'Who is she that looketh forth as the morning,

fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army with banners?' Well, let me assure you: it's not me. My head is muddy as the Okefenokee, vague as a valley wrapped in fog, and imposing as a one-man marching band.

To wit: I found that Schimmel book today, anyway. It was cunningly disguised as a book, on the bookshelf, between a teenytiny Zizek volume and a very crappy Romanian textbook. I looked three times yesterday at that bookshelf and didn't see it. This is made all the odder by the fact that the Zizek book is so little that I could see both the spine and a good part of the front cover of the one I was looking for/at. And I'm not at all surprised anymore that that should occur on the same day that I happen to write stuff about seeing-but-not-seeing.


Anyway, here are the two lines with which Mevlana encapsulated his whole life:

'And the result is not more than these three words:
I burnt, and burnt, and burnt.'