Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk now drinks wine and honey mixed. God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box, from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flower bed. As roses, up from the ground. Now it looks like a plate of fish and rice, now a cliff covered with vines, now a horse being saddled. It hides within these, till one day it cracks them open."
Rumi
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment