Assekrem Altar
"Tinhinan keeps Charles de Foucauld's hermitage at Assekrem. When spiritual seeker Brother Jacques arrives tracing the mystic's path, she shows him that some holiness lives in flesh, not stone. 'El quds f'el hayat' (القدس في الحياة) - Holiness is in life."
Assekrem stood where sky met stone—Foucauld's hermitage, holiest perch in the Hoggar.
"Brother Foucauld's path?" Jacques sought.
"El tariq ma yetba'ch." The path isn't followed. "Yetfetah."
It opens.
Tinhinan had kept the hermitage her whole life—sacred space in sacred mountains.
"What did Foucauld find here?"
"El quds."
"Holiness?"
"El quds f'el hayat."
She was substantial—keeper of sacred, body that held spirit without denying flesh.
"How do you maintain sanctity?"
"Ma nmaintainich."
"Every holy place needs keeping."
"El quds y'aref keeper ta'ou."
Days at the hermitage taught him. Jacques saw holiness he'd missed in monasteries—present in stone, sky, her.
"This is different from Europe."
"El quds ma y'arefch Europe."
"Holiness doesn't know geography?"
"El quds f'el hayat."
"Where is holiness?"
"F'el breath. F'el touch. F'koulech hay."
Night brought different prayer—bodies as altars, desire as devotion.
"Hada haram?"
"El hob haram?"
"I took vows."
"Foucauld zeda."
"Tinhinan..."
"El hermitage qalli."
"Hermitage told you?"
"Yqoul el quds f'el jism zeda."
Holiness is in body too.
She kissed him at the altar of sky.
"Hada..."
"El salat el jadida."
She undressed in sacred space, her curves holy.
"Mon Dieu," he breathed.
"Sah," she said. "God is here."
He worshipped her like praying—completely, surrendered, transcendent.
"Jacques," she moaned.
"Hna." He found her holy of holies. "El quds."
She received beneath him, pleasure sacramental.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El mihrab."
He entered her sanctuary, and understood what mystics sought.
"El quds f'el hayat," she cried.
"N'aref tawa."
Their rhythm was prayer—call, response, surrender.
"Qrib," she warned.
"M'aya." He prayed into her. "El quds f'el hayat."
They transcended together, pleasure holy. Jacques held her through the amen.
"El vows?" she asked.
"Transformed."
"Kifeh?"
"Love is the vow."
His spirituality transformed—flesh embraced, desire sanctified, love practiced.
"El approach?" church asked.
"El quds f'el hayat."
Now he prays beside her, learning what monasteries missed.
"El frère w el hafidaat el hermitage," they say.
"El quds jab'na," Tinhinan smiles.
"El quds ykhallina," Jacques adds.
Some holiness touches you back.