With the Qur’an there is comfort. The elegant flow of words is cathartic. Reciting brings a wave of very welcome serenity.

I remember how the concept of Allah being al-Latif, the Subtle, was beautiful to me. There was no need for grand gestures: an angel at my window, or even an inspirational dream or two. Islam was a lived thing to me. Not fleeting emotions, nor cosmic interruptions, but steady certainty. I could place the contentment that came with recitation down to divine sources. But now, I’m not so sure if this tranquility is mere nostalgia or something more concrete.


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