Yeats

I didn't bring much with me. I shipped a box of books which won't arrive for at least three or four weeks, but I did bring my Book of Common Prayer, Red Dust on the Green Leaves by John Gay (a story about the Kpelle ethnic group from this area), Living Buddha, Living Christ, by Thich Nhat Hahn, a book of W.B. Yeats' poems (given to me by my dear friend Nick the night before he died). That's about it other than my camera, my Ipod my laptop, and an icon of The Last Supper, given to me by my friends at St. George's Cathedral before I left.
As I have since I was young , I escape into the lyricism and mysticism of Yeats' poetry. He believed that poetry is nothing less than "the true voice of feeling". He's been a good com-panion, and I'm glad I brought him along.