"There's a Flag Flying Half-Mast in the Castle of My Heart."

I've been reading these poems by Hafiz, a Sufi poet from 14th century Persia. I love his language and images--I think my favorite is when he compares human addiction and false comforts to being dragged along "behind a farting camel." The one I read this morning begins: "I have a thousand brilliant lies for the question: How are you?"

At that, I laid the book down, sighed, and said, "Preach it, brother. Testify."

Sometimes I get sick of that question, and I wish we could just wear signs on our foreheads. Under Construction. Do Not Enter. Dead End. Stop. Or that we all carried small flagpoles. There's a nerdy, peppy kid's song that you learn if you work at camp or Vacation Bible School: "There's a flag flying high in the castle of my heart, because the king is in residence there." If we all had flags, you could tell from the position of the flag on the pole how your friend/acquaintance/classmate/perfect stranger in the check-out line was doing. Crisp, bright, and waving smartly: okay to approach for greeting. Torn, tattered, and drooping: think twice before approaching.

Lately my flag has been at half-mast. But small things--sun shining through raspberries like red stained glass; clouds like dark eraser smudges on the sky; my kitty with her green eyes and eager purriness--are keeping it waving. Fresh peaches. Sleeping in late. Laughter. I guess I could make a list of My Favorite Things--cream colored ponies, crisp apple strudel and such--if I wanted to.

Right now Hafiz says it well:

"O keep squeezing drops of the Sun
from your prayers and work and music
and from your companions' beautiful laughter
and from the most insignificant movements
of your own holy body.
Now, sweet one, be wise.
Cast all your votes for Dancing!"