There’s a kind of spooky new idea in physics that two tiny particles far away from each other can “communicate” with each other and do it faster than the speed of light. There’s an idea in philosophy that the self is an illusion. I’m grappling with what this means. But long ago, Rumi saw that “you” and “I” were illusions. I feel like Rumi is saying the same truth as the physicists; I just find Rumi’s tone a lot more comforting. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_entanglement#Meaning_of_entanglement
When you feel your lips becoming infinite
and sweet, like the moon in a sky
when you feel that spaciousness inside
Shams of Tabriz will be there too.
The sun is love. The lover,
a speck circling the sun,
A Spring wind moves to dance
any branch that isn’t dead.
Something opens our wings. Something
makes boredom and hurt disappear.
Someone fills the cup in front of us.
We taste only sacredness.
Held like this, to draw in milk,
no will, tasting clouds of milk,
never so content.
I stand up, and this one of me
turns into a hundred of me.
They say I circle around you.
Nonsense. I circle around me.
I have lived on the lip
of insanity, wanting to know reasons,
knocking on a door. It opens.
I’ve been knocking from the inside!
Real value comes with madness,
matzub below, scientist above.
Whoever finds love
beneath hurt and grief
disappears into emptiness
with a thousand new disguises.
(a matzub is a person in ecstasy)
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
Note: Dancing just means finding joy in movement. You don’t have to be Fred Astaire.
Image by http://hypnothalamus.deviantart.com/