“and you broke me like the cigarette that i busted on the day i quit…but now that i’ve been drinking, i’m outta smokes and i wish that i had it, woke up to my daily headache and the realization that you are gone, my sweet darling happiness, you’ve been away from me all along” (Taken with instagram)

tattoolit:

These are six lines from “Tattooing in Qazwin”, a poem by Rumi and (loosely) translated by Coleman Barks. The full poem is below, with the six lines bolded. The tattoo was designed by Joshua Davis (www.theartofjoshuadavis.com) and inked by the incomparable Scott Versago (www.scottversago.com). The thorns speak for themselves. The blue is for good luck. The whirling dervish is a tribute to Rumi and the Mevlevi Order, and Rumi’s name is at the bottom in Farsi.

In Qazwin, they have a custom of tattooing themselves
for good luck, with a blue ink, on the back
of the hand, the shoulder, wherever.
A certain man goes to his barber
and asks to be given a powerful, heroic, blue lion
on his shoulder blade. “And do it with flair!
I’ve got Leo ascending. I want plenty of blue!”
But as soon as the needle starts pricking,
he howls,
“What are you doing?”
“The lion.”
“Which limb did you start with?”
“I began with the tail.”
“Well, leave out the tail. That lion’s rump
is in a bad place for me. It cuts off my wind.”
The barber continues, and immediately
the man yells out,
“Ooooooooo! Which part now?”
“The ear.”
“Doc, let’s do a lion with no ears this time.”
The barber shakes his head, and once more the needle,
and once more the wailing,
“Where are you now?”
“The belly.”
“I like a lion without a belly.”
The master lion-maker
stands for a long time with his fingers in his teeth.
Finally he throws the needle down.
“No one has ever
been asked to do such a thing! To create a lion
without a tail or a head or a stomach.
God himself could not do it!”

Brother, stand the pain.
Escape the poison of your impulses.
The sky will bow to your beauty, if you do.
Learn to light the candle. Rise with the sun.
Turn away from the cave of your sleeping.
That way a thorn expands to a rose.
A particular glows with the universal.
What is it to praise?
Make yourself particles.
What is it to know something of God?
Burn inside that presence. Burn up.
Copper melts in the healing elixir.
So melt yourself in the mixture
that sustains existence.
You tighten your two hands together,
determined not to give up saying “I” and “we.”
This tightening blocks you.

killingcharlemagne:

Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest…

alecshao:

ee cummings - You Are Tired (I Think) - (fragment)

Taken with instagram

Life as i see it (Taken with instagram)