singing the new world

it’s time, i said, my palm touching their rough trunk. i had been able to talk to nature as a child, but trauma and displacement made me forget. i forgot so deeply that at one point, i no longer knew that this was even possible. as a young adult, i was taught how to intentionally work with plants, and with practice, i slowly remembered our ancient language once more. this communication felt like it couldn’t be fully translated into words, it was a deeper exchange between our spirits, it felt like the embodiment of our oneness. now people across bilad il sham were remembering how to listen to nature again so that we could steward our homelands by enacting their exact wishes.

i know, i heard the european pine say. i know i don’t belong here. it feels wrong, my being here. i was never loved here, and i miss my home, even though i’ve never known it. i’ve heard the arz and olive trees talking about coming back home through the mycelial network, and i want that. i want to go home, too.

i want that for you. i told the european pine. and i want you to know, we will honor your body. we will use every part of you to build our hugelkultur beds to sequester your carbon. you will be used to create biochar, you will fertilize plants here for millennia to come. you will be part of building new life here, of restoring our indigenous ecosystem. we will plant food forests in your place that will nourish us for eons to come. the people have come to revitalize the village. but there is no place for you here.

yallah, the land whispered as a light breeze at my back encouraged me to start. i turned on my chainsaw and cut them down.

shukran, i whispered to the spirit of the fallen tree that would help us grow abundance for years to come, praying they would find their way back home.

i put aside the wood from the tree to prepare for the special day ahead. a descendant of a family from deir yassin had recently returned to their grandmother’s house with the intention of revitalizing the village and her garden. though the 3a2edeen had already had a welcome party thrown by the local musta2beleen, today we were planting a food forest for them and they had invited us for a 3azoomeh. we never turned down an opportunity for a celebration.

zainab and wardeh, a beautiful couple, had returned with their daughter huda and zainab’s grandmother maryam. it was maryam’s stone house that they had moved into. the house had been fully updated and repaired by the local trades people, with a flat stone path for maryam’s wheelchair leading from the road to the house, circling the garden and future food forest which was being planted today.

a class from the local school came to plant the saplings around the tree stump i had just cleared. the children had lovingly grown all the saplings and gathered the seeds themselves, and would come to back to water them every week until the saplings were established enough to get their own water. after that, the food forest would be cared for by the local community. all our school children were planting trees across bilad il sham and they were well practiced now, planting and watering them as perfectly as a seasoned farmer.

one of the students, hala, began a tree planting demonstration to teach wardeh’s family and other new 3a2edeen that had come with the field trip. not needing any instruction, most of the students began planting trees. hala began by teaching us how to mix soil for the different types of trees and the proper planting techniques so that we could plant our own at home.

zainab and wardeh had prepared msakhan for us all, the only thing left to do was barbeque the chicken. a few of the parents that had come with the field trip volunteered to help so that zainab and wardeh could learn to plant trees. the smoky smell of barbecued chicken and the sound of easy conversation filled the air.

then hala went over planting techniques for the various trees. when wardeh asked about what the ideal location for each type was, hala simply replied, “oh, i just ask the trees where they want to be planted.” so i took my little olive sapling and we played 7amee-bared until i found the right spot. as we planted them, the saplings and seeds were chattering together in delight. once my sapling was in the ground, they perked up too.

i can hear them, said my sapling, the tree who i was cut from. they’re nearby! i smiled. as i planted an arz seed beside them, i could hear the olive sapling getting excited again.

i missed you too, and i missed being here on this land. it’s been so, so long, the arz seed said, relieved at finally being back in this soil.

the teacher began handing out a bowl of dates. “these are the offerings for the land spirits, so they can bless these trees and help them grow.”

“thanks,” i said, taking a couple of dates and placing them near the olive and arz i had planted. shukran, i said to the land spirits, who were now engaged in a conversation about ancestry with the new plants and the mycorrhizal fungi. they nodded in thanks, beginning to eat the dates. i turned back to their teacher. “how many trees has the class planted now?”

