As I drove to work I was singing happy birthday to Rumi. When I arrived two ravens were hopping all around the building. When I stopped to chat they flew up and sat on the phone wires and continued their chattering. As I sat and thanked them for their visit, one turned his head downward and began to preen. He pulled out a feather. Sweet mercy, for one who treasures the feather graces found, I have never seen one fall to the earth like that.
As I bowed with my hands to my heart, the morning reading from Rumi returned.
“I am only an arrow. Fill your bow with me and let fly. …. From wherever spring arrives to heal the ground, from wherever searching arises in a human being. The looking itself is a trace of what we are looking for” ~ Rumi
A raven’s gift. Rumi’s gift. Both on Rumi’s birthday. Happy birthday Rumi. Your passion for the Beloved will always stir my heart. And for your dervish in the form of a Raven and a gifted feather…. a most deep bow with my hands to my heart. Looking…..
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