Barakah! Barakah!

I had a dream some time ago.

In the dream I met a medium who seemed very eager to speak with me. She asked me to lie down and close my eyes. I was told I would see my life in symbols.

What I saw were square pieces of fabric. Solid colors. Black. White. Midnight blue. They were placed on top of each other, neatly stacked. And beneath them all, a paper doily. The kind you put under a cake. And it had blood stains on it.

It was not dramatic. It was almost… orderly.

The strange part was not the fabrics or the blood. The strange part was the word the medium kept repeating. Over and over, almost urgently:

“Baraka! Baraka!”

“She is with you,” the medium said.

I had never heard the word in my life. I remember thinking, even inside the dream, that it sounded like nonsense. Something made up. But when I woke up, I could not let it go. The word stayed with me in that quiet, persistent way some things do.

So I googled it.

“Ba·ra·ka. A blessing that is regarded in various Eastern religions as an indwelling spiritual force and divine gift…”

In Islam, Barakah is described as a blessing power. A continuity of spiritual presence. Something that flows from God.

I sat there reading, feeling slightly stunned.

I am not Muslim. I had never encountered the concept before. And yet the word had appeared in my dream, repeated insistently, as if it mattered.

I felt shaken and, at the same time, deeply comforted.

There was something about the idea of an indwelling blessing. Not loud. Not theatrical. Just present. Like a current running quietly under everything.

Black. White. Blue. Layers of a life.

And the fragile paper doily with its stains of blood. The human part. The vulnerable part. Perhaps the suffering.

And still, Baraka.

I don’t claim to understand dreams. I don’t build doctrines from them. But sometimes something arrives that feels less like imagination and more like a reminder.

A reminder that there is a presence that accompanies me. Not to remove what hurts. Not to rearrange the fabrics. But to flow through them.

That morning I felt oddly safe. Held.

Blessed.