Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have to Take Me Home

This is like what they used to do on radio when there were holidays - the DJs wouldn't be there, and they would eat up time playing canned "Greatest Hits" or "Top 100 Countdowns" until everyone came back from wherever they were. So, as I embark on a holiday adventure, enjoy some Rumi, who says things better than I do, anyway:

"What strange beings we are!
That sitting in hell at the bottom of the dark,
we're afraid of our own immortality."

"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkeness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place, I'll be completely sober.
Meanwhile, I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home."

"In Complete Control,
Pretending Control.
With dignified authority.
We are charlatans...
Or maybe just a goat's-hair brush in a painter's hand.
We have no idea what we are."

"Can you endure silence?
Are you a night fighter?
Or more a child bored with outgrown toys
trying to win at tip-the-cat?
If you have any patience left, we know what to do.
If you love sleep, we'll tear you away.
If you change into a mountain, we'll melt you.
If you become an ocean, we'll drain you.
This is how a human being can change:
There's a worm addicted to eating grape leaves.
Suddenly, he wakes up, call it grace, whatever,
something wakes him, and he's no longer a worm.
He's the entire vineyard, and the orchard too,
the fruit, the trunks,
a growing wisdom and joy that doesn't need to devour."