This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.


“If the eight Paradises were opened in my hut,
and the rule of both worlds were given in my hands,
I would not give for them that single sigh which rises
at morning-time from the depth of my soul
in remembering my longing for Him.” — Bâyezîd Bistâmî

This reed ripped from its bed and reduced
to mere vibration by virtue
of the hollowness that runs through it
still revels in a breath that brings forth
its specific pitch of suffering,
still sings of how sorrow is only to
forget the pain of separation.

Give us the longing
sound of a full sea
lit by a full moon’s reflected road;
the yearning of endless waves
which repeat the rhythm they know,
deep down, must return them;
and we will show you a celebration
of that which goes on forever,
seeing with both eyes at once.


Make the transition