Love is the Wine

Love is the wine. By the hand of the wine pourer, the glass is filled. This is the short way. Love could be offered to one by other hands. This is the short way.

---Shaikh Muzaffar Ozak.


Love would never leave us alone.
---Marley


One who is drunk does not see the hand in-between. Does one then not "lose" oneself? When something has slipped through one's fingers-but only when it has-then one might accept that this is what had to be, that that is what was part of one's destiny. World and soul are one. But this seems to me to be reserved for the faithful, as a matter of grace, of what's alloted to you. Or perhaps one can drink to forget and once again there is no disjunction.


But it seems to me that acceptance can also go hand in hand with regret. Even if one says, after the event, this should have indeed been what happened once can still say: what might have been. And in that "might" there is the shadow of "should have". There is no impiety in saying so.

Is that not the quintessence of our humanity?

What is this broken vessel but a dazzling patchwork of mutli-coloured glass, always half-full? And what drink is this that makes us inwardly drunk, outwardly sober, forever thirsty, but still thankful? I remember nothing, I remember everything.

Between the rose and the glass falls the shadow. Between the motion and the act. But the shadow is not a world; it is a floating bridge, a ladder...

Every beautiful form you have seen, every meaningful word you have heard-be not sorrowful all this must be lost; such is not really the case. The Divine Source is immortal and its outflowing gives water without cease; since neither the one nor the other can be stopped wherefore do you lament?...from the first moment when you entered this world of existence, a ladder has been set up before you...