Friday, March 31, 2017
Apparent shapes and meanings change.
Creature hunts down creature. Bales
get unloaded and weighed to determine
price. None of any of this pertains
to the unseen fire we call the Beloved.
That presence has no form, and cannot
be understood or measured. Take
your hands away from your face. If
a wall of dust moves across the plain,
there's usually an army advancing
under it. When you look for the Friend,
the Friend is looking for you. Carried
by a strong current, you and the others
with you seem to be making decisions,
but you're not. I weave coarse wool.
I decide to talk less. By my actions
cause nothing. A thorn grows next to
the rose as its witness. I am that
thorn for whom simply to be is an act
of praise. Near the rose, no shame.
translation by Coleman Barks, with Nevit Ergin
from The Glance