"Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return." It's still with me, the Ash Wednesday thought about all of it being of a piece. The ashes, the dust, the stars, the earth, our wonderous human selves....all the stuff of God. Then early this morning I was listening to a podcast of Speaking of Faith about Rumi and I heard this poem:
Listen to the story told by the reed of being separated.
Since I was cut from the reed bed, I have made this crying sound.
Anyone apart from someone he loves understands what I say.
Anyone pulled from a source longs to go back.
At any gathering, I'm there, lingering and laughing and grieving,
a friend to each, but few will hear the secrets hidden within the notes.
No ears for that.
flowing out of spirit, spirit out from body, no concealing that mixing.
But it's not given us to see, so the reed flute is fire, not wind.
Leave that empty.
And another piece fell into place.. Perhaps not only the stuff of God, but separated and longing to return at some primal level that we don't even we really know we know. Our hearts restless till they rest in thee....? And so we rush and strive to fill ourselves with all the other junk to dull the pain. If so, as an antidote, then simplicity, giving away, fasting make sense, in order to leave room, leave space, leave emptiness.