At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,
a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden
within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit, spirit up
mingling in the laughing and grieving,
a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden
within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit, spirit up
from body: no concealing that mixing.
But it's not given us to see the soul.
The reed flute is fire, not wind.
Be that empty.
Rumi
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