I have five things to say to the Beloved.

First, when I was apart from you this world did not exist.

Second, whatever I was wanting was always you.

Third, why did I learn to count to three?

Fourth, my cornfield is burning.

Five–five stands for wisdom and confusion.

Is weeping speech?

What shall I do with all this love?

So she speaks, and everyone around her cries with her,

laughing crazily, moaning at the spreading union

of lover and Beloved.

This is true religion!

All others are torn away bandages beside it.

This is slavery and mastery,

dancing together.

I know these dancers. Day and night

I sing their songs in this phenomenal cage.

My soul, don’t try to answer yet.

Find a friend and hide.

But what can be hidden? Love is always

lifting its head out from under the covers:

“Here I am!"

Rumi