You that love lovers,
this is your home.
In the midst of making form,
love made this form that melts form,
with love for the door,
soul the vestibule.
Watch the dust grains moving
in the light near the window.
their dance is our dance.
We rarely hear the inward music,
but we’re all dancing to it nonetheless,
directed by the one who teaches us,
the pure joy of the sun,
our music master.
When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you’re not here, I can’t go to sleep.
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.
The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you,
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.
We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity.
We are pain and what cures pain, both.
We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
I want to hold you close like a lute,
so we can cry out with loving.
You would rather throw stones at a mirror?
I am your mirror, and here are the stones.
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi