What if I broke off a whole branch/ of roses? What if I lost myself in// the Friend? How would it be to have/ no faith? What if I picked a pick-/pocket’s pocket? Does it mean any-/thing when a single basket is lost/ in Baghdad, when one wheat grain is/ missing from the barn? How long will/ this illusion last? What remains/ when a lover sits quietly with the/ beloved for one second? Will it/ involve you at all if I say some/ unsayable things? Will my heart feel relieved doing that? Something has/ passed between lover and beloved./ Are you part of these goings-on?// What does the soul feel when Jesus/ heals the body? This is the night/ when life decrees can change. If/ the moon came to visit me, would// that affect other people? Shams/ Tabriz, if I gave workers a holiday// and if I turned the market place upside down, would that be a kind of// image for how you love the world?

Rumi

I am an asker of questions. I wonder about life and existence. I consider risks and consequences. I revel in curiosity. I break branches, say unsayable things, and turn worlds upside down. I am simultaneously superhuman and powerless. I worry that worry is pointless. I get angry about getting angry. I chase rabbits down holes. I break hearts and get my heart broken. I return to my breath to stop mind tornadoes.

If I broke a branch of roses, I would plant a new rose bush. If I lost myself in a friendship, I would wrap myself in enough love to be found. If I doubted my faith, I would sing songs of faith until my faith was restored. If I picked a pick-pocket’s pocket, I would return the loot and make amends. A single basket and a grain matter to me. I believe in the possibility of being healed, the power of the moon, and love.