Upon visiting Rumi’s museum, do not look at it with your eyes. Look with your heart ❤
Sometimes we come back to old lines, of old men, old times. Some memories just won’t leave us. They sit on the periphery, stand and watch, quietly waiting for you, for your soul, to come alive.
But where have you gone old friend? For were you not last on these steps, pacing up and out of breath to see the city view, there from Galata tower, where your dream came true.
Or have you lost your self again? Somewhere on the outskirts of a city brand new, where the people walk as fast as they talk, and your mind cannot stop spinning from the humming of their white noise. But your body stands still, as you drift in and through the mosque at the hour the dervish encircled you.
Or have you gone some place else?
On the boat at the harbour where you left the streets behind and felt the breeze of its water on your skin. A relief from all the sticky winds humidity can bring. But you’re determined to find that new place, that even as you got lost in the language, in the love for it, you came out on top of the ferry, sipped the bitter taste of its coffee and remembered the sweetness of a moment.
You remembered someone you once new, the girl who sat there on the steps in Istanbul, speaking to an old man about his work, about his art and he reminded you not to rush about. He reminded you not to do, but to be.
And here I sit sipping the house blend on a ferry dock watching the clock knowing there’s no other place I need to be. This is why I am here. This was the dream.
As always, links to blog posts on the ongoing genocide in Myanmar/Burma are linked below. Please help and spread the word on the rohingya people in any way you can. Thank you for your continuous support on this blog. I really do appreciate your time.