What is with you, he inquired curiously. You’re always talking about closeness to God; you’re obsessed with the notion! I don’t know why, I said. Perhaps it’s because you are in fact close to God? Oh no, I replied, shaking my head. It is because I long for that closeness! And I neglected to add that dismal thought that zinged through my consciousness at the time – that I am wracked with perpetual guilt, for though I yearn for that closeness so desperately, I have not the discipline to seek it out.

Last night, I pulled out that abaya I’d purchased in Saudi Arabia, the one with the silvery beads lining its hem. I’d never worn it, and it still retained the faint smell of Mecca, that city renowned for its perfumed ka’bah, its perspiring pilgrims and its warm, sand-laden air. My nose swathed in the fine black cloth, I recalled how I had trembled with anticipation as I walked towards that magnificent rectangular structure, how I had wept shameless tears as I encircled it for the final time, and how, in between, I had so innocently rediscovered my relationship with my Creator. Lost in the beauty of those remembrances, I couldn’t help but think to myself how blessed you are and how I wished I were going in your place! You ask if there are any supplications you might recite on my behalf, and I am ashamed, too ashamed to ask for God to love me as I yearn to love Him. I know God’s promise all too well: Oh child of Adam, He addresses me so personally, were your sins to reach the clouds in the sky and were you then to ask forgiveness of Me, I would forgive you! But I know not what to do with my knowledge of this boundless Mercy; I know not how to reconcile it with my despicable selfishness, my uncontrollable desire to take. Pray for the others, I tell you blushingly. Pray for the betterment of the community. I feel unworthy to turn to God with my greedy requests.