and what we thought we needed
loses importance.
The living shiver,
focused
on a muscular dark hand,
rather than
the glowing cup it holds
or the toast being proposed.
In that same way
love enters your life,
and the I, the ego,
a corrupt, self-absorbed king,
dies during the night.
Let him go.
Breathe cold new air,
the nothing of roselight.
Rumi, from Coleman Barks' A Year with Rumi
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