• In a world of separation, art connects

TODAY

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The Grapes of My Body Can Only Become Wine

The grapes of my body can only become wine

After the winemaker tramples me.

I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling

So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy.

Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing

I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty

The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: I am not working in ignorance

You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse,

But it is I who am the Master of this Work.

And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,

You will never be done praising my name.

(Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi )