I start out on this road,
call it love or emptiness,
I only know what’s not here.
Resentment seeds, backscratching greed,
worrying about outcome, fear of people.
When a bird gets free,
it does not go for remnants
left on the bottom of the cage.
Close by, I’m rain. Far off,
a cloud of fire. I seem restless,
but I am deeply at ease.
Branches tremble. The roots are still.
I am a universe in a handful of dirt,
whole when totally demolished.
Talk about choices does not apply to me.
While intelligence considers options,
I am somewhere lost in the wind.
“What’s Not Here” by Rumi (translation by Coleman Barks), A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings by Coleman Barks