Last night my soul cried O exalted sphere of Heaven by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Last night my soul cried, â€œO exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly. â€œWithout sin and crime, eternally revolving upon your body in its complaining is the indigo of mourning; â€œNow happy, now unhappy, like Abraham in the fire; at once king and beggar like Ebrahim-e Adham. â€œIn your form you are terrifying, yet your state is full of anguish: you turn round like a millstone and writhe like a snake.â€ Heaven the blessed replied, â€œHow should I not fear that one who makes the Paradise of the world as Hell? â€œIn his hand earth is as wax, he makes it Zangi and Rumi , he makes it falcon and owl, he makes it sugar and poison. â€œHe is hidden, friend, and has set us forth thus patent so that he may become concealed. â€œHow should the ocean of the world be concealed under straws? The straws have been set adancing, the waves tumbling up and downâ€™ â€œYour body is like the land floating on the waters of the soul; your soul is veiled in the body alike in wedding feast or sorrow. â€œIn the veil you are a new bride, hot-tempered and obstinate; he is railing sweetly at the good and the bad of the world. â€œThrough him the earth is a green meadow, the heavens are unresting; on every side through him a fortunate one pardoned and preserved. â€œReason a seeker of certainty through him, patience a seeker of help through him, love seeing the unseen through him, earth taking the form of Adam through him. â€œAir seeking and searching, water hand-washing, we Messiah-like speaking, earth Mary-like silent. â€œBehold the sea with its billows circling round the earthy ship; behold Kaabas and Meccas at the bottom of this well of Zamzam!â€ The king says, â€œBe silent, do not cast yourself into the well, for you do not know how to make a bucket and a rope out of my withered stumps.