"As above, so below, as within, so without": Writing and travelling in times of war

It feels so strange to be on this journey during times of war. My trip to Fez, which was planned months in advance, was about a week after the war on Lebanon had started.

I don't believe in coincidences, and I trust in divine timing. Knowing I was meant to be in Fez during such challenging times meant I needed to discover the purpose of my being there.

"As above, so below. As within, so without." The war is not only out there, but it is also inside. And since the start of the war, I've had to confront a lot of what has come to the surface, from repressed emotions to intergenerational trauma, to childhood wounds.

I was on a womb healing retreat in Fez, and the earth being our first womb, I knew that was an invitation. The land where I come from--where I grew up, where my parents grew up, where my grandparents and ancestors are buried--is wounded. And I am inevitably connected to the land. But here I was, in a strange land that felt oddly familiar. Like she was embracing me, knowing she was offering me her healing powers in the presence of her saints, both dead and alive.

My story with Fez and divine timing

My first encounter with the ancient city of Fez was in my PhD historical research. Many Muslim Andalusis and Sephardic Jews who migrated and left Spain throughout the fifteenth-century and even before, settled in Fez. One particular historical figure, however, led me to Fez. Known as Leo Africanus, and perhaps made famous because of Amin Maalouf's novel, this fascinating persona was brought up in Fez. Born in Granada to a Muslim family as Hasan al-Wazzan, he travelled throughout Africa and the Mediterranean. In the early stages of my PhD, I was so fascinated by his life and travels: how he crossed boundaries; how he had multiple identities (he converted to Christianity after he was kidnapped by Catholic pirates in the Mediterranean and was imprisoned in Rome); how he seemed to never belong anywhere but strangely still fitting into multiple worlds. I saw myself in him, and I dedicated many years to studying his life.

In 2019, I tried to take a journey in the footsteps of al-Wazzan. I went from Granada to Northern Morocco to Rome and Venice. Fez was part of the itinerary, but I got too overwhelmed from solo travelling in Northern Morocco that I decided to cut my trip short and go back to Spain without visiting Fez.

I didn't at the time, but now I understand that Fez calls you to her whenever you are ready to receive her medicine. Three years later, I felt the call and headed to Fez to explore this gem of a city.

What I've discovered is that Fez really unfolds to those who visit her in layers. You only experience what you are prepared to experience. The first time I visited, in 2023, during a pivotal and very transformational period in my life (and right after the month of Ramadan), I discovered that Fez was a stepping stone in my spiritual journey. At the time, I wasn't quite aware of the spiritual aspect of the city and was mostly interested in the historical. Now I know that the historical and the spiritual are intertwined and inseparable. That trip helped elevate my consciousness and helped me shed a part of myself that I had held onto for too long, only because I had been accustomed to it.

Processing Grief

The greatest highlight of the retreat for me was a practice we did every morning: pulling a card with one of the 99 names of Allah. As a group, we would recite the name together, and that name would stay with us for the rest of the day to contemplate and reflect upon.

On the first day, I pulled out the name يا شهيد (Ya-Shahīd). It was a reminder that the word شهيد (martyr) comes from this name of Allah, and also means to bear witness.

Ya Shahīd:

"The quality that expresses God's witnessing all things without limitations. It is the whole realm of outer knowledge that is perceived by the five senses."

I felt a sense of serenity with the reminder that everything that is happening is in the Eye of God, that God is the ultimate Shahīd. And I was also reminded that I am bearing witness as well.

I bear witness to historical and human injustice with unwavering faith in God's justice. I bear witness so I can one day help people heal. I bear witness so I can learn and heal myself.

I am also reminded of the Sufi practice of Mushāhadah مشاهدة, of witnessing God in my heart. The main pillar of Islam is shahādah, bearing witness that there is no god but God. I constantly remind myself that bearing witness is an honor, bearing witness to all of God's signs.

And I am myself a sign of God.

Everyday, I would pull a name that would speak to me directly and guide me throughout the day and beyond. On the last day, we pulled a name that would be our guide beyond the retreat. And the name I received was يا محيي Ya- Muḥyī (The One who gives life). The card reminded me that this name is paired with يا مميت Ya-Mumīt (The One who gives death). The pairing of these two names is recommended for times of grief. And what a perfect reminder that He is the giver of life and death. And that with death always comes life.

يُخْرِجُ ٱلْحَىَّ مِنَ ٱلْمَيِّتِ وَيُخْرِجُ ٱلْمَيِّتَ مِنَ ٱلْحَىِّ

Who brings forth the living from the dead and the dead from the living (Quran 10:31)

Perhaps, too, it is a message to let the older version of me die so I can be reborn.