The traveler, weighted down by her heavy coat,
hears the coins falling through her thread-worn pockets.
The path seems steep.
And those coins must be rolling away behind her.
She hears the gentle laughing of the Dervish:
"These are not your valuables. In your heart, a true treasury sits.
Each seed is a flower warmed by the breath of the Beloved.
These are the currency of true healing."
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