the magic of winning

Go away, logic, there's no thinker here,

Nor room for even your finest split hair.

When the day comes, whatever lamp gives light

Is shamed by the face of the sun's bright glare.

#199: From Rumi's Kolliyaat-e Shams-e Tabrizi

I'm weary of talk of lovers so I searched around for something else among Rumi's first lines at Zara Houshmand's index. At least here the word love has been avoided.

I can see that the negative feelings are rolling in, as I procrastinate in writing the first word of my NaNoWriMo novel. Apart from all the usual self-slandering thoughts - I'm a Loser, I'm a Lazy Slob, I'm Sad, Angry, Frustrated, Disappointed - I've come to the following conclusion: I don't like the story that I'm in. I'm not entirely sure what story that is, so I'm not sure what I don't like and how I would like it changed. Perhaps this novel writing exercise will help me to clarify that somewhat.

When Rumi writes of "the sun's bright glare", he is talking of an Ultimate Truth and an Ultimate Purpose, some central consuming passion that fuels both life and creativity. In my heart that passion feels dead and gone as if the sun has gone out. And yet the sun is shining brightly outside my room, sending its light and warmth in through the window. It is my heart's sun that is darkened.

Yesterday, with many others, I watched the horse race that is so popular here, the Melbourne Cup. A beautiful mare called Makybe Diva won the race for the third time running, an historic feat. It was magic, sheer magic.

Glen Boss on Makybe Diva on her way to win her third Melbourne Cup.
Photo: Sebastian Costanzo @ smh

Just for now, a brave horse carries the light of the sun on her strong shoulders. It makes no real sense, there is no logic to it. But that's how it is.