How strange! How can a lover sleep!
Sleep isn’t allowed for one who loves!
Freewill is the effort to thank God for Her Gifts:
when you negate freewill you ignore that generosity.
Giving thanks for the capacity of will
increases your power;
relying on destiny’s course takes the gift from your hand.
Believing in predestination
is like going sleep on the road-
don’t sleep! Don’t sleep,
until you come to the gate and reach the threshold!
“For the one who remains conscious of God;
He always prepares a way of emergence
And provides for her in ways she could never imagine.
And if anyone puts her trust in God, sufficient is God for her.
For God will surely accomplish Her purpose:
Truly, for all things has God appointed an appropriate measure…
And for everyone who is conscious of God,
He makes it easy to obey His commandments:
all this is God’s commandment,
which He has bestowed upon you from on high.
and to everyone who is conscious of God,
will He pardon her bad deeds,
And will grant her a vast reward.”
[Surah at-Talaq 65: 2-3, 4-5]
Would that You were sweet
Even while this life is bitter.
Would that You were pleased while people are angry,
Would that what is between You and me
Were filled and flourishing, and that
What is between me and the world were a ruin.
If Your love proves true,
Then all is easy, and all which is on earth is earth.
Sidi Ali al-Jamal
The Tuft of Flowers
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’
By Robert Frost
Mevlana Rumi – from the Mathnawi
Oh my God, our intoxicated eyes have blurred our vision.
Our burdens have become heavy, forgive us.
You are hidden, and yet from east to west You have filled the world with Your radiance.
Your light is more magnificent than sunrise or sunset,
and You are the inmost consciousness revealing the secrets we hold.
Your an explosive force causing our damned up rivers to burst forth.
You who’s essence is hidden while your gifts are manifest.
You are like water and we are like millstones.
You are like wind and we are like dust,
the wind is hidden while the dust is plainly seen.
You are the invisible spring and we are your lush garden.
You are the spirit of life and we are like hand and foot,
spirit causes the hand to close and open.
You are intelligence we are your voice,
Your intelligence causes this tongue to speak.
You are joy and we are laughter,
for we are the result of the blessing of Your joy.
All our movement is really a continually profession of faith,
bearing witness to your eternal power.
Just as the powerful turning of the milestone professes faith in the rivers existence.
Dust settles upon my head and upon my metaphors.
For You are beyond anything we could ever think or say,
and yet this servant cannot stop trying to express Your beauty,
in every moment let my soul be your carpet.
Recited beautifully by Camille Aney
19.33 seconds –On the Subject of Love