Please make sure you read the Disclaimer at the end

Like sinking into deep sleep, I watched my body slowly slip from consciousness. Everything grew fuzzy—the tent’s interior, my backpack, muddy shoes, thermos—all becoming fainter and fainter, edges dissolving.

I was alone. No phones. No escape routes.

I tried to speak words to myself. My speech came halting, slurred, incomprehensible.

My instinct was to fight. I staggered up, battling gravity’s pull, dizzy. Water. I needed to heat water. My whole body convulsed—hands, mouth, everything shaking. I could hear my teeth grinding, the percussion of my tremor. Lighting the camp stove became an impossible choreography of trembling fingers.

While water heated, I paced. Blankets draped over my head offered no warmth. I pounced, jumped, shook like a possessed thing. Water boiled. I dumped in two tea bags. My hands couldn’t hold the cup. The trembling worsened. Just getting the cup to my chattering jaw long enough to sip felt impossible, but I had to.

Then, as if all the knowledge and wisdom I have ever acquired came flooding back in an instant, I took a breath and told myself three things:

Trust the wisdom of your body. It knows what to do. Let it shake. What your body is going through is what it needs to survive.

Second: nothing to fear. I am ready to go if that’s it, but please God, let me go with dignity.

Third: If you survive this, it’s privilege, pure luck that you get to experience and learn. Keep your mind and heart open.

Something inside whispered: this is the cleansing, the rebirth you have been praying for.

Hours earlier:

I had spent 2.5 months in Georgia, the last stretch in total seclusion in Racha. Still raw, mostly undiscovered, certainly absent from most tourist guidebooks.

Today, after a soul-quenching hike, I found myself facing a pool. Water white as milk, cold as winter’s heart, no human hand had touched it.

Baptism kept ringing in my head.

The lure was magnetic. I decided to make camp here. Mission accomplished.

I stripped and stepped in. Knives and needles. This was cold beyond imagination. For context: in Racha, you light fireplaces in late August. This was late September. But I could not resist the pull.

I sank to my knees and froze, unable to move. My body’s temperature regulation seemed stuck at “off.” I stayed like this maybe fifteen minutes, treacherously cold. I stepped back, decided sitting might be better. I sat, water only to my navel. Swords slashing skin. It literally hurt, but it also felt intoxicating.

I decided not to focus on the pain. I wouldn’t deny it, only not let it occupy my mind. I turned attention to my surroundings: the water, cliffs, trees, fish jumping in the nearby stream.

Baptism, my mind whispered again. A cleanse. A rebirth.

Now water to my chest, my body an icicle yet somehow numb. And I felt an indescribable peace, like floating in nothingness, my mind empty as if wiped clean. Nothing existed outside this moment. No past, no future. I had no memories, I felt no remorse, no pain. This was it. This was me, my life. Not in theory, but in truth.

I smiled: all my life lead to this, and this is all I ever wanted. Peace.

I asked myself: Is there anything or anyone in my life that has weight on who I am, where I go, what I choose? Anyone but me?

As if called, I looked up at the sky. An eagle spread wings majestically above my head. I had my answer. “I am the eagle I dreamed of becoming since childhood, and I will continue being that eagle as long as I honor my truth.”

I lost track of time. My sense of peace was such that I thought, “I wish I could stay here forever” but the pain didn’t wane an iota—on the contrary it became unbearable. Sun would set soon anyway. Time to call it a day.

I stood, took one step, and collapsed. My legs were paralyzed, torso as if under anesthesia. Unmovable, stiff. Half-crawling, half-stuttering, I made it to the tent, dried myself, piled on every piece of clothes and blanket I could find.

I lay down, but instead of anticipated warmth and rest, my body acted as if an ice-cold water pipe had burst inside it. I grew colder by the half-second. Body shaking uncontrollably. My head lightened, darkness ascending like tide. I did not see this coming. Not after the happiness I’d felt only minutes before.

“I knew what this was. I knew how it would end.”

Back in the tent:

Surrender, I decided, total and complete. I got to my knees, not in despair, but in love, humility, worship. Forehead to ground, I gave gratitude and prayed to be granted a chance. I lifted my head. The lesson was learned, experience fully absorbed, as if new life was granted. Body… normal.

Immediately back to the day as usual. I heated pre-cooked minced meat, ate in silent, happy contemplation. Took out notepad and pen, started jotting thoughts. I need to figure out this “THIS IS IT” and write it down.

The Opening

Call it the delusional mental state that comes with hypothermia– I still believe this was what I call an opening [فتح].

I am not the same person. Something was washed away by that sweet, bitter experience. Pains, physical and emotional, frozen and numbed in a good way. I have deeper respect for nature, for water, for that icy water. And utmost humility about my human shortcomings.

As if shedding tons of baggage, I feel lighter, freer.

I know this won’t be my last cold plunge (the last reckless one though). I can’t say I’ll seek them, but I learned that nature has incredible power. A great teacher. It will take several lifetimes to scratch beyond the surface.

Not my first brush with death. I’d had it worse before, had those awakening moments before, but they passed. I thought the happiness I felt, the sweetness on my tongue, the lessons rushing through my veins would linger and life would become anew. Nope. We forget. Without insistent deliberation, no decisions made, no real-time choices, very little changes. I can still see the eagle, the water, the bitter-sweet experience I remember fondly. But this time, the change will be chosen, lived

The expected lesson would be: you need people, don’t take risks, you cannot do it alone. I am a nomad, very much alone in life. I asked myself that very question.

But unexpectedly, this experience’s first lesson is that I don’t really “need” anyone. God was and will always be enough. This doesn’t mean abandoning people or the world or taking stupid risks. It means I know where to place my life, where to hang my heart and soul now.

Attributed to Rabia al-Adawiyya

Would that You be sweet, though life be bitter,
And that You be pleased, though humanity is wrathful;
Would that the bond between You and me thrives,
Though all between me and the worlds lies in ruin.
If Your affection rings true, then all is slight,
And all that rises above dust is dust.

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Medical Disclaimer

WARNING: This essay describes a life-threatening medical emergency.

The experience described in this piece involved severe hypothermia, a potentially fatal condition that requires immediate medical intervention. The symptoms described, loss of consciousness, paralysis, inability to speak coherently, and severe shaking, represent a medical emergency that can result in death even with professional hospital care.

Cold water immersion, especially in natural bodies of water and without proper safety measures, carries significant risks including:

• Hypothermia
• Cold shock response
• Cardiac arrest
• Drowning
• Death

This account is not intended as guidance for cold water therapy or immersion practices. If you are interested in cold water activities, consult with medical professionals and ensure proper safety protocols, supervision, and emergency preparedness.

If you or someone else experiences symptoms of severe hypothermia, seek immediate emergency medical attention.

The author’s interpretation of this experience as spiritual awakening does not diminish the serious medical risks involved. This piece is shared as a personal reflection, not as encouragement for others to undertake similar activities.