"I am not one who was born in the custody of wisdom. I am one who is fond of olden times and intense in quest of the sacred knowing of the ancients." Gustave Courbet

22 April 2015

Beyond.


An invisible bird flies over,
but casts a quick shadow.

What is the body?
That shadow of a shadow of your love
That somehow contains
the entire universe.

A man sleeps heavily,
though something blazes in him like the sun,
like a magnificent fringe sewn up under the hem.

He turns under the covers.
Any image is a lie:

A clear red stone tastes sweet.

You kiss a beautiful mouth,
and a key turns in the lock of your feet.

A spoken sentence sharpens to a fine edge.

A mother dove looks for her nest,
asking, 'Where, ku? Where, ku?'

Where the lion lies down.
Where any man or woman goes to cry.
Where the sick go when they hope to get well.
Where a wind lifts that helps with winnowing,
and, the same moment, sends a ship on its way.

Where anyone says,
'Only God Is Real. Ya Hu!'
Where beyond where.

A bright weaver's shuttle flashes back and forth,
east-west,
'Where-are-we?  Ma ku?  Maku'.
Like the sun saying, 'Where are we?'
as it weaves with the asking.

Rumi

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