The Beautiful One handed me a broom and said,
‘Sweep the dust from the sea!”
then burned the broom in the fireplace and said,
‘Give me back my broom.’
Bewildered, I put my head to the ground.
‘In real submission there’s no longer even someone to bow.’
‘But how?’
‘Without hesitation or anything of yourself.’
I bared my neck and said,
‘Sever me from myself with God’s sword.’
But as I was struck, and struck again,
countless heads appeared.
As if I were a lamp, and each head a wick,
flames rose on every side,
countless candle-eyed heads,
a procession spanning East and West.
But what is East and West within placelessness?
—Rumi ❤️🔥