Opening my eyes, I found myself surrounded by the golden dunes of an immeasurably vast desert. A world of shimmering gold and shadows, dancing, moving, and flowing as if the mighty waves of breathing ocean. There was nothing static about this desert. Yet, the area where I was sitting seemed as if unaffected by all this movement.
I could clearly remember having been staring at the ocean a few moments before. Although, whether that experience had been real I could no longer tell, as there was no sign of water as far as my disbelieving eyes could see. Was I dreaming, I wondered, running my hands through the sand. Warm and dry to the touch, it seemed real enough.
I should have panicked, but somehow I didn’t. It was as if I was supposed to be right where I was, even if less than thirty minutes ago, I’d been fighting the ocean for my life. Nothing made sense, but somehow I wasn’t too worried about this lack of continuity in the story that was supposed to explain how I’d arrived in this strange desert.
Lost in my confusion, I almost didn’t seem him. But, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a small figure standing in the distance, atop a tall dune. A shadow of a silhouette, in a canvas of sunlight reflecting sand. He –I refer to his as ‘he’ because as I write this, he and I have already met- was just standing there, facing my direction, not really moving, yet advancing toward me, as if carried by sand.
He was a tall dark man, wearing the turquoise robe of a Tuareg. On his right hand he held a long, and slightly curved, walking stick. He had broad shoulders, the gait of a proud man, a man who had always been free. Illogically, he reached me in what seemed a few seconds, when the distance that had separated us would have required a least good five to ten minute walk. He saluted me with a friendly, “Salam.” Nervously, I returned the salutation, and asked, “Who are you?” He told me his name was Aslam, son of Jamal-Al-Alli, son of Hilal-Al-Layl, hundreds of times over, and until that time when there was nothing but sand and light, and the children of Truth…
Too preoccupied with my present situation, I failed to listen, and interrupted him to ask, “Where am?” He smiled, and his smile was both patient and unrestrained.
“Am I dead?” I swept my right hand in a large arc, in direction to the dry world surrounding us.
“Who knows if we’re dead or alive?” He was calmly looking me in the eyes; in them there seemed to be nothing but peace and understanding.
“Then wh-why am I here?”
“Because you’re looking for Her.” His words cut through me like a sharp blade that hit its target.
“Her?” I repeated, taken aback. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t been looking for anyone, yet somewhere within, his words were stirring some serious emotional unease.
He nodded, “I am here to help you reach Her.”
“Help me reach who?" My words came out, as if brimming with fear.
He spoke slowly, “She has many names. But, you know her as Noor.”
I shook violently. The man wearing a turquoise robe became a blur. The world went pitch black. The desert disappeared. And when I opened my eyes, it was to find my surfing buddies standing over me, with worried looks on their familiar faces. I smiled, and stood up slowly, trying to forget where I’d been, what I’d seen, what I’d heard, hoping, praying that it had all just been a seriously vivid dream the like of which only someone who had almost died could have…
This was the first time I’d dream of the desert. More dreams would come. All different. All as real as the first one.
To be continued…
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