|Whatever there is, is only He,|
your foot steps there in dancing:
The whirling, see, belongs to you,
and you belong to the whirling.
What can I do when Love appears
and puts its claws around my neck?
I grasp it, take it to my breast
and drag it into the whirling!
And when the bosom of the motes
is filled with the glow of the sun,
They enter all the dance, the dance
and do not complain in the whirling.
Schimmel A. Rumi's World.
The Life and Work of the Great Sufi Poet.
Boston, Massachusetts: Shambhala,2001