Love is not condescending, never that,
nor books, nor any marking on paper,
nor what people say of each other.
Love is a tree
with branches reaching into eternity
and roots set deep in eternity,
and no trunk.
Have you seen it? The mind cannot.
Your desiring cannot.
The longing you feel for this love
comes from inside you.
When you become the Friend,
your longing will be as the man in the ocean
who holds to a piece of wood.
Eventually, wood, man, and ocean
become one swaying being,
Shams Tabriz, the secret of God.
1 comment:
Ruth, I love this poem along with many others in this book. It actually served as a seed to the post I wrote today on mycelia. I love your photo illustration!
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