The Manifold

The first few days of Ramadan always bring a shift—not just in routine but in awareness. There’s an unmistakable clarity that comes with an empty stomach, a quietness in the body that makes everything feel lighter. I’ve been thinking a lot about the way fasting isn't just about abstaining from food and water—it’s about creating space for the body to do what it was designed to do. A few days ago, I stumbled upon a video of Dr. Barry discussing how the body heals itself when given the right conditions. He spoke of the importance of energy conservation, hydration, and an alkaline-supportive diet. It made me realize how often we expect health to come from external sources—supplements, treatments, routines—when in reality, much of healing is simply about not interfering. When we fast, we remove one of the body’s biggest daily tasks: digestion. The energy that would have gone into breaking down food can now be redirected toward cellular repair and detoxification. It’s a form of surrend...

There are habits so deeply woven into our lives that we fail to see them as harmful. They do not scream for attention like vices or addictions, yet they erode us slowly, shaping our thoughts, our energy, our being. Some of these habits feel small, insignificant, even harmless—but over time, they become the lens through which we see the world, and worse, the cage that holds us back. I have come to realize that destruction is rarely loud. It often whispers. 1. Not Listening to the Body The body does not demand; it suggests. A slight ache, a restless night, a heavy stomach—these are quiet nudges, reminders that something is off balance. Yet, instead of listening, we push through. We eat beyond hunger, numbing ourselves to the discomfort that follows. We steal hours from sleep, convincing ourselves that exhaustion is normal. We ignore the tightness in our chest, the tension in our shoulders, assuming it will pass. But the body is not a passive observer; it keeps score. The gut—where mo...

The moon has been sighted. The rhythm of life shifts. Tomorrow, I will wake before dawn, take a sip of water, and surrender to the fast. But this time, I want it to be different. Not just an act of abstinence but a passage into something deeper. In the past, I have fasted, but have I truly fasted ? Have I only deprived my body while my mind remained restless? This Ramadan, I want to step beyond the surface, beyond the ordinary fasting of hunger and thirst, into a fast of the soul. Imam Al-Ghazali, in Ihya Ulumuddin , describes fasting in three degrees. The first, Ṣawm al-ʿUmūm , is the common fast—refraining from food, drink, and physical desires. The second, Ṣawm al-Khusūs , is deeper, requiring discipline of the senses: guarding the tongue from idle speech, lowering the gaze from distractions, and shielding the heart from negativity. Then there is the highest level, Ṣawm Khusūs al-Khusūs —the fasting of the soul. At this level, the heart detaches from worldly concerns and is absorbed...