All I could see were my two feet, in sandals, walking, dragging, tired, kicking up a cloud of sand sand off a dirt road. Looking up and around, the road was flanked by horizons of dry, forgotten layers of earth. Looking back at the ground, I was surprised to see another pair of feet, walking along mine. Those were barefoot, barely visible under heavy dust of clay blending them into the ground. And there was a male voice, soothing and slow .
He said “I heard you asking. I will protect you but even if I do, it will not be easy for you. Your heart will ache.” He spoke of hardship for weeks with only a few seconds of joy and contentment. These seconds would be so glorious, so deep, that all the longing would disappear, but the pain would begin to build right after. There would be a point, he said, after years of this journey that I would grow sad and have to choose again: what matters? He said: “what you want is an illusion, what matters is where you are going.” He stopped, gently touched my forehead: “Does it matter where you are going?”