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“The Absolute Unknowable Appears as Spring” by Rumi

The Absolute Unknowable Appears as Spring

The sound of hoofbeats leaving a monastery
where all is timed and measured:

you are that rider:

someone who does not care
very much about things
and results, illness or loss:

you are the soul inside
the soul that is always traveling.

Mind gathers bait.
The personality carries a grudge.

You weave cloth like the moon
leaving no trace on the road.

There is a learning community
where the names of God
are talked about and memorized,
and there is another residence
where meanings live.

You are on your way from
here to there, and don’t
claim you are not carrying gifts.

Your graceful manner gives
color and fragrance,
as creekwater animates
a landscape it moves through.

Hundreds of caravans sail into the sky.
You travel alone, by yourself, those caravans:

sun inside one dazzling mote,
the emperor’s serenity on nightwatch
as alert as his palace guard.

You enchant this visible place,
so that we imagine
you are going somewhere,
off to new country.

The absolute unknowable
appears as spring,
and disappears in fall.

Signs come,
not the essence signified.

How long will you be a shepherd
single-filing us in and out
of the human barn?

Will I ever see you as
you secretly are in silence?

 

 

Rumi (translation by Coleman Barks)

© 2010 Coleman Barks
Rumi: The Big Red Book: The Great Masterpiece Celebrating Mystical Love and Friendship

Thomas Somme on Unsplash

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