Let me see you.

Your breath quickens, and your gaze falls upon the towering mountains before you. Your mouth dries, and your tongue is tied. How many ages have passed since you last spoke to Him? Your last decision to worship your Creator in your own way has remained suspended. How many barren nights have you endured, unable to commune with Him despite your attempts? Have you forgotten what it means for a servant to be alone with his Lord? Or do you know no other way than the old paths you disliked? You were once Hayy ibn Yaqdhan on a deserted island, so can you be Moses tonight? You whisper in a faint voice that only you can hear, despite the silence around you, but you are certain that He counts your every move and stillness, and nothing of your innermost thoughts escapes Him. Your words emerge confused and faint, like a long, tired sigh: O Lord, O

My God... My Creator... whatever Your name may be... Show me that I may look upon You