A Bird of Paradise

With extreme joy I tear and shred my earthly garment.

    By casting of my clothes, into the glory of my soul I’ve grown.

I wear this earthly corps for what use, to what avail?

    I am not a cawing crow, of heavenly birds is my tone.

I am a bird of Paradise, I am not of the earthy realm.

For a few days imprisoned in my cage of flesh and bone.

My soul is my guide, for my soul is of that abode.

I will not speak of the earthly, I am of the unknown.

The fragrant morning breeze brings news of union. 

With joy and with song I’ll leave this cage, this earthly throne.

RUMI

Song of Songs

There is one who sings the song of his soul, discovering in his soul everything - utter fulfillment.

There is one who sings the song of his people. Emerging from the private circle of his soul - not expansive enough, not yet tranquil - he strives for fierce heights, clinging to the entire community of Israel in tender love. Together with her, he sings her song, feels her anguish, delights in her hopes. He conceives profound insights into her past and her future deftly probing, the inwardness of her spirit with the wisdom of love.

Then there is one whose soul expands until it extends beyond the border of Israel, singing the song of humanity. In the glory of the entire human race, in the glory of the human form, his spirit spreads, aspiring to the goal of humankind, envisioning his consummation. From the spring of life, he draws all his deepest reflections, his searching, striving and vision.

Then there is one who expands even further until he unties with all of existence, with all creatures, with all worlds singing a song with them all.

There is one who ascends with all these songs in unison-the song of the soul, the song of the nation, the song of humanity, the song of the cosmos-resounding together, blending in harmony, circulating the sap of life, the sound of holy joy. 

From Song of Songs King Solomon

Forgive the Dream

All your images of winter
I see against your sky.
I understand the wounds
That have not healed in you.
they exist
Because God and love
Have yet to become real enough
to allow you to forgive
The dream.
You still listen to an old alley song
That brings your body pain;
Now chain your ears
To His pacing drum and flute.
Fix your eyes upon
The magnificent arch of His brow
That supports
And allows this universe to expand.
Your hands, feet, and heart are wise
And want to know the warmth
Of a Perfect One's circle.
A true saint
Is an earth in eternal spring.

Inside the veins of a petal
on a blooming redbud tree... 

When you Can Endure

When the words stop

And you can endure the silence

That reveals your heart's pain

of emptiness

Or that great wrenching-sweet longing,

That is the time to try and listen

To what the Beloved's

Eyes

Most want

To

Say.

Hafiz