How can you ever hope to know the Beloved Without becoming in every cell the Lover?
You are dreaming your thirst when the water you want is inside the big vein on your neck.
For without you, I swear, the town Has become like a prison to me. Distraction and the mountain And the desert, all I desire.
Whoever finds love beneath hurt and grief disappears into emptiness with a thousand new disguises
The soul lives there in the silent breath.
Hear from the heart wordless mysteries.
In the silence between your heartbeat bides a summons. Do you hear it? Name it if you must, or leave it forever nameless, but why pretend it is not there?
Your kindness cannot be said. You open doors in the sky. You ease the heart and make God's qualities visible.
The fluteplayer puts breath into a flute, and who makes the music? Not the flute. The Fluteplayer!
Your eyes are even smaller, yet they behold the world.
Without you the instruments would die. One sits close beside you. Another takes a long kiss. The tambourine begs, Touch my skin so I can be myself. Let me feel you enter each limb bone by bone, that what died last night can be whole today. Why live some soberer way, and feel you ebbing out? I won't do it. Either give me enough wine or leave me alone, now that I know how it is to be with you in constant conversation.
Love rests on no foundation. It is an endless ocean, with no beginning or end.
Lovers think they are looking for each other, but there is only one search: wandering This world is wandering that, both inside one transparent sky. In here there is no dogma and no heresy.
Tis easy to break an idol, very easy: to regard the self as easy to subdue is folly, folly.
Either give me more wine or leave me alone.
Don't insist on going where you think you want to go. Ask the way to the spring.
What can I do my friends, if I do not know? I am neither Christian nor Jew, nor Muslim nor Hindu. What can I do? What can I do? Not of the East, nor of the West, Nor of the land, nor of the sea, Not of nature's essence, nor of circling heavens. What could I be?
What does this patch-sewing mean you ask? Eating and drinking. The heavy cloak of the body is always getting torn. You patch it with food and other ego-satisfactions.
Love asks us to enjoy our life For nothing good can come of death. Who is alive? I ask. Those who are born of love. Seek us in love itself, Seek love in us ourselves. Sometimes I venerate love, Sometimes it venerates me.
Whosoever knoweth the power of the dance, dwelleth in God.
Be drunk with Love, for Love is all that exists. Where is intimacy found if not in the give and take of Love.
Everything has to do with loving and not loving.
No longer a stranger, you listen all day to these crazy love-words. Like a bee you fill hundreds of homes with honey, though yours is a long flight from here.
Let your throat-song be clear and strong enough to make an emperor fall full-length suppliant, at the door.
Where, with your one rose you can buy hundreds of rose gardens?
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