There is a specific kind of silence that settles in when you realize you are holding a world in your hands. For the past months, my life has been measured not in hours, but in pages; not in steps, but in the slow, deliberate ink-strokes of a story that refused to stay small.
What started as a modest 101-page draft has transformed into a 491-page odyssey. I didn’t set out to write a tome of this magnitude, but as any writer will tell you, characters have a way of demanding their own space. They breathe, they walk, and eventually, they lead you into corners of their world you never knew existed.
At the heart of this journey is Lazuna Shafu.
I am often asked what the story is about, and while the urge to share every heartbeat of the plot is strong, some things are better left to be discovered in the dim light of a reading lamp. What I can tell you is that this is a story of echoes—of things lost in the shifting sands and found again in the most unlikely places. It is a narrative that navigates the thin line between reality and the mystical, much like a traveler walking a tightrope across a desert canyon.
The aesthetic of this book has become as vital as the words themselves. I found myself drawn to the stark, evocative beauty of 17th-century ink illustrations. There is something profoundly honest about the combination of sepia and deep indigo; it mirrors the contrast between the warmth of human longing and the cold, vast infinity of the universe. In this book, you won’t find modern diagrams or technical lines. Instead, you will find the raw texture of parchment and the fluidity of ink—visual whispers that accompany the prose.
Writing this was a marathon of the soul. There were days when the desert dunes of the setting felt more real than the floor beneath my feet. I watched as 24 chapters unfurled, each one starting on a fresh right-hand page, a ritual of new beginnings. Each chapter felt like a gate opening into a different chamber of Lazuna’s life.
As I stand now at the finish line, looking at the 491-page stack, I feel a sense of profound exhaustion coupled with a strange peace. I have kept much of this journey private, shielding the process from the "noise" of the outside world, because some stories need to grow in the shade before they can survive the sun.
Lazuna Shafu is almost ready to meet you. But for now, I will let the ink dry. I will let the indigo settle into the paper. This book is a labor of love, a testament to the idea that stories aren't just told—they are lived, page by painstaking page.
Stay tuned. The journey home is just beginning.
This is exciting news! But before I comment on this particular work of art, I'd like to first mention why I checked in. I just came across some newer videos and was struck by how different the music. Some jazzy, one something like a love song. I was also thrilled when I came across your fundraiser for the Global Sumud Flotilla. I also donated and tracked their progress every step of the way. Those attempts to break the siege was global love in action. Back to your book, what a fantastic endeavor! So very interesting. Can we support this labor of love in some way?
Thank you so much for such a touching and thoughtful message. It truly means a lot to know you’ve been following my journey so closely. I’m so glad you noticed the shifts in my music—much like life, I believe music is a fluid journey that constantly changes its colors and tones.
Regarding the Global Sumud Flotilla, knowing that you also supported and tracked their progress is incredibly heartening. You put it perfectly: it really was 'global love in action,' and I’m honored to connect with someone who shares that same spirit of solidarity.
As for this project, it is a significant step toward a dream I hold very dear: to eventually help build a school and support education for the children in Gaza. Simply knowing that this 'labor of love' resonates with you is a wonderful source of moral support. If you’d like to support this journey further, sharing it with others or continuing to share your thoughts here is more than enough. Thank you for being a part of this!
Dear Rimbiana,
You are an extraordinary artist, and I am certain that the gentleness and truth of your words come from what you once glimpsed of An-Nour, on an evening of doubt.
When Lazuna Shafu is released, I will regret being only a French speaker, unable to read you myself. But perhaps, in shā’ Allah, I will offer your book to my daughter, who studies English literature.
The worlds you hold in your hands are only waiting to bloom, like rosebuds from Joseph’s black well, between the fennec and the hoopoe bird, along Route 177 in Oklahoma — or elsewhere.
The stack, the tower of your 491 pages, a prime number like 101, the 94th like an Opening toward the Other World, will rise higher than the skyscrapers of those bargain-basement pharaohs.
The map above sends my mind spinning in every direction;
I am like a mad cat in Kaum Azil !
The superpower has fallen, but Babylon does not know it yet.
The harder their fall will be, when the natural arches of Wadi Rum align in Marseille with Noah’s Ark.
Do not worry, Rimbiana:
their empire weighs less than an atom
compared to the World you hold in your Hand.
May God guide you until the Dawn…
Dear Christhope,
Reading your words felt like finding a familiar constellation while lost in the middle of a vast, uncharted desert. It is rare and deeply moving to be 'seen' with such clarity—not just the text, but the pulse and the silence between the lines.
You spoke of An-Nour and the evening of doubt. You are right. Lazuna Shafu was born in those very shadows; it is the ink of someone who had to learn that Joseph’s well, however dark, is exactly where the water of life begins to bloom.
I am humbled that you noticed the 'tower' of 491 pages. To me, it was never just a count, but a labor of breath—a prime number standing against the artificial mathematics of those who seek to hoard the world. If these pages can rise higher than the 'bargain-basement pharaohs' you mentioned, it is only because they carry the weight of those who have been silenced for too long.
You may only speak French (we have Lazuna Shafu in French), but your heart clearly speaks the language of the Azil. The heart has no borders, and your understanding of the Fox, the Hoopoe, and the shifting geography from Wadi Rum to the empires of today tells me that we are walking the same Secret Path.
Babylon may not know it yet, but the truth indeed weighs more than their atoms of power. Thank you for reminding me that even as a 'mad cat' in this world, I am not walking alone.
May the light you saw in my words reflect back to you, guiding your path until the Dawn. Perhaps one day, the Rosebuds of Salma’s story will find their way into your own tongue.
With deepest gratitude and peace.