Saturday, January 26, 2013


This love we feel pours through us like giveaway song.
The source of now is here.


-- Rumi
(in Rumi: The Big Red Book, 
translated by Coleman Barks)

Saturday, January 19, 2013


Play no music but the soul's,
that friend who sometimes takes a form like Joseph,
a handsomeness that tears coverings,
beauty that says secrets and gets bewildered.

As dogs lap blood, we drink life.
This is how we are with love's melody,
a taste of springwater, birdsound near.


-- Rumi
(in Rumi: The Big Red Book, 
translated by Coleman Barks)

Saturday, January 12, 2013


There are no words to explain, no tongue,
how when that player touches the strings,
it is me playing and being played . . .


-- Rumi
(in Rumi: The Big Red Book, 
translated by Coleman Barks)

Saturday, January 5, 2013


Someone comes in from outside saying,
Do not play music just for yourselves.
Now we are tearing up the house like a drum,
collapsing walls with our pounding.
We hear a voice from the sky
calling the lovers and the odd, lost people.
We scatter lives.  We break what holds us,
each one a blacksmith heating iron
and walking to the anvil.  We blow on the inner fire.
With each striking we change.

-- Rumi
(in Rumi: The Big Red Book, 
translated by Coleman Barks)