On Spiritual Love

If love that is built on mere desire can be so seductive and so commanding, why should you wonder at the travelers of the path who drown in the ocean of true meaning? Their souls consumed by longing for the Beloved, absorbed in remembering the Friend, cut off from the world. They flee from people to remember God, drunk on the cupbearer who spilled the wine. No medicine can cure them, for no one knows the pain they carry inside. The eternal question 'Am I not your Lord?' still rings in their ears, and they cry out their answer, 'Yes, You are.' A group who live in solitude, doing the work: feet planted in the dust, breath full of fire. With a single cry they can uproot a mountain; with a single moan they can shake a whole city. Hidden like the wind yet swift on their feet, silent like a stone yet always praising God. At dawn they weep until the tears wash the last trace of sleep from their eyes. Their horses worn out from riding through the night, they groan at daybreak, exhausted and spent. Night and day lost in the sea of yearning and burning, so distracted they cannot tell night from day. So captivated by the beauty of the divine Artist that they have no concern for outward beauty. The wise never gave their hearts to the mere shell; if some fool did, he had no sense to begin with. Only one who forgot both this world and the next has ever tasted the pure wine of union.