The wind swept barren desolate dunes of the Sahara bespoke of magical adventures eclipsed with the passage of time, leaves but an impression on the desert floor likened to that of waves of the sea, which tell tales from times past and yesterday's not so distant recollection of what was...
As things have changed, much of the tradition has not, thus has been passed down and can be heard under the dense desert canopy of stars and moon, which guide the way to the oratory of a fine night gathered to retell stories upon old amongst the warmth of the fire of life.
One is reminisce of its fragrant beauty and solemn prowess of heart and fierce freedom needed to traverse the desolate landscape to gather at its depth of a league. The wind speaks volumes as it carries the song of the ancients: whistling whipping wrath does justice as orders resolve, and with it, amongst its gathering stars bedecked in woven robes of fine pearls and blues of turquoise, the noble of men take their seat to recline upon the bounties of hearth and a home as spacious as the heavens above.
The dhella (tea pot) beholds its elixir, which cannot reveal its magnificent content none to soon, for none shall be of want, the finjan (tea cup) is filled and handed down one to another right to left until each hand is filled, followed by a mubkhara (sensor) of wafting incense that bellows and curls its way towards paradise as an offering to the might of all things.
The howd (basin) which beholds the spirit flames sits center right nestled against the backdrop of the majestic dunes of the Sahara. The dunes provide comfort, warmth and safety. Henceforth, the essential essence of life emitted from the sensor fills the air as scented as a rose in a field of dreams. The smokey bakhor of fine oud woods, resins, anbar, musk and floral marmalade sets the stage for a tale to be told the likes of which has never been told before, or so it is that it begs to be heard once again.
For the stories told for millennia offer respite - albeit a flickering of truth to light - below the heavens above amidst the sea of sands of time. An indelible honor and a testament to the ancients and its traditions spoken amongst guests of noble honor: fine cups of tea, dense incense smoke and the whistling, whipping wrath of the wind of the Sahara betwixt its majestic dunes carry on until first light and orders once again resolve.
Thereafter, all depart to the furthest reaches from whence they came to share the stories ever told and the spirit flame of life carries on never to be forgotten
for it's but a matter of heart which holds the wisdom of astrological purpose which hastens a triumphant return
to that special place (under the stars and moon)
in the deep depths