Imagine the time the particle you are
returns where it came from.
The family darling comes home. Wine,
without being contained in cups,
is handed around.
A red glint appears in a granite outcrop,
and suddenly the whole cliff turns to ruby.
At dawn I walked along with a monk
on his way to the monastery.
We do the same work, I told him.
We suffer the same.
He gave me a bowl, and I saw.
The soul has this shape.
Shams, and actual sunlight, help me now,
being in the middle of being
partly in myself, and partly outside.
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At the request of a Rumi Reader, I have enabled comments, because I agree that someone, sometime might want to write about the power of Rumi's words. So many times they have met me in ways I just have to share, and so I want you to have that opportunity here. There is no expectation for comments, but please do write something if you feel the urge. ~ Ruth