Comments by "Guy Who Likes Ecclesiastes" (@EcclesiastesLiker-py5ts) on ""The Song of the Reed" by Rumi" video.

  1. "Listen to the reed and the tale it tells, how it sings of separation. Ever since they cut me off from the reed bed, my wail has caused men and women to weep. I long for a heart that is torn open with longing so that I might share the pain of this love. Whoever has been parted from his source longs to return to that state of union. At every gathering I play my lament, I am a friend to both happy and sad. Each befriended me for his own reasons, but none sort out the secrets I contain. My secret is not different from my lament, but this is not for anyone to see. The body is not separate from the soul, nor is the soul hidden from the body, but the soul is not for anyone to see. This flute is played with fire, not with wind, and without this fire you would not exist. It is the fire of love that inspires the flute, it is the ferment of love that completes the wine. The reed is a comfort to all estranged lovers, it's music tears our veils away. Have you ever seen a poison or antidote like the reed? Have you ever seen a more infinite companion and lover? It sings of the path of blood, it relates the passion of Majun. Only to the senseless is this sense confided. Does the tounge have any patron but the ear? Our days grow more unreasonable. These days which mix with grief and pain. But if the days that remain are few, let them go; it doesn't matter. But You, You remain, for nothing is as pure as You are. All but the fish quickly have their fill of His water, and the day is long without His daily bread. The raw do not understand the state of the ripe, and so my words will be brief. Break your bonds, be free, my child! How long will silver and gold enslave you? If you pour the whole sea into a jug, will it hold more than one day's store? The greedy eye, like the jug, is never filled. Until content, the oyster holds no pearl. Only one who has been undressed by love is free of defect and desire. O Gladness, O Love, our partner in trade, healer of all our ills, Our Plato and Galen, remedy for our pride and our vanity. With love this earthly body could soar in the air, the mountain could arise and nimbly dance. Love gave life to mount Sinai, O lover. Sinai was drunk; Moses lost conciousness. Pressed to the lips of one in harmony with myself, I might also tell all that can be told; but without a common tounge I am dumb, even if I have a hundred songs to sing. When the rose is gone and the garden faded, you will no longer hear the nightingale's song. The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil. The Belove is living, the lover just a dead thing. If love withholds it's strengthening care, the lover will be left like a bird without wings. How will I be awake and aware if the light of the Beloved is absent? Love wills that this Word be brought forth. If you find the mirror of the heart dull, the rust has not been cleared from it's face. O friends, listen to this tale, the marrow of our inward state." Praise be to God.
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