Charlie Hebdo part II: meeting the prophet

I looked for flowers to give to the Charlie Hebdo Headquarters, but when I entered a quirky flower and animal shop I found a gift I could not resist: a cup with a 100 percent Arabica coffee-plant. It's kookiness fitted perfectly with Charlie Hebdo. The Charlie Hebdo building seemed hermetically closed, but  right next to it I saw a theater venue called COMEDIE BASTILLE. The people inside the building were super-sweet and explained to me that Charlie Hebdo, was not here anymore, it has a new location. I felt disappointment,  but as I raised my head again the guy at the reception casually mentioned that the plants behind him were all donated in memory of the Charlie Hebdo victims. Together they were a living memorial of plants! I had finally found a home for my coffee plant...

The cute receptionist of COMEDIE BASTILLE offered to officially place my Arabic coffee-plant into it's new home

The owner of the theater joined our conversation. He suggested I go and see the theater piece that will be performed in half an hour. A theater group of three French actors honored a legendary French female politician: Simone Veille who had died a year ago and was buried in the Pantheon, because she was the most influential women of this century in the creation of women's rights in France. Later in the piece she would be sung as more important to humanity then even the great mother Mary!

The official cost of the ticket was 30 euro, but for me they were ready to give me a VIP seat for only 17 Euro. I gave the receptionist a huge smile and bought the special ticket. 

As I held my orange drink in awaitance of the theater piece, a young handsome guy came into my direction. He had heard the discussion about Charlie Hebdo. I explained I was on a pilgrimage in Paris, the city of love, and was looking for love for the poorest girls in the world, the orphan girls of Sierra Leone.

His deep dark eyes wanted to say more then what he actually said. We understood each other without the words. I could see he was touched by my visit. In between serving guests he came back with his mobile phone. "I am a poet." He gave me his mobile phone, in it was his prized possession, a poem. I read it carefully, then read it again. The text was deep and seemed to answer my visit to this site of tragedy. It was as if God was talking to me through the poetry of this young man. I felt chills. "This is a divine poem I said to him. You are a man of God, a prophet." The young man who seemed to be in his twenties affirmed my observation. I gave him, the owner and the receptionist one last hug. Today I had met a prophet.