I mention in my sidebar that Rumi is my favorite poet. I wrote a number of poems in tribute to his longing for the Beloved.
“It is so heavy Master”
smooth against my callouses, it lay. a bar of pure gold, heavy, the weight of two ripe melons, plucked from the vine and sold the same morning in the market.
as I pointed out to my lustful apprentice, when he gazed with slack jaw and rapturous eyes upon the bane of men, melons will keep you alive in the searing heat of dry summer.
so will gold he drooled.
you are not beaten, robbed, murdered for the lump of metal deemed worth more than an ass. A fine ass I might add is worth more than you can know.
do you have a fine ass?
Alas, I do not
my ass is slow and stubborn. He refuses to work between third and forth calls to prayer. No matter how I use the stick, my ass simply sits on his ass and sleeps.
then use the gold to buy another ass, one that will work between third and forth calls to prayer.
I would, if this bar of pure gold were mine
it is not mine
it belongs to God
not an ass
decides when men should work, and when they should pray. This object, this soft metal you crave so much, it is temptation, it is written we should resist the call of wealth, when that call drowns all other calls. Do not be an ass like my ass. Work and prayer, those are the twin pillars of faith.
can I touch it?
no! The gold!