Outside the saying

...
Where did I come from and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
...
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
...
This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
...


-so, I had forgotten about Rumi, but then this exquisite post woke me up again.

Oxymoron

While knitting this exquisite little airy one
I was contemplating
the ephemeral and the fleeting
and yet
I was also thinking of
infinity and the unending
and how is it really possible that
soft steel loops connect into
a transparant veil,
a beautiful breathing thing
as heavy as a sigh?