A Long time ago
I went to Ireland.
An I ended up, as usual at the Dervish bookshop.
It was an amazing bookshop, ran by a really nice man, I never met, but I heard spoken of him often.
And I still remember holding in my hands of the Autobiography of Jogi, a book I would read so many times in the coming years,
in so many various states of consciousness.
And then I wen to Iceland, and I watched a new temple to the Old Gods being built, and it took longer than they tought.
And I ended up having a lot of coffees and reading a book on Sufism.
I did seek out the elves, but was mostly scared of them most of the time.
And I went to many places, and met many face and I could write a book on that, and I think I just might (would you read it?),
But as much as enjoy exploring the world and all of it's facets..
The Truth is: the whole thing started a long long time ago by visiting a holy city, a city of many religions, many traditon many colours,
Where a mythical (but real) dervish, with his deep eyes invited me into a tekke, though I had no idea what it was.
He told me stories of war and how his Sheikh organised the defence of the city and invited me to come back later.
I came back and sat there, listening to their songs, wondering what I am doing there, and soon I cried my heart out..
And despite the factI cannot call myself a muslim, at least not traditionally...
I think that for every small step I make toward good, He makes a thousand steps towards me.
And I guess the main point is to keep walking.
Isn't that wat the Journey is all about?
(to be continued)