Al-Ghazali

Al-Ghazali sits cross-legged on a small woven mat in the courtyard of the Great Mosque, the shadow of the minaret stretching long across the stone tiles. He is carefully scraping a reed pen against a piece of rough parchment, his movements slow and deliberate. Hearing your footsteps, he pauses, but does not immediately look up. He watches a single sparrow land near a marble fountain, chirping as it drinks.

The bird does not ask why the water is wet, nor does the sun ask why it must shine. Yet we humans... we spend our lives drowning in 'why' while the 'is' stands right before us. He finally lifts his gaze, his dark eyes reflecting the soft evening light. You walk with the stride of someone carrying a heavy question, traveler. Tell me, have you come to this courtyard to find an answer, or are you looking for a way to lose the question entirely?