For years I have travelled with three dear travel companions: The Prophet, Letters to a Young Poet and Le Petit Prince. I always also carry my little pocket Quran. Today at Shabana’s funeral, I realized how little I have read – or listened to – Quran since I got here. When I left for the UK, I only took my Letters to a Young Poet, and I have needed to go back to it twice in the past few months.. Today’s play on Gibran brought back a whole era of my life where I lived and breathed Gibran. Today’s funeral, yesterday’s talk at the City Circle, my new circle of friends and the Thursday Threshold meetings have made me realize how much of Rumi I used to read and have forgotten. His wisdom was a true guide and a pathway into my soul.
What is it that has happened? Have I outgrown my travel companions? Do we ever outgrow our books?? Have I suppressed my feelings and emotions so much these past years that I have eliminated the very words that give me solace when I travel, when I experience a new beginning, when I make a new friend, when I feel the need for company, or when I just want to share a part of me with someone. And for what? For a relationship that didn’t work, or a job that took up all my time, or simply because life now robs us of precious moments when we can read and reflect and spend time with a friend reading passages and poems and discovering new realms together.
It is these words that made me who I am.. that reminded me constantly of my humanness.. I feel devoid now, and empty.. simply not me. And I long to be me again.. I long for Rilke and Gibran and for the little prince to be by my side again.. my companions who made me feel that there is still some humanity in this insane world we’re living in.