More Rumi. Yes. I have been taking him everywhere with me. Carrying him around in my purse. Knowing where the book is when I'm at home (it could easily get lost in the stacks) so I can grab it at a moment's notice. It's silly. In my snug and warm thoroughly modern life, sitting in front of my computer with my TheraFlu, I feel like a character in one of those ice and winter bound books about the proletariat. You know, the Dr. Zhivago-esque character with the little round spectacles and the fingerless gloves, sipping tea in the bitter cold, so cold you can see his breath in the shabby tea room, clutching his poetry book because inside of its cloth and cardboard cover is bound up all of the beauty. (This is what spending years toiling away in a bureaucratic machine will do to you.) You know, the oddly tragic character who'd rather have books than eat? (Although I'd draw the line there, if I had a choice in the matter anyway.)

If you stay awake
for an entire night
watch out for a treasure
trying to arrive

you can keep warm
by the secret sun of the night
keeping your eyes open
for the softness of dawn

try it for tonight
challenge your sleepy eyes
do not lay your head down
wait for heavenly alms

night is the bringer of gifts
Moses went on a ten year journey
during a single night
invited by a tree
to watch the fire and light

Mohammed too made his passage
during that holy night
when he heard the glorious voice
when he ascended to the sky

day is to make a living
night is only for love
commoners sleep fast
lovers whisper to God all night

all night long
a voice calls upon you
to wake up
in the precious hours

if you miss
your chance now
your soul will lament
when your body is left behind

--Rumi