Love is not condescension, never

 that, nor books, nor any pencil trace on paper,

no; nor in how we talk

about each other. Love is a tree

with branches reaching out to always

with roots that come from everywhere,

 and no trunk. Have you seen it?

 No. You can’t. Your deep desire

 can’t find it. The longing you feel for

 love is who you are. No other.

 When you become the Lover, your

 longing will be like this:

a man in the ocean, holding a plank.

Soon, the plank, the man,

 the sea itself, all of it, are one:

 one being, one communion;

 the swaying sea, the teacher,

 the secret of God.

Rumi, transl. Tom Davis

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