Paschal Moon: pomegranate flower

There’s nothing like facing being cut open (even on an out-patient basis) to make one a little…introspective. So I’m turning to Rumi, the 13^th Century Sufi mystic poet.

Last year I gave you “The Guest House” from him, instructing us to be a guest house to all the possibilities. This time the entry is another kind of invitation, one in keeping with Gratitude Monday.

“What Was Told, That”

What was said to the rose that made it open was said

to me here in my chest.

What was told the cypress that made it strong

and straight, what was

whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made

sugarcane sweet, whatever

was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in

Turkestan that makes them

so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush

like a human face, that is

being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in

language, that’s happening here.

The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude,

chewing a piece of sugarcane,

in love with the one to whom every that belongs!