Let’s go back, way back, to the future.
It is warm here.
Not in the sensing of temperature, although that is also true. Warm, I would say, is an understatement in the measurement of temperature.
The temperature that’s being referred to here is a spiritual one.
Somewhere deep in my blood, in my bones, in my soul, the sands call to me.
The sands have always called to me.
The most memorable of times was in Morocco..
I was 8 at the time.
I remember walking for miles it felt like… days…
When we arrived in the mysterious land of Morocco my family was tired. The sun was setting, so beautiful over the water. I remember a song. A low base vibe. Plucking at my pulse…
There was a woman, dancing.. I was always intrigued by dancing women.
She moved her hips in a way I had been taught but had yet to master.
I watched her scoop the rhythm right out of the air with every swing of her torso. The drums thumped and the base continued to pluck at my pulse.
The sounds I heard were so innate, so primal, so creative and expressive. I wanted more. More than what I would find here.
I wander away from the dancer and into a shop decorated by wooden and metal trinkets. Vibrant, yet earthy tones scattered among the imitated relics, stained in fabrics and on the surface of incense burners.
My eyes land on a scarf. The kind you wrap around your hips with the little golden disks that jingle as you move the way the dancer does.
I flipped over the price tag and nearly gasped at what I saw. Something like $60 more than the allowance I brought with me to Disney World.
In that moment I felt longing. Longing for the sands. I want to find this scarf in the real Morocco…
I walked away from that store, from that place, Fake Morocco, with a desire to truly experience the sands..
They’ve been calling to me ever since.