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Your breath is disturbed, and your gaze wanders towards the majestic mountains in front of you. Your saliva dries up and your tongue becomes tied. How long has it been since you last spoke to him? Your final decision to worship your Creator in your own way has remained pending. How many sleepless nights have you gone through in which you did not succeed in communicating with him despite your attempts? Have you forgotten what it is like for a servant to be alone with his Lord? Or do you not know any other way other than the old ways that you repelled? You were once Hayy bin Yaqzan on a deserted island. Can you be Moses tonight? You whisper in a low voice that no one else can hear, despite the silence surrounding you, but you realize with certainty that he counts your movements and silences, and does not miss any of your movements. Your letters come out confused and faded, like a long, tired exhale: O Lord, O my God... O my Creator... whatever your name is... show me how to look at you!
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