like black blossoms..
we long for: joy
we know: we are more
than blood-we are more
than our hunger and yet
to the moon and when the ponds
open, when the burning
begins the most
thoughtful among us dreams
of hurrying down
into the black petals,
into the fire,
into the night where time lies shattered,
into the body of another.
Sufi wisdom calls us to not forget the joy of union with another -w ith the moon, the sun, god, bird, lover, frog, pond. We yearn for this in the spring of our lives, roaming out in the night to forget the ache of our separation. Perhaps as we age when our bodies mellow as hormones free us from the maddening drive, we let slip into the background what we long for, and instead absorb ourselves into the daily grind. Rumi writes today in "The Milk of Millennia,"
I walk into a huge pasture.
I nurse the milk of millennia.
Everyone does this in different ways.
Knowing that conscious decisions
and personal memory
are much too small a place to live,
every human being streams at night
into the loving nowhere, or during the day,
in some absorbing work.
I awake this morning which falls just short of spring, seeing the thrown dirt of awakening tortoises in my backyard, and if I let myself crawl down their tunnels and wrap my soul around their hard shells, so that my own will crack.
What or with whom do you wish union?