Been bumping into sufi bodies, rumiphiles. They sometimes seem utterly under the spell of wisdom, aroused.
They drum, they listen to music with impatience. Maybe anxiety is the main bone of meditation. Ephat, who makes her own clothes, took me to the riverside in Kew Bridge. Food with no cooking. Pas cuit. C'est le grand cru?
When a baby is taken from the wet nurse,
it easily forgets her
and starts eating solid food.
Seeds feed awhile on ground,
then lift up into the sun.
So you should taste the filtered light
and work your way toward wisdom
with no personal covering.
That's how you came here, like a star
without a name. Move across the night sky
with those anonymous lights.
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