Image taken at Bahla Fort in Oman
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been searching for something—something elusive and vast. As a child, I called it truth, or magic, or meaning. At times, it felt like a hidden world waiting to be discovered, something that could take me beyond the mundane reality I saw around me. In my youthful innocence, I thought it was a physical place, somewhere I needed to go. I filled countless journals with dreams of leaving Lebanon, the land where I was born. I convinced myself I didn’t fit in, that something essential was missing. Perhaps it was a premonition of the pain that would come later, or maybe it was simply part of being human.
During the Lebanese civil war, that longing carried me to New York, and from there, I began a quest that would span continents. India, Egypt, Mexico, Europe—I sought answers in ashrams, churches, mosques, cathedrals, temples, ancient ruins, and sacred texts from every tradition I could find. The journey was relentless, and life had its way of challenging me at every turn. But there was also beauty—unimaginable beauty—in the friendships, the experiences, the moments of awe. It was magnificent to live with such intensity, even when it came hand-in-hand with struggle. I thought the answers lay somewhere out there, in the vastness of the world, waiting to be uncovered.
And then, recently, it hit me: the journey is not linear. What I had been seeking was never far away. The magic, peace, and truth I longed for were always here, as close as the sun behind the clouds. It is incredible, real, and powerful, but it doesn’t demand a journey across the globe—it asks for stillness, for the courage to part the clouds, to quiet the noise. It is not about reaching for the impermanent, but about standing still and opening my eyes to what has always been. Now I see that the greatest journey was always within, waiting for me to finally pause, feel, wake up and live .