Rumi's words danced in my mind over and over…

"Come, come, whoever you are.
This caravan knows no despair."

Caravans are so primitive. I would much rather fly.

"Come, come, whoever you are.
This caravan knows no despair."

My true despair comes at the thought
of being captive in such a place.
Stopping, going, staying the night in God knows where.

Bumping into strangers I don't understand.
Being forced to sit beside them and make idle chat.
Exposing my true self would be inevitable.

A very small part of this sounds appealing,
as I think of a caravan on its long journey.
I wouldn't have to face the road alone.

I could hear of other traveller's tales.
I may even find a friend on this pathway.
Multi-coloured people, dancing and singing.

Oh, the music of this pilgrimage.
It will intoxicate your soul and take you
where perhaps you dare not.

I am not a gypsy however.
Give me my aeroplane and let me go.
I will travel alone in peace.

"Even though you have broken your vows,
perhaps a thousand times…
Come, come again."

Rumi breaks again into my thoughts.
How did he know I would break my vows?
Who was this mysterious prophet?

Knowingly, the caravan passes my door.
I hear the melody and voices of the singers,
and their graceful turns and bows.

Finally I resign. I tire from the struggle.
In slow motion I turn to face centre.
Grabbing hold of one hand, I jump aboard.