Lost At The Horns Of Hattin

The sun of mid-day was like a curse of the desert, it beat against my skin, waiting to see my blood dried to the last pint.I had not come here through choice.I left the city on a journey to find myself and my place with God.I wanted to head west to the sublime shores of the mediterrenean.But I was told that the land between was too dangerous for it was at the mercy of the brutal raids of the Crusader Reynaud De Chatillon.

"His pirates devestate the sea
His raiders devestate the cities
His bandits devestate the passers by;
Ah, but the lord will slay him
With his own hands!"

Thus I evaded the westward journey and found myself in unmapped wilderness.My meditations become harder and harder in worsening conditions.God, why must You test so sternly he who seeks to find You? I am willing to give my life to You, when I come of age I will give myself to spreading Your name far and wide.But why must You hide from me? All I ask is for a little of Yourself, so I may have all of my life in the palm of my hand and with Your blessing I will know what to do with it.

Like the birds I would fly towards You, like the vultures I would feed on the scraps of Yourn enemy.Bloom beneath Your golden words, shine above the silver waves of morn.I am Your kingdom: Your name is my sword, your providence my shield.

Praise be to Allah!

The heat made mine a vision of waves: reality danced before my eyes.The little cactuses, so dry and sunburnt, where mere ripples of transparency.Scorpions black like the night ran callously into their prestene holes.Nothing left.Wisdom of acres imbued with fruitless melancholy; a stupor of madness, where the sand is adored by the angels that feed it.

Yonder comes the night
The shadow of a breeze
...Can I feel it?

I kept on walking, walking...mile after mile of sorrow.Over the sand dune ahead I could hear distant voices.Had I reached a city somewhere? Had I reached the walls of Aqaba?

I tried to hurry, but my feet wouldn't let me.My head ached, my body yearned, I could not...no...yonder.The sand is sick.The sand is the symbol of whores that tramp through the night while their husbands dream of virgins.Hah, putrid slaves they hunger for those whores, whores who take our blood and spit on it before they bury it in their burning flesh.Oh I see the harbour in the light of mid-day.Saracen transports are bringing in more prisoners of the cross, infidels of snow! Bring them to me captain, my body yearns, I shall feast on their eyes...poison of the gospel.Should I die? Tell me, priest warrior, should I die? So you may have your prize? Chase me and we will see how I die, bring your straight sword of iron and spittle.

The horse does not chase the camel
The curved sword pierces the horses' side
And the rider runs...
Run rider run,
Monastery burning, relics dismounted,
Horses' flesh litters your journey
...Run rider run.

My hands are incorporeal, I cannot see them, yet I feel their presence.They are shackled by the 5 o'clock shadow.They are in flames, O I see nothing but flames- Flames of crimson- the sea is on fire with the burning wood of galleons and skin.O God save the sea, save the sea! No, I do not wish to see it burn any longer,
no, ah the world is going black...the infidel has won...black...

Silence.

"Awake my friend, awake."

I opened my eyes and saw a man softly looking over me.Behind him I could see shade.Shade that escaped from the sun and lay its sheet over this dim domain.I lay on a bed whose sheets were as cool as the ocean breeze.

Where am I?

"You are in a camp, with friends."

Camp, what do you mean?

"A war camp, this is Lord Saladin's base at Hattin."

How did I get here?

"We found you lying half-dead in the desert, quite near here.Had we not found you, you would not have made it.God is kind."

I thank Him. And I thank you for helping me.

I awake from my bed and went to have a look around the camp.As I emerged from my tent I was instantly captivated by two large mountains on either side of the horizon.These must be the horns of Hattin! Inside the camp there were tents as far as the eye can see.To the north, right under one of the mountains, there was one that served as a makeshift mosque.I went in and saw a very scant interior, without arches and gold.Two men where praying in the middle, swords closely by their side.A man entered the mosque and I asked him: "Why is there a mosque in the middle of a war camp?" He replied: "God is everywhere, and the soldiers here need him more than ever."

In my innocence I had never heard the word 'need' used in reference to God.I found it stramge.If we 'need' Him does it mean we should use Him as we see fit? Even building Him a shoddy tent in the middle of a war camp? I saw it as degrading.But I kept it to myself.I suppose, I am young, I still have much to learn.

"In the twilight of the dawn
God is might!
In the tranquility of the mediterrenean morn
God is might!
As the swords rattle against stolen steel
God is might!
He is every sensation you feel
God is might!

I heard singing from a nearby quarter.When I went there I saw a group of men gathered round this poet, listening attentiveley to his every word.He sang with a beautiful voice that reminded me of the soft waves rustling against the breeze back in my hometown.And his words flowed in and out of time, bringing back syllables of divinity and rhymes that permeate the stars.He truly was a wonderful poet! And here he was with his swords by his side, and his horse in the stables ready to ride into death.I wondered how many poets must have died in this desert fighting for something they never started.A tear couldn't help roll down my cheek.

"I left my lines in the streets of Medina,
Every morning the angels paint them in gold:
Prayer made eternal by the eastern winds."

I could listen to him no longer, for I couldn't help see deat descending from his turban.I wandered further inward into the camp, and I came across a group of men talking loudly.I went closer to hear what they were arguing about.And I heard one of the men extolling the virtues of Abu Bakr al-Razi.

"If his words were heeded, at this moment we would have been at home with our wives.For it is no secret we are here because of our faith.This long drawn out war is because religion is being abused by blind men to take advantage of us humble men.The soul does not know what it needs, it faulters.Thus it lusts after material things.And the religion we have is another material vice! Our soul turns to it, out of blindness because it lusts for anything.And religion brings war, and war brings wealth and plunder.But God is fair.He lets the soul have all it desires and thus becomes one with the body and all its suffering and sorrows."

"You are mad."
"Sick!"
"In the end you will fight and die alongside us!"

They drove him away.But he left with head held high.I was captivated by what he said so I went to speak with him."Ah, you are the one they rescued from the jaws of the desert this morning."I asked him why do they have a camp in the middle of nowhere, what are they fighting for?

"Come with me I shall show you,
Leave faith behind,
Leave your innocence behind,
And I will show you...everything."

He led me to the other side of the camp, and as we emerged from the forest of tents I gazed upon a lake as large as a small house in Bukhara."This is what they fight for.The Christians want this lake, this oasis in the heart of the sun, so they may use it as a foothold into the rest of Saladin's lands."He looked to the lake as if it were the symbol of all he stood for.All he lived for and against.I couldn't help slowly pull away.But what I had heard him say will stay with me for a long time to come.

Night fell on the camp.Everyone was gathered round a small fire.They all hold their swords and their bows close to them.The night winds let no one slumber.Everyone was split into pairs and clicks, talking to whom they cared for the most.I knew no one, so I wandered around hoping to be invited to a conversation.I sat down by the fire and I could overhear a conversation between three men barely a stone's throw away from me.

One of the men was re-telling the story of when he was invited to Saladin's palace after having written an important book on medicine.

"The night had turned the palace arches
Into gateways of heaven
Golden like the dreams of the prophets.
Wine pured from cups of majesty
I could hear the prayers of Muhammad
In the gurgling wine.

Beautiful women danced in front of us
As we sat on pillows of damasque.
Theirs were the movement of silent songs
Composed by the stars of Arabia.

From the enamoured window, you could see
A dream being born from crescent stones:
Mosques, hospitals, universities,
All an offering to God's grace!"

Such beautiful language! Such beautiful tales! I felt instantly inspired.I wanted to live and see the beauty of all God's lands.So I too may have such images to paint with my words.I set out from home to find myself.And here under the stars sheated in words of silver, I have! With God by my side I will see all the world has to offer.A life of adventure.A life lived in God's grace.This is the desert of my birth!

I stayed up a bit later, and spoke with some of the men.For the first time my tone of voice could match their own joviality.I retied to my tent feeling I have achieved enough for now.As I went deeper into my sleep I had dreams of blood.Blood of poets and philosophers ran into the lake...symbol of everything.