“this year? a thousand. and not one tree we’ve ever planted has died, even in the dry season,” their teacher replied.

“and now we give the trees their names,” hala announced as she began handing out plaques, each engraved with the name of someone we had lost and a poem to honor their memory. after we put their plaques into the earth beside each sapling, we had a small ceremony where we each recited their name and accompanying poem as we watered. we sprinkled some wildflower and poppy seeds between the saplings and mulched around them, taking care to leave room for the seeds to sprout. then we stood back to admire our work, the tiny forest that we had planted together so quickly.

we took a break to have lunch together. the msakhan was superb, the sweetness of the onions in a perfect marriage with the sourness of the sumac and the pungence of the cumin. zainab and wardeh had accepted the compliments gracefully, saying that it was maryam’s recipe, and maryam just smiled humbly. then, we talked about the mythology surrounding the different plants. the teacher was telling the children about the folklore surrounding arz trees, and how they were related to the sumerian god ea. the arz seeds were pleased to be remembered in this way, piping in to provide their version of an ancient myth, and estimated it had been at least three thousand years since their ancestors had last lived here in this village. the children’s eyes grew wide at the tales, better understanding the sacredness and enormity of their work.

people in the area had heard of the family’s return through the local musta2beleen, and came to drop off gifts throughout the day, as was customary for new 3a2edeen. a blacksmith had come to offer the use of the local metal workshop to zainab, who made jewelry. zainab’s eyes sparkled with joy as they found out about all the different equipment at the shop. a couple of members of the pottery and glass collective came to drop off housewares, including a set of beautiful hand blown tiny tea glasses decorated with gold patterns. the weavers and fabric artisans dropped off warm wool clothing they had knitted and a small scarf with tatreez for maryam, decorated with the colors and patterns of this village. a local farmer came with their heirloom seeds, and wardeh surprised them with some seeds of her own which had been passed down to her from her grandparents who were lebanese and syrian. herbalists came with an herbal first aid kit, all the plant medicine and flower essences the family could need. zainab and wardeh had tried to pay the artisans for their gifts but everyone refused. they had made a huge amount of food, and everyone who came was invited to come eat or take some food home.

“how are you doing?” i asked zainab, noticing the slightly overwhelmed look in their eyes.

“i’m good...” they said, trailing off as they stared at everything they had received. “this is just a lot of gifts. and from people i don’t even know.”

“yet,” i said, “people you don’t know yet.” i smiled, remembering how i had to adjust to the generosity of our people when i first arrived, unused to receiving as much i gave. “it was an adjustment for me too, when i first came back. i’m still working on receiving and reciprocity. welcome home.” zainab smiled.

i spotted ameena arriving, saying “il 7amdoullah 3al salameh” to the 3a2edeen and greeting each and every person. her pace was slow and leisurely, and she walked with the ease and grace of people who have been blessed by inana herself.

“mar7aba!” ameena said, as she sat on the bench beside me. she was part of the council that oversaw the stewardship of our natural resources. while each of our communities was self-governing, councils were created to coordinate the distribution of resources across bilad il sham so that we could support each other. ameena was also a flower essence practitioner. “i like connecting people to what they need,” she had told me when i first met her, “whether it be resources or the right flower essence.”

“i slept for longer than usual, which is good cause i had an amazing dream. and on my way here i met a flower who wanted to be made into an essence.”

“that’s one of my favorites, yes, thank you” i said as i got out my water bottle for her to place a few drops into.

“i’m going to make a post on the natural resources forum to let people know the wood is available here,” i told her. “do you know if anyone’s looking for any?”

“the community garden at deir il bala7 need some wood to make biochar and hugelkultur beds,” ameena said between mouthfuls. “they’re planting a food forest underneath the date palms. they also need sawdust for their humanure system. and the residents of nabi saleh are building a garden around their spring.”

