listening in spirals

when Rumi comes to visit, a poem

look at it this way, dear one
it’s not a sentence;
it’s a sentence.
— but one in an epic poem.
a single fragment,
a facet of knowing,
one perspective opens
another, and another yet.
everflowing
fractals borne of
eyes pulsing closed
and opening.

•••

a poetic perspective,
a mystic mind loosening
because - mind need not be “set.”
nothing is anyway.
what’s the point (ha!) of trying to
keep it fixed?
— there’s nothing wrong with
the movement - it is!
regardless of judgement
or attempts to infiltrate
brilliance.

•••

fixed attention —
where does it lead us?
back of course
(or is it forward?)
to movement
— the melody
beneath everything.
now,
the trick is,
there’s nothing wrong
with spiraling.

might the spiral be
that point we seem
to search for
endlessly?

•••

whatever i say,
get drunk on it,
or don’t —
there is a decision 
(is there? who makes it?)
loosen your grip
on whatever reality
you make of
these words
pouring through a body.

•••

listen.
i wonder why i start
with that word.
are you though?
listening? 

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xx faye