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)

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)

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)

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)