Arafat: The Prostration of the Heart

Arafat: The Prostration of the Heart

A Forgotten Memory at Arafat

This is not a mountain—
It is a secret.
Not made of stone—
But of sacred trust.
A place of remembrance,
Marked by the traces of those
Who prostrated upon its soil.

You were here in the first moment—
Before you were born of your mother,
Before your ego had a name,
Before the question was asked:
"Am I not your Lord?"

And you—
You said "Yes",
Like a rose blooming in silence.

Now you’ve come seeking that rose again.
And the path…
It leads through Arafat.

The Stand (Vakfe) is the moment when the heart halts.
But this is not what they call stillness—
This is an inward journey.
The feet remain rooted,
Yet the soul stands on the Plain of Resurrection.

Time furrows its brow here,
The hours fall into prostration,
And for the first time,
Man, in a sacred emptiness that is truly his own,
Meets his Lord.

Silence speaks the loudest here.
And here,
Tears become the language of the soul.

The Echo of Alast—
A voice calls into your heart:
"Am I not your Lord?"

It is not asked of you—
But of the you you have forgotten.

And with a single drop of sweat,
You cry out once more,
Breaking a thousand years of silence:
"Yes!"

For Arafat
Is the place where the forgotten answer is remembered.

— Dr. Özer Akpınar
Researcher / Historian