drunk on poetry

Spent much of the weekend at the luscious Dodge Poetry Festival and am finding it hard coming back down to earth.  How, after a weekend immersed in all that open hearted conversation ...of being whumped again and again in the gut ... of getting the wind knocked out of you (in a good way) by sweet invitations and soulful energy, how do you go back to work and details and gravity?

Photos and more thoughts may come later, but for now, sink into this delicious Rumi poem (and then, if you can surface without feeling just a little bummed that you have to come back, you're a stronger soul than i ...).

Love Dogs

One night a man was crying "Allah, Allah!" 

His lips grew sweet with the praising,

until a cynic said:

"So ... I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?"

The man had no answer for that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls in a thick, green foliage.

"Why did you stop praising?"

“Because I've never heard anything back."

"This longing you express is the return message."

The grief you cry out from

draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness that wants help

is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.

That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs no one knows the names of.

Give your life to be one of them.