A professor of theology in Turkey, Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273) met a wandering dervish, Shamsuddin of Tabriz. Jalaluddin died then to all but the Eternal. He was often seen whirling in extactic dance, spontaneously pouring fourth poems such as these few words below.

we came whirling
out of nothingness
scattering stars
like dust

the stars made a circle
and in the middle
we dance

the wheel of heaven.
circles God.
like a mill

if you grab a spoke
it will tear your hand off

turning and turning
it sunders
all attachment

were that wheel not in love
it would cry
“enough! how long is this turning”

every atom
turns bewildered

beggars circle tables
dogs circle carrion
the lover circles
his own, heart

ashamed,
I circle shame
a ruined water wheel
whichever way I turn,
is the river

if that rusty old sky
creaks to a stop
still, still I turn

and it is only God
circling Himself.

– - – -

the moon offers light without a hand

the sun is proof of the sun

writing about love
my pen splinters

expounding love
the ass of intellect
lays down in the mire

when He comes
not one hair of me remains

the shadow loves the sun
but when the sun comes
it vanishes

there is no dervish
in all the world
and if there is a dervish
he doesn’t exits.

from Sentient