“oh, i’m actually going to gaza city later, i can take the wood to deir il bala7 to save them the trip.”

“perfect,” said ameena, making appreciative noises as she took another bite of msakhan.

i picked up my phone to make the post, the same one i had had for a long time now. after the congolese people had reclaimed their natural resources, they closed down all their mines. their scientists had estimated that if the minerals that had already been mined were reused indefinitely, no new minerals would ever need to be mined again. they created new global standards concerning the use of technology, and now every device using their minerals would last decades in order to honor the earth’s resources. as they collected reparations, the congolese people also began a process of repair, where all of us who were complicit in their harm showed up for their healing in the ways they asked us to, one of many such collective processes of repair happening on the planet.

after finishing our food and cleaning up, we all sat in a circle in the new food forest and did some healing work together. i taught the children how to channel healing energies, and they took turns healing first themselves and then each other. we talked about how we need to get the other person’s permission before sending them energy, and how it was completely up to us if we wanted to accept the energies offered to us or not. little bubbles of different colored energies filled the air as the children took turns gifting and receiving healing energies. one kid, hilal, kept laughing, insisting that the soft pink energies 3ali had sent them tickled. after that, everyone was in laughing fits from either the pink energies or the contagious laughter that ensued.

“yes!” hala answered, laying on the earth, shaking from laughter. “wait, no, no more.” she waved away the pink bubble to keep it outside her aura. she stood, trying to regain her breath. “do you want some?” she asked a fig sapling.

yes, they said. hala offered the bubble to the fig tree, and then we all got to find out what it sounded like when a fig tree laughed, radiating joy and their small branches shaking lightly in the wind.

i showed the children how to make energetic containers to protect the plants, around each tree and the forest as a whole. we made sure each of the seeds and saplings were grounded in their new home and accessing all the energies they needed. i led us in a healing to help the new plants grow and adapt to their new home, to heal the land spirits and the land so that this new ecosystem would thrive.

“may this forest bring us abundance for generations to come. may the spirits of our loved ones be watered and nourished by the trees planted in their memory,” said the teacher.

“ameen,” we all replied. we had a moment of prayer as we began imagining the forest to come: the trees growing tall, the spirits of our loved ones being healed, the families that would pick olives here together. i imagined the village growing strong, zainab’s family feeling rooted in love and belonging as they grew old here. i could smell the perfume of the fig trees, tall and ripe with fruit, their lush green leaves extending like hands to embrace the sun. we envisioned our people harvesting pine nuts, apricots, grapes, dates, and figs, being so abundantly blessed that they could share with other communities. we imagined families sitting together under the shade of the trees, surrounded by the enchanting scent of damascus roses, sharing birthday sweets year after year. i could see a father and his young daughter playing hide and seek among the now wide tree trunks, with her giggling giving her away every time.

“za2a6tek!” her dad said as he rounded a fig tree, picking his daughter up in his arms and lifting her up in the air, her screams and giggles of pure joy echoing across time.

i waved to the shepherd and his sheep, waiting until they crossed the road before starting my solar powered truck. my car was powered by a new design invented by a young student at birzeit university. it was so highly efficient that the car could run even on cloudy days or at night on stored solar power alone. this open source design was now widely used across bilad il sham due to the ease of using it to convert obsolete, fossil fuel based cars into solar powered ones. it was so effective that solar power became our main form of energy, and the new solar panels lined our roofs and powered our devices.

i began driving, the verdant countryside my constant companion. i passed lush, green hills full of saplings and dotted with wildflowers. small villages nestled into the hillsides, looking as if they had sprouted from the earth. i went to drop off some wood and sawdust to a community garden in deir il bala7, and stopped by gaza city on my way back.

