this is for you, beloved. all of you. any of you. in sufism, the beloved is the divine, that which we long for union with, god -- which to me is everything: nothing is not god.
my friend todd once suggested that we do away with that word and come up with a new one every time we need to refer to that. each of these pieces could be seen as that: an attempt to speak the name of god.
in some ways this piece is a set of glimpses through my eyes, and what is created is a picture of me. in another way, this piece depicts a set of moments where the beloved let its veil slip, and what is created is a picture of the beloved. sometimes when you look at the keyhole, what you see is the keyhole, and sometimes you can see through it. at other times, the keyhole turns inside out, and you see something else entirely.
hafiz, translated by daniel ladinsky, says:
The mule I sit on while I recite
Starts off in one direction
But then gets drunk
And lost in heaven
this is beloved, the book of being.