A poem that I enjoy from Hafiz (Hafez), the 13th century Persian poet.
I don’t know it if is God that dwells within. Maybe.
I don’t know if it is “doing for” the world. Maybe. I relate to “doing with.”
I do relate fully to being moved by what is unseen.
The Seed Cracked Open
It used to be
that when I would wake in the morning
I could with confidence say,
“What am ‘I'” going to
That was before the seed
Now Hafiz is certain.
There are two of us housed
in this body,
doing the shopping together in the market and
tickling each other
while fixing the evening’s food.
Now when I awake
all the internal instruments play the same music:
“God, what love-mischief can ‘We’ do
for the world