! ! Sufi

A broken reed. No longer its feet in earth, its stalk in water; what will become of it? Taken by grace; cut; shaped into new name, new form; breathed into it, the breath of life; the breath, heard by a song unmanifest, that waits to be born from cause to mind to sound: how can this sound be described, the joy of broken reed now flute? Now the reed can sing; speaks of how it cried its loss; yearned to find itself again; knowing in its heart that wholeness waits, somewhere, for ever; now it sings for joy, so purely that no ears, no heart, can resist its call; nevermore to part the reed, the flute, the song.