So Drunk

I am so drunk, so drunk, so utterly drunk that I can't tell my foot from my head, or my head from my hand. Except for the one whose cup has made me drunk, I no longer believe anyone exists in the whole world. I want to lose myself completely, to leave myself behind, if the cupbearer keeps pouring the wine like this. The pact my heart had made with the world of existence, once it grew drunk, shattered every last piece of it. Reason walked out the moment love walked in; my soul rose and fled the instant love sat down. Drunk or sober, it's all the same to me now; anyone not like this hasn't truly tasted the wine. Someone who has never known anything but the One, what would he know of five or six, of counting at all? I have passed beyond both height and depth; now there is no high or low left before me. Don't go looking for the four-arched dome of the sky, not you, who have leapt free from the prison of the six directions. None can reach the nearness of that intimate presence unless, like an arrow, the heart springs loose from the bow's grip. Even east and west cannot contain him once his being, like the sun's essence, breaks free of the setting place.