In the land of Mecca, the young man from Mecca, Muhammad, had a strange vision.

He saw the world from above,

the Middle East and its surroundings.

He saw flashes like faint sparks appearing and then quickly disappearing into scattered points on our land.

But his eyes were fixed on one point.

He felt as if his heart was beating in sync with the light’s pulse, which lasted without fading.

He approached it, captivated, as if responding to a heavenly call.

With astonishment, he recognized the glowing pulse.

He recognized the cubic structure that he saw every day amidst the crowds of pilgrims and the towering hotels around it.

It was made of marble, covered in white, engraved with God’s covenants in human blood.

And he noticed a well, known only to the people of Marea.

He stood before it, helpless, with the ancient Kaaba behind him.

His Kaaba, which he saw now, transformed with a new color, as though a new covering was forming around it, blending in the colors of Marea’s Kaaba.

And he wept as he saw the blood engravings slowly turn drop by drop into men, women, and children, moving in fragmented motions, like a dance to an inaudible rhythm or engravings of a tale drawn on the wall of an Egyptian tomb. These figures moved from the wall of Marea to the one true Kaaba and then imprinted themselves upon it.

Each man a letter,

each child a formation,

and the woman, a sad adornment surrounding the words.