Naar, Are You illuminated?

2 July, 2023
An Arab woman rises from the ashes of patriarchy, mocking it.


Bint Magdaliyya


Naar, are you illuminated?

In the same way that a refusal of Highland hospitality in Scotland translates into a death warrant, or in the way that, say, declining an offer of refreshments from a Bedouin in Arabia is interpreted with suspicion, and may hold repercussions for you, your household, herds, crops, relatives and descendants, so does a self-honoring “no” cause havoc in this house.

You may submit to ordeals and initiations, take vows and oaths, wear jewelry designed by jungle dwellers and amulets hewed by gypsies, you may burn and melt and collapse onto your knees in ecstasy for love of the Creation, but you will not risk saying or signaling “no.”

You may clutch the key and stand in front of the door. You may call upon the winds of the One Desert and the flawlessness of its winged creatures. You may be graced by the apparition of a Priestess known for the melody she sings with her body and the crystal showers she dances with her voice, yet you are still unable to indicate “no.”

You may journey back in time to meet your original Initiatrix at the moment of separation, as she blessed you and showed you the door. You may call upon your guides, angels, galactic connections and ancestors. For you know that you have done nothing Wrong and everything Right, that you have found the alleged wrongdoing a slur, that you were manipulated and tricked when your guard was down, and that you agreed to become your own screw.

And you heard the Ruddy Cheeked One say: “The depth of your knowledge.

And you heard the curly haired one say: “Use your nectar.”

And you heard the Spirit of the Great Aura say: “Your heart cannot be devoured for it is crystalline and undying.”

And you heard Miriam the Alchemist say: “We have remembered You as you have remembered Us.” 

Still, a “no” is treason in the master’s Kangaroo Court.

Yesterday, your body was a prayer inviting devotion. Yesterday, your body was an intricate, tawdry, ostentatious carving that begged smashing, tearing and fucking, honoring. Yesterday you were undressed by feathers in the shape of hands.Yesterday you were asked if you had any desires and you said no, at the risk of upsetting Daddy.

Yesterday you met your mum and remembered that she was your first temple, dwelling place, alchemical lab and Mystery School. She reminded you that your crown was an aerial picking up information from the firmament above and that you must keep it pristine and balanced primarily for that reason. And that evictions from the Realm are best conducted on a Saturday, the day of the Task Master and of Lessons Hard Learned.

On the day of the burial of the monarch of the Land, Naar was invited to step into her Sovereignty. She was given the signal, picked up by the antenna of her invisible crown, to step into leadership by putting N and O together.

She loved the way his eyes dropped on her across a room as he witnessed her in her practice, observing her as she chaotically organized and directed her disorder, desire. “It stirs me.”

It stirred him. She loved the way his leg forced her thighs open. She loved his darting, angry tongue and the way he let his cock drip all over her… an unwelcome anointing that disgusted her, filled her with pity and transmuted it to lust.

She loved the eyes that held her as tightly as rope, the psychopathic steadiness of that malevolent, guzzling gaze.

Her first Initiatrix, the one they called Tall Black Jasmine, had told her at the Porte: “Keep your Altar in front of you and your garbage behind you. For it is at the highest point of intensity during Ceremony that the two begin to merge, and that is the point at which you need to be the most vigilant, the most attentive, as surely as your attention will be elsewhere. You will not be addicted to the shadows, but you will have Reach, and Dominion, and you will grow, there. Blaze, woman, blaze in the certainty of your own Goodness!”

On her way home, on her way to the man who never comes — she longs for the scorching sun to kiss her clitoris. It soon clouds over.

Naar, are you illuminated?


Bint Magdaliyya is an author whose identity remains concealed, in a world intoxicated by constant exposure. Her anonymous presence only amplifies the allure, adding an air of intrigue that entices readers to lose themselves in the spellbinding world she creates.

Arab writingdesireeroticismsexualitywomen

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