Last night the moon came dropping its clothes in the street.
I took it as a sign to start singing,
falling up into the bowl of the sky.
The bowl breaks.
Every where is falling everywhere.
Nothing else to do.
-Rumi
Someone brought in a charming Rumi piece this week on the nature of knowledge.
But when I think of the Rumi that I love, it's his writing on the ecstatic experience and the sensation of adoration that comes to mind.
I always know where I'm at by which line fixates me.
(Reading Rumi is the best antidote to sword swallowing.)
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