Holy men dance and wheel on the spiritual battlefield.
They dance in their own blood.
When they are freed from the dominion of self, they clap a hand;
When they transcend their own imperfections, they make a dance.
From within them musicians strike the tambourine:
At their ecstasy the sea bursts into foam.
You see nothing, but for them leaves on branches are clapping hands.
You see not the clapping of the leaves:
One must have spiritual ears, not the ear of body,
Close the head’s ears to jesting and falsehood,
That you may see the resplendent city of the soul.
— Jalaluddin Rumi