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The poet Rumi was born on 30 Sept 1207, which would make today his 800th birthday. I was first introduced to his moving, resonant poetry several years ago when a book of his poetry leapt off the bookshelf into my arms while visiting my son in Los Angeles. Hard to choose my favorite Rumi poem, but this one seems to fit today:

Be with those who help your being.
Don’t sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.
A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don’t try to fly,
and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it’s too late for all you could become.
Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?

Ode 2865 Trans. Coleman Barks

5 104 1 erased

Color1

Color3

Color4

Ferns

Soon enough, they’ll start cutting these:

Christmastrees2

~~~~~~~~~

She is my developmentally disabled sister-in-law, Nancy,
and I am Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her.
Go here to start at the beginning and read your way current.
And there’s a pinterest board, too.