Gibran’s Proxy
Gibran turned up. Not in real life though. But close enough, in a post from a bookstore on Insta. In other circumstances I’d have jumped at the chance. That there’s still a chance my copy will magically reappear was enough to stay my hand though. In any event, Gibran’s loss has happened at the worst possible time and what are we if we cannot bear the worst with as much grace as we do when the best happens?
I share as much with the Dervish and she responds with her habitual prolonged silence, each time I dump a load of my unwashed thoughts at her feet. I look past her to get a sense of the weather in the east coast fishing village but all I see is grey. There is no way to tell where the sky ends and the sea starts. The light is muted as she is and I continue to wait (im)patiently for her to speak.
My dear absconded novice, it’s good to hear you say that, she finally replies. It shows that you might be approaching a state of equanimity about the incidents and accidents of Life as it plays out on the daily stage. Though, and I ask this with great care; is this really the worst time for you? Or is it the worst time in recent times? Surely the loss of a book, even one as vital at The Prophet is nothing more than the loss of a book?
It’s my turn to practise the prolonged silence. I’m still there when she continues; my sense here is the loss you’re experiencing goes far beyond the book. That you’re at the point where loss has become more prominent in your daily Life and the absence of your copy of the Prophet is a proxy for the real losses you are facing.
She pauses for a moment and then goes on; my sense is that you have lost hold of something far more critical to your well-being — if not your wellspring itself. That your losses are inside. That you might be questioning your choice to leave behind the usual markers of material attainment in this world. That you might be questioning yourself because the path you’ve chosen is far lonelier than you ever imagined. That you might be asking yourself if this choice is such a great one, why does it feel like this?
I merely nod, there’s not much else I can do. The Dervish has as ever homed in on the thing hounding me and turned it neatly around to face me. She continues; and so we return to the start again. Running from your self. Which as I’ve said before is no bad thing. In fact, it’s the first step towards the light. Leave your self behind if you wish to seek your self.
By this time, I’m sobbing quietly to myself and the Dervish pauses to (virtually) tend my tears and stick the pacifier back in my mouth. Then she continues;
I would remind you though; that while you may have returned to the start, you’re not the same person who was at the start before. And returning to the start is not the failure you’d like to believe it is. In fact, being returned to the start is the polar opposite of failure. You’re back here because you have seen more, learnt more, know more about your self. It’s rare for me to be without the ideal words to share about this. I am left with reminding you that you will, in the fullness of time, come to see that this start is much further along the path to the light than all your previous starts. So while I’m no Gibran and cannot cite chapter and verse for this encouragement to you, let me share with you Babajaan’s words to me each time I found myself back at the start; “For where you have set out to go, there is no end that would fit neatly into the limits of the human mind; unmind yourself.”
Gibran’s Proxy stands as a testament that you are never alone in the journey.
PS: The scrofula neighbour is hacking away less frequently, let’s hope this means she’s healing and not dying. For the rest, it would appear I have rather dull neighbours, which might be the blessing I need right now.
© Jesh Baker for Oppi Stoep 2024, All Rights Reserved
