There's a msa7arati who passes by our neighbourhood every night, I've noticed him a few years ago as he began this annual tradition of reminder of the immanent dawn; his subtle call for the dormant to seek God in those moments of temporal obscurity, before the thin thread of light crosses paths with darkness as it sweeps it away like spilled milk on dark marble.
He passes by every single night, almost at the same time, as if his choreographed appearance was part of a play that's been showing for decades; he's grown aware of the art of timing, and the importance of being in the right place at the right time, a philosophical exercise of movement and intellect, a predestined commitment of sorts.
Sometimes, it takes a passing drummer to wake up our numb conscience, the one that became comfortable with its idle existence and stationary presence; That passing drummer who's set out on a journey of awakening, wakes up more that bodies and minds. Sometimes; he wakes up souls that have been lying in slumber for millennia, unaware of their potential, not in the material world of gain and loss, but in the world of the unearthly pleasures of contentment; giving, and forgiving.
The msa7arati still passes by every night, but this year; I'm already awake and seeking God's guidence, as he makes his way to tomorrow.