Rumi said that all words are fingers pointing to the moon, and we think the words are the moon. But because of the light, the light of love, the energy and motion that have called us to prayer, bits of this deeper reality are perceivable, and little bits of it will have to do.
Precious memories, unseen angels,
sent from somewhere to my soul;
how they linger, ever near me,
and the sacred past unfold.
Precious memories, how they linger,
how they ever flood my soul,
in the stillness of the midnight,
precious, sacred scenes unfold.