Excerpt by Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks
To praise the sun is to praise your own eyes.
Praise, the ocean. What we say, a little ship.
So—the sea-journey continues and who knows where?
Just to be held by the ocean is the best luck
we could have. It’s a total waking up.
Why should we grieve that we’ve been sleeping?
It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been unconscious.
We’re groggy, but let the guilt go.
Feel the motions of tenderness
around you, the buoyancy.
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