i looked around me, amazed by how gaza city had been truly transformed. all around me, the clean, wide streets were lined with rebuilt and restored buildings made of low carbon, self healing concrete that towered over me, interspersed with shorter straw bale cob houses. i could hear the sound of children playing, people laughing. i could smell bread and mana2eesh. in the distance, i heard various bird calls from the newly restored wetlands. the only things i could see in the sky was an eagle flying in slow, wide circles and the bright, beaming sun warming my skin and heart. people were all around me, finally free to live their lives on their land.

i met a few of my loved ones at a beach near gaza city. first, we placed offerings of rose and hawthorn on the altar created for all those we had lost. we made sure that their memories lived on. their loved ones wrote stories and created art honoring them so their truth would never die. roads, schools, buildings carried their names. we planted trees in their memory, and named gardens, olive groves and forests after them to immortalize them in their homelands; they became part of the land itself. we tended altars and prayed for them, so that the spirits of those whose deaths still tethered them to this earthly plane would heal and ascend, would rejoin our well ancestors and source, so they would be free. we communicated with all those we had lost through the veil that separated our worlds, so they were still here with us even in death, for nothing could destroy their spirit, their divine spark, and nothing could keep them from their homelands ever again.

we gave gratitude to all those who had guarded, nourished and affirmed life. their countless acts of courage and bravery invited us to step into more of ourselves, more of our true power everyday. their selfless sacrifices transformed their spirits into angels, into well ancestors, into guardians of our homelands. it was deeply humbling to be in the presence of beings who held such integrity in their hearts, whether they still lived amongst us or had passed on.

a few years ago, just before Indigenous nations across turtle island reclaimed their reparations and lands back, when i had been living as a settler on the territories of the q̓ic̓əy̓, qʼʷa:n̓ƛʼən̓, and kʷikʷəƛ̓əm nations, blue vervain was teaching me about the importance of wetlands. i learned of a project that restored a wetland on nearby xʷməθkʷəy̓əm, Sḵwx̱wú7mesh, and səl̓ilw̓ətaʔɬ territories, where it only took two years before the salmon returned to spawn in their ancestral birthplace after not being able to return. i felt in awe of the resilience of life, and how quickly things could come into balance if humans created the conditions for life to thrive. i had wondered, how many generations of salmon had kept the knowledge of their ancestors’ birthplace hidden safe in their hearts even though they themselves had never been born there? how did they keep hope alive, still seeking to return every spawning season regardless of how much time had passed? how did they feel when they finally returned?

those salmon gave me hope in my heart that return would be possible for all beings, that i too could return to my homelands. so in the time before my return, i fueled the sumud in my heart with nature’s resilience, the seemingly small miracles that were all around me if i stopped to listen: the hummingbirds, the return of salmon to a wetland after generations, a cedar tree that had almost been uprooted but with the help of its neighbors survived to grow as tall as any other tree in the forest.

i didn’t always know it but i had always been returning home in so many ways: to my ancestors, to my homelands, to myself. like a salmon, i too kept my ancestral birthplaces hidden deep in my heart, and was guided to return by an inner compass, an ancestral momentum, an impulse so deep it was partly unconscious. before i could physically return, it was my ancestral plants that opened portals to allow me to return energetically. and then the land began calling me home.

after paying our respects, we went swimming. impossibly, it was still afternoon. there was an expansiveness to time here, where each day stretched out to an eternity like they did when i was a child, every hour as long as our shadows when the sun was low in the sky. there was always more than enough time for everything.

i took a deep breath, savoring the smell of the saltwater sea. its waves were softly lapping at the shore, too many shades of blue to describe, the light of the sun dancing atop its rippling waters in mesmerizing sparkles. the warm, clear seawater was perfect for swimming, and i spent as much time as i could feeling the love of the sun and sea on my skin.

fa2dtek ya 7abeebty, i told the sea as i waded in, sprinkling rose petals on the waves as an offering, every muscle in my body automatically relaxing as i began floating on my back. the sea answered not with words but a surge of love, rocking me gently with its waves.

