Words are dancing in the Cosmos

My Artistry: Intuitive, Afghan-Born, Rooted in Wholeness The stories I write today rise from Afghan soil, but they follow the path of intuition rather than tradition. They come from memory, from exile, from longing — but also from a quieter place beneath all of that.

There comes a moment in love when the center of gravity shifts—quietly, irrevocably. When the heart no longer seeks, no longer bargains, no longer questions its devotion. A moment when the beloved’s soft gaze becomes a threshold to another world, and something inside you whispers: I can never return to who I was before this.

A whisper from the 13th century walks beside us still. In this woven reflection—part story, part remembrance, part transmission—I invite you into the quiet country within, where the seer, the seen, and the very seeing dissolve into a single Light. Journey with me to Shiraz, to mirror-worked dawns, to the threshold where the heart hears itself again.

For those who pray in many tongues—or in holy silence—this meditation gathers the temple bell, the call to prayer, the rosary’s hush, and the breath that forms Om into one warm cup of morning presence. Arrive as you are; read slowly, and pause where your breath naturally pauses.

The Mirror of Mercy

We are all One

Part II A Reflection with Ibn Arabi and Meister Eckhart By Anosha Zereh Why I’m Writing This? Sometimes my friends tell me that when they read mystical writings—especially those of Ibn Arabi or Meister Eckhart—they get lost.“It’s beautiful,” they say, “but what does it mean? How can anyone understand both Christianity and Islam at once?” Maybe that’s exactly where this reflection began: in the space  between —between languages, between traditions, between hearts trying to spe

The Luminous Garden of Remembrance Part I In Ibn Arabi’s vision, woman is not merely creation but the Divine reflecting upon Itself—beauty, compassion, and creative power woven into living form. This reflection is a remembrance of the sacred feminine—the mirror where God’s tenderness, mercy, and wisdom are revealed. Oh, how I wish our grandmothers had known this intimate tenderness—the gentle stroke of divine power bestowed upon womanhood. How I wish my mother, as a young gir

For countless years, my restless lower self wandered the timeless corridors of longing—carrying the perennial ache: Why was this body called into being? What unseen dream, what secret, rests quietly within my skin? I loved God as a mighty Creator—distant, veiled, always beyond the highest peaks of my prayers. My longing stretched to fill an endless sky; each plea and poem became an arrow sent out toward a beloved, unreachable sun. There were nights when my soul, exhausted and

Stories of women, memory, and belonging, by Anosha Zereh

When Classrooms Close, Souls Dim: A Spiritual Plea for Afghan Girls’ Education

“No More Girls”: How Afghan Daughters Are Being Erased from Public Life

What does these words represent exactly? A Letter on Collective Love by, Anosha Zereh On Love Day this year, I find myself reflecting not on romance, nor on private affection, but on our collective effort toward Love. My dear friends, my companions on this quiet and trembling earth, There are seasons when the world feels fractured — loud with division, heavy with forgetting. And then there are moments, softer and more luminous, when something ancient within us stirs and remem

Enhanced Version: Stewardship, Dignity, and a Lineage Older Than Doctrine Long before religion wore names, humans already knew—they were not owners of the world, but guests within it. The Islamic teaching of khalifa is not a new revelation. It is a remembering—an echo of an ancient human responsibility that has traveled through nomadic memory, Zoroastrian ethics, and Islamic consciousness.

A story of ancestry, myth, and the wild feminine that refuses to be named.

A lyrical reflection on the Afghanistan the world never sees—childhood gardens, family, memory, and the quiet grief of diaspora. An invitation to witness a different Kabul.

Rooted in the quiet morning of Northern California, my writing weaves together the natural world, mysticism, meditationand everyday wonder.

The world may see the kiss, but we know it is the honest conversation that calls us back when we drift. The world may notice the embrace…

"Welcome to my world: a home for storytelling, poetry, and light meditative Sufi prose—a sanctum, a hush and a heartbeat passed palm to palm across the centuries. Night leans close; the fire answers the stars; elders loosen skeins of courage and tenderness, wisdom spun from labor and loss.”

Between longing’s pulse and belonging’s hush, a shoreless sea stirs— calling home to every wandering heart. Before dawn, the heart becomes harbor, cradling tenderness, carrying exile’s wind and memory’s gold. O pilgrim— braid emptiness with fullness, separation with reunion, and weave your story on mercy’s thread. Every wound praises sunrise, every memory lights the night, each departure summons return. At the trembling edge of Love’s gaze— the feminine sea wel