There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense
(poems from Essential Rumi, translations by Coleman Barks)
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