Listen: this world is the lunatic's sphere, Don't always agree it's real, Even with my feet upon it And the postman knowing my door My address is somewhere else.
TRIPPING OVER JOY What is the difference Between your experience of Existence And that of a saint? The saint knows That the spiritual path Is a sublime chess game with God And that the Beloved Has just made such a Fantastic Move That the saint is now continually Tripping over Joy And bursting out in Laughter And saying, "I Surrender!" Whereas, my dear, I am afraid you still think You have a thousand serious moves."
In many parts of this world water is Scarce and precious. People sometimes have to walk A great distance Then carry heavy jugs upon their Heads. Because of our wisdom, we will travel Far for love. All movement is a sign of Thirst. Most speaking really says "I am hungry to know you." Every desire of your body is holy; Every desire of your body is Holy. Dear one, Why wait until you are dying To discover that divine Truth?"
My dear, Is it true that your mind is sometimes like a battering Ram Running all through the city, Shouting so madly inside and out About the ten thousand things That do not matter?
Sometimes I say to a poem, "I don't have the strength To wring out another drop Of the sun." And the poem will often Respond By climbing onto a barroom table: Then lifts its skirt, winks, Causing the whole sky to Fall."
There are So many positions of Love: Each curve on a branch, The thousand different ways Your eyes can embrace us, The infinite shapes your Mind can draw, The spring Orchestra of scents, The currents of light combusting Like passionate lips, The revolution of Existence's skirt Whose folds contain other worlds. Your every sigh that falls against His inconceivable Omnipresent Body.
Lovers Don't tell all of their Secrets. They might Count each other's moles That reside in the shy Regions, Then keep that tally strictly To themselves. God and I Have signe a contract To be even more intimate than That! Though a clause Mentions Something about not drawing detailed maps To all His beautiful Laughing Moles.
Here soar Not with wings But with your moving hands and feet And sweating brows - Standing by your Beloved's side Reaching out to comfort this world With your cup of solace Drawn from your vast reservoir of truth.
You have taken root in the Beloved. I love your golden branches And the hundred graceful movements Your body now makes each time The wind, children and love come near.
Your soul once sat on an easel on my knee. For ages I hve been sketching you With myriad shapes of sounds and light; Now awake, dear pilgrim, With your thousand swaying arms That need to caress the sky.
This Path to God Made me such an old sweet beggar. I was starving until one night My love tricked God Himself To fall into my bowl. Now Hafiz is infintely rich, But all I ever want to do Is keep emptying out My emerald-filled Pockets Upon This tear-stained World.
How Did the rose Ever open its heart And give to this world All its Beauty? It felt the encouragement of light Against its Being. Otherwise, We all remain
Art is the conversation between lovers. Art offers an opening for the heart. True art makes the divine silence in the soul Break into applause. Art is, at last, the knowledge of Where we are standing - Where we are standing In this Wonderland When we rip off all our clothes And this blind man's patch, veil, That got tied across our brow. Art is the conversation between lovers. True art awakes the
What does life give me in the end but sorrow? What do love's good and evil send but sorrow? I've only seen one true companion - pain, And I have known no faithful friend but sorrow.
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Why Just ask the donkey in me To speak to the donkey in you, When I have so many other beautiful animals And brilliant colored birds inside That are longing to say something wonderful And exciting to your heart? Let's open all the locked doors upon our eyes That keep us from knowing the Intelligence That begets love And a more lively and satisfying conversation With the Friend. Let's turn loose our golden falcons So that they can meet in th..