Befriended Hafiz so completely
It has turned to ash
The workings of "Self" are shrouded in mystery. This can be blessing and curse, I suppose. Often I look to nature, or my surroundings for comfort, for something to hold on to when the inner tickings get loud. My house doesn't hold my interest for long, as I prefer to wander and contemplate outdoors. My backyard holds plenty of mystery.
Over these past weeks I have been on a quest. Today brought a question into focus: WHO is the resident "critic?" Holding forth with diatribe, cajole, rhyming nothings, edits, arrogance, idiom, bribe, threat; who is this who knows me too well?
More will be revealed: One's palette is colorful, imaginative, resourceful, sacred. There is no need, even, for patience. All that is needed is right here, right now.
Something to consider, from Hafiz:
Looking for Good Fish
Why complain about life
If you are looking for good fish
And have followed some idiot
Into the middle of the copper market?
Why go crazy
If you are looking for fine silk
And you keep rubbing your hands against
Burlap and hemp sacks?
If your heart really needs to touch a face
That is filled with abundance
Then why didn't you come to this
Old Man sooner?
For my cheek is the universe's cloister
And if you can make your prayers sweet enough
Then Hafiz will lean over and offer you
All the warmth in my body
In case God is busy
Doing something else
Why complain if you are looking
To quench your spirit's longing
And have followed a rat into a desert.
If your soul really needs to touch a face
That is always filled with compassion
Why my dear
Did you not come to your friend Hafiz
Sometimes, it just takes me a while.