Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Polisher
Whatever love wants, it gets,
not next year, now.
I swear by the one who never says tomorrow,
as the circle of the moon never agrees
to sell installments of light.
It gives all it has.
How do stories end?
Who shall explain them?
Every story is us. That is who we are,
from the beginning to no-matter-how-it-comes-out.
Those who know the taste of a meal
are those who sit at the table and eat.
Lover and friend are one being,
and separate beings, too,
as the polisher melts in the mirror's face.
not next year, now.
I swear by the one who never says tomorrow,
as the circle of the moon never agrees
to sell installments of light.
It gives all it has.
How do stories end?
Who shall explain them?
Every story is us. That is who we are,
from the beginning to no-matter-how-it-comes-out.
Those who know the taste of a meal
are those who sit at the table and eat.
Lover and friend are one being,
and separate beings, too,
as the polisher melts in the mirror's face.
— Rumi
from A Year With Rumi
translated by Coleman Barks
from A Year With Rumi
translated by Coleman Barks
Monday, August 13, 2007
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
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