Night Journey الإسراء
Holy Land: Edition XIII
Welcome to Cosmographia, where we’re creating a map of the world through history, myth, and art. This post is part of our Holy Land series. For the full map of Cosmographia posts, see here.
Indeed, we belong to Allah, and indeed, to Him we return.
— Qur'an 2:156
All Mecca slept and the Prophet was no different. He lay enslumbered against the ancient walls of the Ka’bah, his form a shadow among shadows. Above him loomed al-Hajr al-Aswad, swallower of sins, right hand of al-Rahman — the Black Stone. All was still.
Then came a rending of the firmament, a light so fierce it threatened to unmake the world. The angel Jibril stood before the Prophet, terrible in his radiance, wings of fire and eyes of burning coal. “Rise,” he commanded, and the Prophet did obey.
The archangel beckoned forth a beast of impossible form. Buraq, they would name it, face almost human, body gleaming like polished silver, wings stretched from its flanks that pulsed with celestial light. The Prophet mounted, and they were away, faster than thought or dream.
They thundered north across the wastes, earth blurring beneath them until that holiest of cities rose up from the darkness, its ancient stones glowing pale in the blue night. At the Temple Mount, the Prophet dismounted. With Buraq’s halter secured to the Western Wall, the journey skyward began.
Up they climbed through the spheres of heaven, each a realm unto itself. In the first, Adam awaited, his eyes holding the weight of all man’s sins. In the second stood Jesus and John, cousins in prophecy. In the third stood Azrael, angel of death; above him Cassiel, angel of tears, and Maalik, guardian of hellfire. Higher still to Moses, before Abraham, patriarch of nations, in the seventh and final.
At the lote tree of utmost boundary, Sidrat al-Muntaha, even Jibril halted. “Beyond this, I cannot go,” the angel said, and in holy dread the Prophet walked alone into the blinding light of divine presence.
What transpired there we cannot know — a communion beyond the bounds of space and time that defies mortal words. But when he emerged the Prophet’s eyes held the fire of revelation, his soul tempered by truths ineffable.
Descent, rapid as thought. Jerusalem again, the Temple Mount solid beneath his feet. Buraq awaited, wings unfurled. They thundered back across the night, returning to Mecca as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon.
The Prophet found himself once more by the Ka’bah, the Black Stone unchanged but he himself transformed. He stood in that place awhile. The slanting light of morning stole back the day as he pondered his divine instruction: five daily prayers; a promise of paradise; a warning of terrible judgement. His was a people mired in ignorance and tribal feuds; he would wreck upon them a message of unity and submission to a higher power. Few would believe his tale at first, but the fire of his conviction would soon set Arabia, and then the world, ablaze.
As he stepped out of that holy place, the Prophet knew two things for certain: Ash-hadu an la ilaha illa Allah (There is no god but GOD); and that this night's journey was just the start.