In comments at Eschaton, Moonbotica reminds me that today is the birthday of my favorite poet, Rumi.
It would take a whole day to post even some of his best poems, but here, in honor of his birthday, are just a few:
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don't go back to sleep.
THE PHRASING MUST CHANGE
Learn about your inner self from those who know such things, but don't repeat verbatim what they say.
Zuleikha let everything be the name of Joseph, from celery seed to aloes wood. She loved him so much she concealed his name in many different phrases, the inner meanings known only to her. When she said, The wax is softening near the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me. Or if she said, Look, the moon is up or The willow has new leaves or The branches are trembling or The coriander seeds have caught fire or The roses are opening or The king is in a good mood today or Isn't that lucky? or The furniture needs dusting or The water carrier is here or It's almost daylight or These vegetables are perfect or The bread needs more salt or The clouds seem to be moving against the wind or My head hurts or My headache's better, anything she praises, it's Joseph's touch she means, any complaint, it's his being away. When she's hungry, it's for him. Thirsty, his name is a sherbet. Cold, he's a fur. This is what the Friend can do when one is in such love. Sensual people use the holy names often, but they don't work for them. The miracle Jesus did by being the name of God, Zuleikha felt in the name of Joseph.
When one is united to the core of another, to speak of that is to breathe the name Hu, empty of self and filled with love. As the saying goes, The pot drips what is in it. The saffron spice of connecting, laughter. The onion smell of separation, crying. Others have many things and people they love. This is not the way of Friend and friend.
I would love to kiss you. The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life shouting, "What a bargain, let's buy it!"
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."