Rumi likened the soul to a bird’s beating wings,
propelled toward God by (love’s) expansion
and (fear’s) inevitable, subsequent contraction;
a thrust and recovering – fear and repugnance,
joy and inspiration and
back again in pursuit
of truth and beauty and the leave-taking gamble
of the solitary perch of nestled desire and pleasure,
our final approach being, apparently, fearless –
of a gliding, unalloyed posture, wings stretched to their
limit,
braced and unbending, our flight’s path and pattern
determined solely by the play of winds, from beak
to feather beyond our efforts, desire and control.
O child of God, abandon fear and soar
into the holy, awaiting firmament.
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