before coming back, i didn’t know, couldn’t imagine what it felt like to belong to a land. but here i was, feeling so rooted on these lands, so embodied that i could feel every cell in my body vibrating. floating in the gentle expanse of a sea that intimately knew and loved me, i felt so happy and free in my heart. i was enveloped by the divine love that i once thought had forsaken me but that had always been there, patiently waiting for me to let it into my heart again. a sense of wholeness permeated my body and soul, a wholeness beyond what i thought i would ever be able to experience in this lifetime. held by my ancestral waters, greeted by every tree, surrounded by the plants that had shaped the dna of my entire lineage, i felt like a part of the land itself. emerging from the sea, my soul and body felt cleansed, my heart open.

the beach was filled with people. the atmosphere was warm and celebratory togetherness. now that people had everything they needed, we could take our time to enjoy life and be with each other. nearby, where the beach met a community garden, a jasmine was thriving among the trees, its sweet, floral perfume transporting me back to my childhood. underneath it, a group of elders were playing tableh and singing a folk song to a nearby olive tree. the olive tree was thoroughly enjoying being honored through song, its branches waving happily in the wind. as they sang, i noticed neighbors and passersby occasionally stopped to join in. once, a person who happened to be carrying a oud even joined them for a song, her prosthetic fingers playing the strings without missing a note. their eyes widened in surprise but they didn’t stop, the beach slightly quieter as people started listening in. that song earned the whole group applause and zaghareet.

farther away to my right, there was a group of young people dancing dabke to music blasting from a portable speaker, improvising their own moves mixed with the traditional ones. they were surrounded by a group of onlookers who were clapping along to the music and adding “he2! he2! he2! he2!” on the up beat. on the other side, two men were celebrating their wedding, a grandma gifting them with a mawal. their party clapped for them as they shyly adorned each other by placing wreaths of flowers on each other’s heads.

people had brought incredible picnics or were barbecuing their dinner on the beach, which meant that the smell of delicious foods was everpresent. following the smell of cinnamon and allspice to its source, we had found ma2loubeh made by a smiling tata and sido with the help of their extended family. they wanted to gift us some ma2loubeh and we gifted them some of the idreh khaliliyeh my friends had made. it turned out that sido was originally from il khalil where idreh comes from. he closed his eyes after trying a bite of the rice, chickpeas and goat meat, before giving us the highest of praises: “zey idret immy.” i also insisted that the community garden at deir il bala7 had given me too many apricots for my friends and i to be able to finish so they accepted a small basket of the fruit as well.

the smoke from argileh lit with fa7em sindyan wafted by, fruity and light. there was a young person celebrating their birthday, elated by the gifts, sweets and love they were being showered with. their friends and family sang sana 7ilwa to them and fed everyone who happened to be nearby with their homemade knafeh to celebrate. i went back to pay my compliments to the chef, their middle aged father with a round belly and deep creases around his eyes from always laughing. i gave him some apricots as we exchanged jokes and recipes over meramiyeh tea.

instead of clashing with each other, the different noises somehow blended together easily to form a festive atmosphere, and it filled me with happiness to hear the sounds of joy and laughter along with the soft whooshing of the ceaseless ocean waves. as i looked around me, i saw how even lighter skinned people like me had darkened after spending so much time worshiping the sun and loving our land. surrounded by a sea of palestinians, brown and Black, all of us so happy and carefree, i felt the joy of returning home anew. no matter how much time had passed, the joy of my 3awda continued to gush like an eternal spring, like a beautiful surprise: when i was surrounded by people who mirrored the generosity and kindness of my own heart, in the soft scent of the upright, purple irises, in the way the sea held my heart, in the sun’s rays breaking through the clouds after a rain, in the deep embrace of belonging i felt while being celebrated by my soul family, my well ancestors, and my homelands.

the sunset was a wonder, with the orange horizon transforming into stunning hues. the clouds reflected the pink light on their underside, fading to purple. the sea reflected everything, doubling its beauty. people all around me were trying to photograph it, but i knew its breathtaking beauty could never be truly captured. a group of people traveled farther away to my left to make wudu and perform evening prayers together.

