Saturday, 6 February 2010

The Horseman, or if you prefer The prophet Mohammed

This is part one of a two part story. The prophet Mohammed has been in my healing room many times. He watched me work for two weeks before introducing himself. I feel blessed that he has the time for me. “He loves you my son, we all do.”

The Horseman

The horseman is here. The rest of the world calls him the prophet Mohammed, but to me he’ll always be the horseman. His hands are calloused and dry, the smoothness of youth abraded by rope and reins. His dark complexion surprises me and his rich ebony beard is indistinguishable from his weathered pitch cheeks. Shadows encircle his eyes, and the whites are grey like an overcast sky. Points of light, stars that have seen more battles than emperor’s flags, smile at me with curiosity.

He leans forward and his scent reminds me of the new age emporium’s that sell hemp goods, incense, and sweat shop produced trinkets from the islands of Asia Pacific—slave goods, two dollars per day, one thousand percent marked up. These thoughts are important to Mohammed, and they’re teased out by his presence.

I think about researching his life, but it’s not important to him. His message is simple, unite all people, the wars have been fought. No man should be a slave to another. Sheiks and kings should lead not rule.

During his lifetime he fought great battles to bring peace amongst the nomadic tribes and the divided communities. Victorious he treated the defeated like brothers, and encouraged dialogue to open safe trade routes and share the oases that had been fought over for so long. He kept counsel with himself and God. He wanted peace and to end the centuries old feuds that had cost his people so much.

My first question surprises me, and I feel like I’m racial profiling asking it. Gegu smiles, and nods his head to encourage me.

“What do you think of the terrorist attacks today?”

“Murder is not the will of God. War is not the way to solve our differences. There is enough wealth in this world for everyone to be fed and housed. Brothers of all races can live side by side in peace, but only if they choose too.”

“How can we stop this violence?”

“Lay down your arms.”

I waited for a longer response, but he only nodded his head to my pause, and closed his eyes briefly. He’s moved from my right to my left and rests his hand on my shoulder. I’m dizzy and breathless and feel like I’m sliding into the floor.


My body cannot cope with his energy, so I listen to what he has told me. I can smell horses, hear them breathing, and the room feels too small now. I close my eyes and the horseman and I are standing together looking at the stars.

“They have watched over us forever. They are heavy with grief that we kill so willingly, that our uniqueness segregates rather than enriches this world. If we continue down this fruitless path, hate will destroy us. The earth will evolve, but its guardians will perish.”

Without noticing he has held my hand and the warmth comforts me. I can feel the weight of all that we have lost, all that he fought so hard for. There’s no light in hate, and like asbestos lying dormant in a lung, the vibration of hate will in time make us terminally ill.

“Soon, it will be too late.”

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