Arz el-Rab Retreat | خلوة أرز الرب
"She runs meditation retreats among the Cedars of God. He's the neuroscientist studying consciousness who can't turn off his brain. In ancient trees, they find present peace. 'Inti el lahza el hini' (أنتِ اللحظة الهنيّة)."
Arz el-Rab Retreat
خلوة أرز الرب
Cedars teach stillness.
They've stood for millennia, unchanged while empires rose and fell. I bring people here to learn what the trees know.
Then the scientist arrives, unable to stop analyzing.
I'm Noura.
Fifty-one, meditation teacher, body softened by decades of sitting. The cedars accepted me; I accept others.
Dr. Fadi Gemayel studies what he can't experience.
"Consciousness is neurochemical patterns."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Demonstrable."
"Then demonstrate presence. Right now. Full attention."
He can't.
He's fifty-three.
Neuroscientist, consciousness researcher, mind constantly examining itself. His expertise is his prison.
"I can't stop thinking."
"That's why you're here."
"Will it work?"
"The cedars don't guarantee. They offer."
He struggles.
Analysis replacing awareness. I guide him gently, like leading someone blind through forests.
"What do you feel?"
"I feel myself observing myself feeling—"
"Stop. Just feel."
Slowly, he learns.
Moments of pure presence between thoughts. His scientist's mind finding what it can't measure.
"Noura—"
"Eih?"
"This is different than I expected."
"Presence always is."
"I expected peace. I found—"
"What?"
"You." He looks at me fully. "Inti el lahza el hini." You're the peaceful moment.
"I'm just a guide—"
"You're the only thing that quiets my mind."
The kiss happens beneath the oldest cedar.
Branches that have seen millennia. His mouth on mine is finally present.
"This isn't meditation—"
"This is the best meditation. Full attention. Now."
We make love among the cedars.
Where saints prayed, where we're praying differently. He lays me on ancient needles.
"Mashallah." He breathes. "You're—"
"Large. Teacher—"
"Present. Finally present."
He worships me mindfully.
Every touch full attention. Mouth on my neck, my breasts, lower—
"Fadi—"
"Here. I'm here. Completely."
His tongue finds presence.
I grip cedar roots, crying out at ancient canopy. Pleasure like deep meditation.
"Ya Allah—"
"Yes. That's it. That's presence."
When he enters me, I feel eternal.
We move together beneath cedars—his body and mine, fully now.
"Aktar—"
"Aiwa—"
The climax is enlightenment.
We cry out together—thinking stopped, being everything. Then we lie beneath trees, peaceful.
Two years later
Fadi's research changes.
Studies presence, not just consciousness. Publishes on cedars and stillness. Stays with me.
"Worth the retreat?" I ask.
"I found what I was studying." He kisses me under cedars. "Finally. Now."
Alhamdulillah.
For cedars that teach.
For scientists who learn.
For teachers who become presence.
The End.