Saturday, April 19, 2008

A Poem by Jelaluddin Rumi

Little by little, wean yourself.
This is the gist of what I have to say.

From any embryo, whose nourishment comes from the blood,
Move to any infant drinking milk,
To a child on solid food,
To a searcher after wisdom,
To a hunter of more invisible game.

Think how it is to have a conversation with an embryo,
You might say, “The world outside is vast and intricate.
There are wheat fields and mountain passes,
And orchards in blood.

At night there are millions of galaxies, and in sunlight
The beauty of friends dancing at a wedding.”

You ask the embryo why he, or she, stays copped up
In the dark with eyes closed.
Listen to the answer.
There is no “other world.”
I only know what I’ve experienced.
You must be hallucinating

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