A poem.

Do not grieve over past joys,
be sure they will reappear in another form.
A child’s joy is in milk and nursing,
but once weaned, it finds new joy in bread and honey.
Joy appears in many different forms
It moves from place to place.
It may suddenly show in the falling rain.
Or in the rose bed; it comes now as water,
Now as beauty, or as nourishing bread.
But suddenly it may show its face
From behind the veil and destroy all idols
That prevent you from seeking the divine.
In sleep when the soul leaves the body
You may dream of yourself as a tall cypress
Or as a beautiful rose, but be
Warned my friend,
All these phantoms dissolve into thin air
Once the soul returns to the body.
Do not rely on anything but your heart.

Jalaluddin Rumi: Rumi’s Little Book of Life Continue reading →