Mevlana Rumi

They try to say what you are, spiritual or sexual?
They wonder about Solomon and all his wives.
In the body of the world, they say, there is a soul
and you are that.
But we have ways within each other
that will never be said by anyone.

A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

There is some kiss we want with our whole lives,
the touch of Spirit on the body.

Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately it needs some wild Darling!

At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine. Breathe into me.

Close the language-door, and open the love-window
The moon won't use the door, only the window.

We rarely hear the inward music, but we're all dancing to it nevertheless.

Listen to the story told by the reed, of being separated. "Since I was cut from the reedbed, I have made this crying sound. Anyone apart from someone he loves understands what I say. Anyone pulled from a source longs to go back. At any gathering I am there, mingling in the laughing and grieving, a friend to each, but few will hear the secrets hidden within the notes. No ears for that. Body flowing out of spirit, spirit up from body: no concealing that mixing. But it's not given us to see the soul. The reed flute is fire, not wind. Be that empty." Hear the love-fire tangled in the reed notes, as bewilderment melts into wine. The reed is a friend to all who want the fabric torn and drawn away. The reed is hurt and salve combining. Intimacy and longing for intimacy, one song. A disastrous surrender, and a fine love, together.

The time has come to turn your heart into a temple of fire. Your essence is gold hidden in dust. To reveal its splendor you need to burn in the fire of love.

By God, when you see your beauty you will be the idol of yourself.

When you do things from your soul,
you feel a river moving in you, a joy.
When actions come from another section,
the feeling disappears.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.

Those who don't feel this love pulling them like a river, those who don't drink dawn like a cup of  springwater or take in sunset like a supper, those who don't want to change, let them sleep.