then my loved ones and i began our own ritual. we purified our energy in the ocean. letting go of what was not truly ours and asking for all parts of us to return home to our bodies. we stood outside a cave by the beach farther away from the crowds, the location of which we had divined from piecing together the clues from our dreams.

it was night now, the stars brighter than usual in the presence of the dark moon. inside the cave, the bioluminescence cast a beautiful light blue glow over everything. the cave thrummed with energy and ancient magic, the waves inside echoing infinitely. we had practiced this prayer before, in many places. each place held a different power, a different type of magic that the colonizers had previously tried to extract. but our ancestors and the land spirits had guarded them too well, the places hidden and their guardians powerful and well fortified. there were safeguards in place to stop the magic from flowing into the land, to keep the wellsprings of magic from falling into the wrong hands, and now we were restoring the flow of magic to bring healing to the land and all its beings.

“yes, yes, of course.” i rummaged in my backpack and removed a jar. it had sa7lab made with rosewater and honey, something the cave and its guardians had specifically requested. we made an altar with the offering, greeting the land and its beings, introducing ourselves and offering gratitude and prayers from our hearts.

yes, i heard a voice from within, coming from the land itself. the other nodded to me: they had heard it too. we entered deeper into the cave, putting down cushions so people could sit if they needed to. we formed a circle, the warm waves still reaching between my feet.

i began singing, a few low notes before transitioning to high ones. my loved ones echoed me. in creation, everything has a vibration, and sound can call in form, so we were singing the new world into existence, together. when we finished, we were left only with the sound of the echoing waves. then, a multicolored flickering light appeared in mid-air before us, growing, expanding into a sphere. my heart swelled, i exchanged looks of awe and gratitude with my circle: we had opened the portal.

the sparkling rainbow magic from the wellspring began spreading through the cave and beyond, bringing healing to bilad il sham and all its beings. as i began singing again, i saw the pain of my ancestors being transmuted. i felt their power flowing through me, mixing with the magic of the land that was returning to my body. my ancestors’ hard work, their love and sacrifice, their resilience and courage had already created a new world for me, giving me opportunities to fulfill my path, bringing me back to my homelands. i was determined to keep creating a better future for all those who would come after me. when i sang, the trauma of displacement that had uprooted my whole lineage, that had harmed us and caused us to create harm, that had persisted generation after generation, that trauma began to be held by the earth and universe, began to be healed and transmuted into pure power, pure creative energy.

we began dancing, the ancestral rhythms in our dna guiding us, our bodies flowing like water. as we sang, our well ancestors surrounded us, singing a separate but complementary part. then our descendants arrived, completing the circle, singing their own harmony that blended seamlessly with ours. we formed a circle, unbroken and whole. we were dancing together, past, present and future converging into one. the healing frequencies from our song reverberated across all of time and creation. we were so wholly anchored here, in our bodies, on this land, with these plants, on this earth. in our hearts was the prayer for a better future, for freedom, wholeness, healing. that profound love was transformed into song at our throats. plant and animal spirits appeared beside us to join in. the arz, olive trees, roses and flowers swaying to the music. a regal lioness watching us silently with love in her eyes, her cubs playing at her feet. otters were diving into the sea in one fluid motion. the land spirits made themselves seen, adding their own melody full of otherworldly beauty. there was a vibration like a heartbeat coming from the land under our feet, echoed by the waves: the earth and ocean had joined our call. our prayers for miracles and divine intervention were heard by the angels, by source themself. they knew we were ready now. we could not be held down any longer: chains were breaking, curses were dissolving, veils were lifting, contracts were ending.

