Nostalgia and Inspiration

We are the mirror as well as the face in it.

We are tasting the taste this minute

of eternity.  We are pain

and what cures pain.  We are

the sweet, cold water and the jar that pours.

 

———-

 

I want to hold you close like a lute

so  we can cry out with loving.

 

You would rather throw stones at a mirror?

I am your mirror, and here are the stones.

 

———

 

I saw you last night in the gathering,

but I could not take you openly in my arms,

so I put my lips next to your cheek,

pretending to talk privately.

 

——–

 

Friend, our closeness is this:

anywhere you put your foot, feel me

in the firmness under you.

 

How is it with this love,

I see your world and not you?

 

——–

 

My worst habit is I get so tired of winter

I become a torture to those I’m with.

 

If you’re not here, nothing grows.

I lack clarity. My words

tangle and knot up.

 

How to cure bad water? Send it back to the river.

How to cure bad habits? Send me back to you.

 

When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools,

dig a way out through the bottom

to the ocean.  There is a secret medicine

given only to those who hurt so hard

they can’t hope.

 

The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

 

Look as long as you can at the friend you love,

no matter whether that friend is moving away from you,

or coming back toward you.

 

————

 

Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me,

if this is the time.

Do it gently with a touch of the hand, or a look.

Every morning I wait at dawn.  That’s when

it’s happened before.  Or do it suddenly

like and execution.  How else

can I get ready for death?

 

You breathe without a body like a spark.

You grieve, and i begin to feel lighter.

You keep me away with your arm,

but the keeping away is pulling me in.

 

————

 

Pale sunlight,

pale the wall.

 

Love moves away.

The light changes.

 

I need more grace

than I thought.

 

————-

 

Rumi (1207-1273)