A Tale of the Reed and the Dancer

A sweet lipped youth learned to play the reed flute so well that hearts would burn in his music like the reed itself. His father had scolded him again and again, harshly striking fire into that flute of his. One night the father listened to his son's playing, and the music left him shaken and stunned. Sweat pouring down his face, he kept saying: this time the reed has set me on fire. Don't you know why those drunk with longing throw up their hands and dance? A door opens onto the heart from what floods in, and the hand shakes off the whole world in a dance. For such a one, dancing in memory of the Beloved is pure, for in each of his sleeves there lives a soul. Grant that, like a brave swimmer, you can move arms and legs only when you are stripped bare. So take off the cloak of name, reputation, and pretense, for a man drowns and is helpless in heavy clothes. Attachment is a veil, and it bears no fruit; when you break your ties, you reach union.