with our song, we began praying that future generations on this earth would be so free that they could not even begin to comprehend what we had gone through. we prayed that all humans would learn freedom, repair and right relationship, true justice and peace. we began dreaming that humanity on this earth would explore joy, love, pleasure, beauty, abundance. we prayed that we would repair our relationship with this planet and all its beings. as the portal in the center of our circle was opening, we could see, feel, hear and smell this future as if it were here already, as if we were there already. to me, this new future felt like rosewater on my heart, a sigh of relief, a gentle expansion, like being able to fly. it smelled of damascus roses, fresh honey and arz needles. it felt like the tranquility of a sacred forest and the sweet joy of a celebration all at once. and so much more that was impossible to put into words. to experience our future homelands and all their beings so whole and free was itself a healing, and we made this feeling available to our people so we could collectively dream this future into existence together.

i began sending a telepathic message to guide my past self to this moment, “our people survive the genocide. empire has crumbled. palestine is free. we have liberated bilad il sham. i have returned to our homelands like so many others. we are healing and thriving on our land. we are birthing the new earth. you know in your heart that we can get free, even if you can’t always feel it. i need you to keep going. remember the impossible miracles that have already gotten you this far. keep dreaming of a better future. keep singing it into existence. i know you can’t see it now but out of this unfathomable loss and grief is a path towards healing, towards a future that is better than you could ever imagine. sammed, keep hope alive in your heart. keep praying for miracles. see beyond the confines of your current reality and feel me now, here, alive, heart beating, calling you forward to the near future. i live, i survive, i thrive but only if you choose to keep going. be brave. i love you.”

● bilad il sham - palestine, syria, lebanon and jordan - بِلَاد الشَّام

● arz - lebanese cedar - أرز

● Hugelkultur - https://www.almanac.com/sites/default/files/image_nodes/hugelkulturraisedbed.jpg https://www.permaculturenews.org/2012/01/04/hugelkultur-composting-whole-trees-with-ease/

● 3a2edeen - returnees - العائدين

● Musta2beleen - welcomers - مستقبلين

● 3azoomeh - feast - عزومة

● 7amee-bared - game of hot-cold - حامي بارد

● allah ya36ekom il 3afyeh - may source grant you health - الله يعطيكم العافية

● sumerian god ea. - p. 259. feghali, layla k. the land in our bones: plantcestral herbalism and healing cultures from syria to the sinai. north atlantic books, 2024.

● il 7amdoullah 3al salameh - thank source for your safe return - الحمد لله عالسلامة

● zahret il barakeh - flower of blessings (nigella flower) - زهرة البركة

● humanure system - see http://humanurehandbook.com/downloads/Humanure_Manual_2019.pdf

● return energetically - p. 43. feghali, layla k. the land in our bones: plantcestral herbalism and healing cultures from syria to the sinai. north atlantic books, 2024.

● fa2dtek ya 7abeebty - i’ve missed you my beloved - فقدتك يا حبيبتي

● dna of my entire lineage - p. 43. feghali, layla k. the land in our bones: plantcestral herbalism and healing cultures from syria to the sinai. north atlantic books, 2024.

● shukran ya 7abeebty - thank you my beloved - شكراً يا حبيبتي

● 3afwan ya 7ubby - you’re welcome my love - عفوًا يا حبي

● Folk song - https://bit.ly/3TOzY3N

● Zaghareet - ululations - زغاريت

● Mawal - a type of singing traditionally performed at weddings to bless the married couple - موّال

● Tata - grandmother - تاتا

● Sido - grandfather - سيدو

● zey idret immy - like my mother’s idreh - زي قدرة إمي

● fa7em sindyan - lebanese oak coals - فحم سنديان

● Sana 7ilwa - happy birthday - سنة حلوة

● Meramiyeh - a type of sage - مريمية. latin name for this variety is salvia fruticosa according to p. 231. feghali, layla k. the land in our bones: plantcestral herbalism and healing cultures from syria to the sinai. north atlantic books, 2024.

● 3awda - return - عودة

● Sammed - stay faithfully steadfast - صمِّد