An Evening of Solace….

For a brief, timeless moment, nothing else existed

It is said that Surah Yā Sīn, the thirty-sixth chapter of the Qur’an, is the heart of the Qur’an. But perhaps it is also the gentle caress that comforts a heart searching for solace.

When one goes to war, the first thing one dons is a bulletproof vest to protect the heart. Do you know why? Because a wound to the heart is fatal, while a wound to the head may only maim.

So my own battle began in July like every July, with the slow ritual of putting on an armor piece by piece against grief. One steel plate at a time  I covered myself, determined to leave no opening through which sorrow could enter.

The tragedy of such armor, however, is that when you protect yourself from grief, you also encase your heart in steel. And a heart imprisoned in steel can neither be wounded nor touched. Nothing, and no one can enter.

Except…

That exception came one evening.

It did not arrive with a knock upon the door, nor with the embrace of sympathetic friends. It came quietly as a brother began reciting Surah Yā Sīn.

Somewhere within my own recitation, I felt the armor being picked off piece by piece. Cool air began to flow around my heart.

The visions faded.

No longer did I see the open grave where my son lay, the sound of earth falling upon him. A lone rose that someone had thrown into the freshly dug red earth.

No longer did July arrive bringing visions:  a knock at the door, two uniformed officers standing on the threshold, waiting to tell my defenseless heart that the world I knew had ended, that the ground beneath my feet had disappeared; that my daughter, asleep upstairs, had become an only child; and that her father, somewhere on his travels, no longer had a son to carry his name.

As the recitation continued, alongside the young Hodja, the room itself seemed to dissolve until there remained only my Lord and me.

Then I felt it.

A veil of mist descended, enveloping the room and softening my heart with a tenderness I had not known for a very long time. It was not dramatic; it was gentle—almost imperceptible. I looked up, and a small child was gazing at me…

I must have recited Surah Yā Sīn several hundreds of times before. But on that evening, it truly became the heart of the Qur’an, transforming my own heart.

For a brief, timeless moment, nothing else existed.

The Divine poured His mercy and love upon me with the softness of mist—a kiss almost too delicate to feel, yet impossible to forget. Ethereal. Caressing. Kind. Comforting.

And, for the first time in many years…

I felt free……

https://youtu.be/yMg4DXHQooc?is=NlfwKzCF8VVusa_y