Excerpts from 'Storm Over Morocco': The dream was shattered, the memory of its intensity sent to the archives of my mind, by the jolting realization that I was a prisoner here. A pat on the shoulder by a fellow Islamic monk chased the dream away forever, alerting me that the dawn mass would soon begin... Looking up, it appeared as if the same guard saw through me: my body felt like a prism, sending my thoughts in different colors to him who, I imagined as a cold shock electrified my entire body, could someday become my executioner... I thought to myself, avoiding the eyes of the overly attentive guard, that in proportion to the ebbing of physical strength, my resistance grew weaker; I became resigned to the possibility I might never leave that prison, that I would forever be mentally and physically held captive to the doctrines reverberating within the walls of the mosque, which towered over the dusty suburbs like a desert tomb...