The Pilgrimage Within

Tear off the mask; Your face is glorious-Rumi

We were a cozy group of eight. We were a diverse group: different backgrounds and experiences. We were men, women, dark skinned and light skinned, from various races, religions, professions, and regions of the world; each traveling a different personal journey. The Pilgrimage Within. I could feel the energy in the room from the moment I walked in. I joined the others seated in a circle on the floor. I felt emotional. I had goose bumps. I knew right away that I was meant to be there and that this was going to be an experience to be remembered.

Recently I participated in a local poetry writing and healing workshop led by Bahareh Amidi, PhD., an Iranian American. I’d seen the flyer circulating around the yoga studio offering “The Pilgrimage Within.” I don’t write poetry and I didn’t particularly think that I needed any healing, but still I felt an undeniable urge to give it a try. I was curious and I am, in fact, on a journey. Remembering my New Year’s intention of living wholeheartedly, I listened to that small intuitive whisper and I signed up.

As we introduced ourselves, some revealed that they were there to heal personal inner wounds; some were there as professional practitioners to learn how to help their patients heal through poetry. Some came out of a love of reading and writing poems. I didn’t really have an agenda per-se. I signed up because it spoke to me. I felt open to whatever lessons might come from participating. I hoped to explore writing and poetry and somehow incorporate it into my art and vision for living my life with courage, compassion, and connection.

Bahareh opened the workshop by giving us each a beautiful handmade journal from Nepal. She told her story and spoke of being a child of The Universe. We read and discussed beautiful poetry and prose from Rumi, Herman Hessse, and Mary Oliver. Bahareh graciously shared a few of her own original poems as well. 

Handmade journal from Nepal

The real magic happened when it came time for us to let our own words spill out onto the paper. And that’s exactly how Bahareh explained it. She gave us the first sentence of our poem as a prompt and for the next five minutes we visualized leaning over the paper with our heart open, tenderly letting the words spill out on to the pages of our journal.

"Knowing"

Bahareh gently encouraged us to put our voices in to the circle; to read our poems aloud and to share with the group. It was powerful. Feelings and emotions bubbled up as I read my own words out loud. It was even more powerful to hear my words read to me by someone else.

Out of respect for her privacy, I’ll call her, Atiyaha, which means gift. Her voice was soft, yet reassuring and strong. As she spoke my poem to me, I felt my words take on new life and meaning. She was reading it from a place that emanated from her heart. As we stood there face to face, I could feel my words as she read them out loud. Her eyes rarely left my eyes as she read and I felt as if I was looking in the mirror, staring at my own reflection. 

Next, Atiyaha read the poem she had written in her journal. She was tearful as she read her words, raw and unfiltered. She spoke of writing with a trembling hand as her pen met the paper. She spoke about the pen being mightier than the sword. She also wrote of removing “the mask.” When asked what “the mask” represented in her poem, she simply said, “I am from Saudi Arabia.” In that country, Muslim women are required to wear a veil to cover their hair and sometimes cover their face as well. In the simplest terms, "the mask" could be interpreted as her veil. On the other hand, there might possibly have been a more complex meaning tied to religious and cultural wounds. I wondered how many other masks she was courageously taking off on her pilgrimage within.

Her words resonated with me. Saudi Arabia was home for my family and me for ten years and I understood the literal mask of which she spoke. I could also relate to the religious and cultural wounds that we impose on each other, even in America. The removing of the mask spoke to me about the authenticity of being brave enough to be who you really are. It does not come without risk. We spend a lifetime trying on masks. Sometimes we hide behind them; sometimes we wear them like a “mask-of-the-day,” trading one for another at our convenience. Sometimes it takes years to realize we’ve been wearing one at all. The quote by Walt Whitman came to my mind: “Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul.”

I admired Atiyaha for taking off her mask, for dismissing what insulted her soul. We should all dare to have such great courage.

For those two hours, sitting on blankets in a circle on the floor, there were no differences. We were from the same family. We were brothers and sisters. We were exchanging pieces of ourselves, gifts if you will, with written words from our hearts. As I sat there, soaking up the moment, the circle shape became significant to me. Round, flowing, continuing. There were no corners, no sharp edges, no points. Our thoughts and words were reaching across the circle, touching each other.  Yes, Atiyaha was right, the pen was mightier than the sword.

I thought about the billions of people living on this big round planet we call Earth. Here we were, eight random people, sitting in a small circle sharing our smaller personal worlds. For me, it was representative of how small the world really is and at the same time how big that small group really was. That day, the eight of us became forever connected even if we never see each other again. As we opened our hearts to spill our words, more importantly we were spilling drops of ourselves.

My hope is that the kindness, the empathy, the heart, and the learning we shared with one another across our small circle will, if nothing else, be a ray of light and understanding that continues to shine across the world. I also like to think that the healing that took place was bigger than just on a personal level. At that moment, it all seemed so simple. Humanity. We were opening up, connecting to each other, trusting, offering a safe place for our voices to be heard and listening with eagerness and hearts open to the messages someone else’s words might offer to our own lives.

I walked into the workshop open to the lessons that might come to me. As I walked out, I was even more aware of what I already knew to be true. By nurturing our creative souls, we expand our minds, and evolve our perceptions. By sharing our stories through creativity, whether through art, music, or in this case, writing poetry, we learn about ourselves and solve problems. Without a doubt, I understood that we were teachers and students of one another and that we were, as Bahareh said  quite simply, children of The Universe.