Do not worry about saving these songs.
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it does not matter.
We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.
The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world’s harp should burn up,
there will still be hidden instruments playing.
So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint and a spark.
This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.
Poems reach up like spindrift
and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting.
from a slow and powerful root
that we cannot see.
Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.
A gorgeous set of words selected by Rumi, leaving me with hope, and encouragement to let go. It evokes in me that soft and slightly wild feeling of ‘everything is happening by itself’ to speak with Lama Gendun, the reassurance of Mary Oliver’s ‘meanwhile, the world goes on’. So much of my time I spend trying to make things happen in a certain way, until I remember (usually in the space of practice) that I can give it a rest. And then I ‘don’t have to worry about saving these songs’, because ‘everything is music’… what a free place to be!