2.

Nothing left behind but a Rumi's poem ...

Remember me.
I will be with you in the grave
on the night you leave behind
your shop and your family.
When you hear my soft voice
echoing in your tomb,
you will realize
that you were never hidden from my eyes.
I am the pure awareness within your heart,
with you during joy and celebration,
suffering and despair.

On that strange and fateful night
you will hear a familiar voice --
you'll be rescued from the fangs of snakes
and the searing sting of scorpions.
The euphoria of love will sweep over your grave;
it will bring wine and friends, candles and food.

When the light of realization dawns,
shouting and upheaval
will rise up from the graves!
The dust of ages will be stirred
by the cities of ecstasy,
by the banging of drums,
by the clamor of revolt!

Dead bodies will tear off their shrouds
and stuff their ears in fright--
What use are the senses and the ears
before the blast of that Trumpet?

Look and you will see my form
whether you are looking at yourself
or toward that noise and confusion.

Don't be blurry-eyed,
See me clearly-
See my beauty without the old eyes of delusion.

Beware! Beware!
Don't mistake me for this human form.
The soul is not obscured by forms.
Even if it were wrapped in a hundred folds of felt
the rays of the soul's light
would still shine through.

Beat the drum,
Follow the minstrels of the city.
It's a day of renewal
when every young man
walks boldly on the path of love.

Had everyone sought God
Instead of crumbs and copper coins
They would not be sitting on the edge of the moat
in darkness and regret.

What kind of gossip-house
have you opened in our city?
Close your lips
and shine on the world
like loving sunlight.

Shine like the Sun of Tabriz rising in the East.
Shine like the star of victory.
Shine like the whole universe is yours!

***

Atop of his castle high up on the hills of Florence at the dusk of night he looks out at what stretched before him.

Inevitably death comes to us all ... and if it doesn't or even if does, there always is ... Catalonia. The end has come ...

He was there when Calista sang and danced in her tent ... he snuffed out the lives of two when she had been attacked in the waters ... he was close when she met with Oudeis and stayed close as they travelled.

Cara Mia, Lindsey, Henry, Adora, to whomever else or whatever else involved in all or any of what transpired, be they European, American, African or from any continent in existence ... well, each had a part to play and play they did ... no matter the intention.

As for where any of it goes from here on ... yeah, that can easily be another story entirely ...