My mind was loaded. I was financially down. My wife just delivered our first child. I was confused. I walked aimlessly about for a way out. I passed through a market place. I visited a friend’s shop and asked him whether he’s told our other friends about my situation. “I’ll accomplish that within two working days,” he said. I went alone. I came to a mosque and found an elderly scholar surrounded by devotees. The old man had a copy of the Holy Bible in his hand. It was as if he paused for me to arrive and listen to him preach. His voice was soft spoken and his interpretation wisdom laden.
“I will sit on my Father’s Throne,” he said. I found myself in a large dim hall that had strange pillars all around. I sat on a throne that had a large white-faced clock hung above my head. This could be it. The Throne-of-Glory on which sits the son of man to dispense justice in the Kingdom of Heaven, I thought. The railing of the throne was dark brown. My mind floated to the relevance of color in dealing with angels and spirits. I floated into a bookshop with a friend who wanted to buy inspirational Islamic books. I showed him a collection by Sufi authors. I floated back to the Bible preacher and listened more. Maybe I should become a preacher like him, I thought. If I should be like him, I need to read beyond my own Qur’an.
I need to learn from the Bible and probably beyond. But first-thing-first, my priority now is the Holy Bible, I thought. Before I floated further, a copy of the Bible appeared in my eyes. The font used in its inscription was delightful. The color was silver on an impeccable yellowish paper. The pages automatically flipped and sent a hushed cool breeze into my eyes. I was detached, on an elevated horizon. I watched the words fill my eyes and mouth. My body began to shiver and my bed with it. I awoke.