In this drumbeat moment of red flowers opening
and grapes being crushed,
the soul and luminous clarity sit together.
All desire wants is a taste of you,
two small villages in a mountain valley
where everyone longs for presence.
We start to step up.
A step appears.
You say, I am more compassionate
than your mother and father.
I make medicine out of your pain.
From your chimney smoke I shape new constellations.
I tell everything, but I do not say it,
because, my friend, it is better
your secret be spoken by you.
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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