When the mountain wouldn't come to Muhammed, Muhammed is said to have gone to the mountain. This was, of course, back in the day when it was probably easier for M-Diddy to hit the road. He wouldn't have needed a passport, and terrorism hadn't been invented yet, and no one thought twice about walking 500 miles (and 500 more) just to be the prophet who showed up at your door. Kicking it old school, and to boot this is a guy who had 13 wives. So maybe there is something to be said for this approach.
Nowadays, being a traveling wo-man is a lot more complicated, and a lot more expensive. One has to decide if one is Muhammed or the mountain. Do you leave Mecca for some funky cold Medina, or do you wait for the divine messenger to hike on over to you? Tough call.
Why in this modern age, can't I just hop aboard a magic carpet ride, to float me off for 1001 nights with my own personal sheik of Araby? But instead of divine intervention, all I have are wishful thoughts that want to bridge the Gulf of Araby--between what is, what is, what is--and what can never be? Truly there is nothing we wouldn't give to cross this great divide.
Please can I get an a-men?
Great. Now I wanna watch Aladdin.
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