fellow traveller blessing

"The Sufi opens his hands to the universe and gives away each moment, free. Unlike someone who begs on the street for money to survive, a dervish begs to give you his life."
-- attributed to Rumi

One of my favorite places to sit at the Baking Co. in Santa Fe is also sometimes one of the least comfortable. It's a tall stool at a counter, which faces right up to a table for three. Being near a walkway, people often brush against me as they pass. And being immediately adjacent to the table - seated at it, practically - I sometimes end up unintentionally sharing a conversation with strangers. But I sit there because there's a skylight directly overhead, and the light's best for reading and writing. And, going there alone, I don't like to take up a whole window table. And sometimes, too, I like finding myself in conversation with strangers.

At this table today sit a man and woman, he 50ish, she 40ish. They seem to be old friends who haven't talked in a while. Their conversation is a swift current of honest and open-hearted sharing. They talk of travels, searches, synchronicities, blessings, relationships. The man speaks of what he's learned from the Sufi path, and from others walking it. The woman describes her relationship, challenging but precious to her, with a man who is Muslim (she says he's 'not at all fanatic, just full of prayer.') I'm trying to tune them out, not for lack of interest but because they're being so real with each other. And also because I'm interested in the book I happen to be reading, a gorgeously artistic presentation of Muslim prayer practice, from a Sufi perspective. Yeah really. Its text flows with the insights of ones who have known Love with a capital L. And the book itself - weaving in poetry, painting, photos, fractals - is a work of beauty. It's called The Illuminated Prayer, by Coleman Barks (prolific Rumi translator) and Michael Green.

We've all been there awhile, when the man looks up at me. Says pardon me, but I just had to say that the book you're reading is one of the most powerful things that I've come across. I agree with him, observing that it seems to be arranged so that its information reaches you via left brain, right brain, heart, each at just the right moment. The woman is intrigued, and asks to see the book. They remark on how funny that we're all on the same page here. "Look at this triangle!" the man exclaims, drawing a glowing line between the three of us. They both introduce themselves, shake my hand. He leaves a moment later, wishing me peace as he goes.

After a moment, the woman gathers her things as well. I tell her that, although I was really trying not to overhear, I have been blessed by what I caught of their conversation. Especially by its openness: to life, to ideas, to each other. Since we've already spoken like we have, I tell her simply that I've just suffered a loss, and am working to keep my heart open to Life and trust and provision. And because of that, to hear of her journey gives me hope. She responds with the same translucent joy and affirmation that I've been hearing from her over the past hour. She calls me "beautiful" and "sister". Gives me a hug and also wishes me peace. There's nothing gushy or sentimental about this whole exchange. We're all found in a bright shaft of light, recognizing each other as fellow travellers. No more, no less. "It's such a path...", she says, as she turns to leave, smiling.