaking of when we speak of writing? It is not merely words reflected and made tangible on paper, but the quiet...

هل تفشل اللغة في إعادة خلق المشاعر؟ هل هناك مدى شعوري لا تبلغه الكلمات، ولا حتى تلامسه بخجل؟ هل هناك وجعٌ لا تسعه اللغة، ولا تحتمله...

The fear of not knowing, of stepping barefoot into the soil that has no name, sits with me like a second skin. The fear of what is not...

I studied false memory, and at first, it felt purely clinical, just another demonstration of the mind’s profound and exquisite fragility....

In Search of the Miraculous | Bas Jan Ader, 1975. I think I’m metaphysically burning. It begins somewhere deep inside me—an ache nested...

He dragged his feet through the damp grass, each step a tender act of defiance, as though the weight of his life balanced delicately on...

"Hello," I whisper quietly to the solitary star in the sky, knowing it is on the brink of its ultimate fate—crashing into oblivion and...