Rose Reed and I—the only one I had to talk with about writing—are early risers. One morning, knowing she would be at her computer, I left my three-room home in the dark, for hers, wondering—was I safe walking there?
I surprised her and she laughed. She had been up writing. The desk was covered with research notes—I wanted to hear what she was writing about.
She lived in a huge home I liked to go to, owned by a couple who couldn’t be at Meherabad. For Rose, it was the perfect quiet spot for writing.
A long, spacious room had a dining table at one end and sofas on the other—with secluded bedrooms like folded wings off to each side. Clerestory windows in a twenty-foot ceiling let a slant of East light in—keeping it cool and dim.
....
Rose has been back in the States for four years, and last week I was strongly missing her. About to call, I sent one last inquiring email, and she answered. Family needs had taken her to Virginia. As I read, I knew she still remained one of my best friends.
When she left India, she thought that her book, Journey in Consciousness,* was ready for publishing—only to discover that she had another three years’ work before it would be bound with a burgundy hard cover and imprinted gold lettering. Now I understand better as I’ve just returned my manuscript to my editor in America after the first corrections—learning there’s still more finishing-work.
I am going to make that call to Rose!
My realization is, “When we move apart from family and friends, there are connections that will break, and connections of strength, resilience, common-interests, and a tolerant love that will endure.”
*Journey in Consciousness, a compilation of Meher Baba quotes with commentary