Tuesday, April 6, 2010
This is a poem I love by Rumi, a great 13th century poet:
The grass beneath a tree is content and silent.
A squirrel holds an acorn in its praying hands,
offering thanks, it looks like.
The nut tastes sweet; I bet the prayer spiced it up somehow.
The broken shells fall on the grass,
and the grass looks up and says, "Hey."
And the squirrel looks down and says, "Hey."
I have been saying "Hey" lately too, to God.
Formalities just weren't working.