She left the book with Selim for the next traveler, carrying the "sea" inside her heart instead.
She read about the reed flute, crying because it was torn from the reed-bed. She realized her own restlessness was simply a longing for her true home—the peace within her soul. Mevlana Denizinden Damlalar KitabД±nД±
In the heart of old Konya, where the scent of amber and ancient parchment fills the air, there lived an old bookseller named Selim. His shop was a labyrinth of forgotten tales, but tucked away in a velvet-lined corner was his most prized possession: a worn copy of ( Drops from the Sea of Rumi ). She left the book with Selim for the
, and all else is poor translation. The wound is the place where the Light enters you. In the heart of old Konya, where the
Elif opened the book at random. Her eyes fell upon a passage about a candle that does not lose its light by lighting another. She thought of her own life—the competition at her job, the fear of being "less" if others had "more." As she read further, the words of Mevlana (Rumi) began to act like a soothing balm:
Another "drop" taught her that the world is a mirror. If she saw ugliness, it was because her own heart needed dusting. If she saw love, it was because she had finally allowed herself to be loved.