Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,Break all our teacup talk of God.
If you had the courage andCould give the Beloved His choice, some nights,He would just drag you around the roomBy your hair,Ripping from your grip all those toys in the worldThat bring you no joy.
Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetlyAnd wants to rip to shredsAll your erroneous notions of truth
That make you fight within yourself, dear one,And with others,
Causing the world to weepOn too many fine days.
God wants to manhandle us,Lock us inside of a tiny room with HimselfAnd practice His dropkick.
The Beloved sometimes wantsTo do us a great favor:
Hold us upside downAnd shake all the nonsense out.
But when we hearHe is in such a “playful drunken mood”
Most everyone I knowQuickly packs their bags and hightails itOut of town. Hafiz
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In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY
