The Glass Blowers Breath

The Glass Blowers Breath

It’s the old rule that drunkards have to argue, get into fights.
The lover is just as bad, he falls into a hole. But down in that hole he finds something shining, worth more than any power or gold.
Last night the moon came dropping its clothes in the street. I took it as a sign to start singing. Falling up into the bowl of sky. The bowl breaks. Everywhere is falling everywhere. Nothing else to do, here is the new rule: break the wineglass and fall towards the glassblower’s breath.
— Rumi

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