Palette, Or: From Where Does It Come?

Love has

Befriended Hafiz so completely

It has turned to ash

And freed

Me

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

Tonight

Then Hafiz will lean over and offer you

All the warmth in my body

In case God is busy

Doing something else

Somewhere.

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 

And tenderness

Then why,

Why my dear

Did you not come to your friend Hafiz

Sooner?

Sometimes, it just takes me a while.

xoxoxo

LC