incandescens | I could look and see if it's still raining

For some reason this was a very aggravating day at work. I think it was partly the weather's fault; grey, gloomy, wet, and generally depressing. Plus some really stupid queries. Plus the email system playing silly buggers most of the morning. Tried to apply some retail therapy by going shopping at lunch, but didn't find anything I particularly wanted/needed to buy.

Cheered myself up by going to the library after work and getting out some books on knitting stuff which I am not going to be able to remotely come near for years but which looks very pretty.

Tired. Surprisingly tired, and not sure why.

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Where Everything Is Music

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world's harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can't see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.

-- Jalaluddin Rumi (Translated by Coleman Barks)