By Jalaluddin Rumi
Translated by Maryam Mafi & Azima Melita Kolin
from these thousand of "me's",
which one am I?
Listen to my cry, do not drown my voice
I am completely filled with the thought of you.
Don't lay broken glass on my path
I will crush it into dust.
I am nothing, just a mirror in the palm of your hand,
reflecting your kindness, your sadness, your anger.
If you were a blade of grass or a tiny flower
I will pitch my tent in your shadow.
Only your presence revives my withered heart.
You are the candle that lights the whole world
and I am an empty vessel for your light.
My house is still in chaos, I'm irritated at the news (FFS Louisiana) and I ran around a lot on Wednesday so I will keep this brief. Maddy had plans to go to a concert Wednesday night and needed to make a shopping trip for clothes and supplies -- she'd never taken the Metro before and didn't really know the neighborhood where the concert was held, so I was impressed with her independence, though I gather she took the bus all over to venues in L.A. I worked on my Voyager review (uggggh, "Real Life" -- should be titled "Life By Nicholas Sparks"), photographed a baby bunny, and spent a lovely post-dinner evening watching The Prestige with Christine, who is finally back from the beach. We missed the end of the Orioles' 14-inning victory over the Dodgers but we did see the end of the Portugal-Wales semifinal and the Murray and Federer matches at Wimbledon. Meanwhile, these people are very unhappy that the kitchen floor is not close to finished and so am I: