.
.
When love itself comes to kiss you,
don't hold back! When the king
.
goes hunting, the forest smiles.
Now the king has become the place
.
and all the players, prey, bystander,
bow, arrow, hand and release. How
.
does that feel? Last night's dream
enters these open eyes. When we die
.
and turn to dust, each particle will
be the whole. You hear a mote whirl
.
taking form? My music. Love, calm,
patient. The Friend has waded down
.
into existence, gotten stuck, and
will not be seen again outside of
.
this. We sometimes make spiderwebs
of smoke and saliva, fragile thought -
.
packets. Leave thinking to the one
who gave intelligence . In silence
.
there is eloquence. Stop weaving,
and watch how the pattern improves.
.
~ Rumi
from the soul of Rumi
translations by Coleman Barks
photo by elliot erwitt
.
