“Above all, as I have implied, the man who goes alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till that other is ready, and it may be a long time before they get off.”
Another twenty-four hours have come and past, and despite the fact that my physical body has not left these four walls during this time, my soul has journeyed to Concord Massachusetts with Henry David Thoreau, to the middle east with Sakshi Vashist here, to the four corners of the oceans during my research for my final research paper on the Pequod crafted by the mind of Herman Melville, to Mecca with the prophet who beheld the revelation of the Holy Qur’an prophesying that he is no different than any other man.
Be that as it may, my body feels captive in this country which it was born, the fight in my spirit promises me that I shall not die here. It promises me that I will one day shake the hand of Allah in the flesh, and walk alongside him as one of his chosen. These words resonate with me more than ever as my mind grows sharper by each word read and digested, each new piece of information analyzed and discerned. Every moment and opportunity to reflect on how to manufacture reality out of dreams — not to stand ignorantly victorious on any achievement that I have acquired myself, but only to smile indignantly at the dream achievement as a “plateau conquered,” making way for greater spiritual heights to ensue.
I have always wanted to drop everything and go, and “live deliberately,” as H.D.T would say. The only thing that stops me from doing so is the imperceptible familial bonds that tie me to my mother, for if I were to leave in that manner, I would never turn to look back. Am I waiting to travel with someone other than myself? It feels as though my spirit longs for a companion in my journey — not conscientious that Allah is always beside me, in all the travels of my life.