All I could see were my two feet, in sandals, walking, dragging tired, kicking sand off a hard dirt road, amber by the sun. Looking at the sides, there was much of nothing. A road flanked by long horizons of dry land, arid colored hills in 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 and give you what you want. But it will not be easy. Your heart will ache. But only if it matters where you are going.” 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 if it mattered where I was going. He said there would be more; there would be great joy, but only if it mattered where I was going, only if I believe. He stopped, gently touching my hair: “Does it matter where you are going?”