Doctor Green-Bash wasn't listening. Truthfully, since Lady Fanga's failed first marriage she had found something wrong with nearly every man she'd dated. She was saying something like, "And can you believe the next guy I dated said I was beautiful twenty-four times at dinner? Twenty-four! And that just isn't going to work for me at all." Not that he was fully listening, but Lady Fanga was a beautiful woman, tall and impeccably dressed, waves of dark hair and big brown eyes, but she was never going to find love if she thought she could check it off on a list of boxes.
Dr. Green-Bash was still thinking about Erin. He realized she needed to read some books but of course all writers had a stack of books they needed to read and many never got to them. They did read of course; all good writers were readers. But the process of selecting the one thing to read in the pile of books was complicated. He couldn't just recommend to Erin a list of books that would help her. That just would not work at all. She had to decide, as though the idea was hers. Otherwise there was no hope for it. She'd take his advice kindly and even take a book he offered to her but it would sit on her stack or on her shelf and never get touched if she didn't put it on the reading list by her own Divine inner magic.
And that was it, wasn't it?
You imagine that you see me but I no longer exist: what remains is the beloved. The words startled Dr. Green-Bash out of his revelation. He could have sworn they came out of Lady Fanga's mouth.
He shook his head vigorously and glanced over at her but she was sobbing and saying, "Why can't it be like in stories? I want a handsome prince to come to my town and lay eyes on me from a distance and just know I'm the one!"
Dr. Green-Bash thought about The Story of Leila and Majnan by Nizami. Sufi alchemical romance: NOT what Lady Fanga wanted but it certainly was a powerful love story about a prince and a princess. Of course they were never to be together in life:
Two lovers lie awaiting in this tomb
Their resurrection from the grave's dark womb.
Faithful in separation, true in love,
One tent will hold them in the world above.
No, she wanted a lover in this life. A perfect lover. He sighed. "Lady Fanga, please have a sip of this nice calming tea." And he poured her a cup. She looked down her nose at the teacup he offered her as though their was something unacceptable about it. Probably she did not approve of the floral print his wife had chosen at the department store. No matter. It took all the strength he could muster to force out the words, "Lady Fanga, just keep doing what you are doing and one day it will work for you." Of course, he didn't believe his own words, but she got really irate if he suggested her process of searching for the perfect mate might be flawed. Her reasoning was that at her age the pool of possible male partners was just so limited now: all the good ones were snatched up. He was thinking, "Dear Lady Fanga, people are people and they are all worthy of deep love... even the ones that rub their nose." But he didn't say it.
There was something in this line of thinking, however, if he was able to get through Lady Fanga's impenetrable advice shield he would tell her and Erin the same thing. Keep working on your goal, yes, but relax about the outcome - don't search for the perfect man or the published bestseller... just live for the process. Work on your Self as you do it so that you grow more and more from inside with each passing day. Work on your Self... that is the true work of Alchemy and of this life, isn't it? Oh, he was so brilliant. If only he had a way to bottle it and pass it on to Lady Fanga in her tea...
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