‘Remember, you are never more than three breaths away from peace, Allie.” This is my friend Margery giving me some support as the time for departure draws near. I find the thought strangely comforting. It doesn’t weigh down my suitcase either, which is a good thing as Ryanair is so mean with its baggage allowance. All my life I’ve been struggling with the material world. Now that age is making me more of a Sufi-fit, it is becoming increasingly easy to travel light. Thank goodness for Mo and his apothecary shop. What more does a Virgoan hypochondriac need than a sympathetic male with large jars stuffed with marigold petals and the like?
My little case is already packed with silken tunics, trousers and floating bits. If only the body still floated beneath the silk! I’ve chosen my books carefully. Just two:- The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles and the Poetry of Rumi translated by Coleman Barks. I have a neat notebook with a customised cover of Moroccan doorways. I am going in search of still undiscovered parts of myself. I like to think there are doorways onto new vistas out there waiting for me to push on them. What better place than Fes to find them. Fes is after all not a place you can rush and it is known to be a vortex into another world. A place to build castles in the air. A place in which to nurture the dreams that will see me out. In two weeks I will either be back with a bulging notebook and all sorts of diversions filling my head or I wont. I hate to finish on someone else’s line but it could be a case of ‘Now you see me, now you -‘