Act One: At a crowded Outdoor café in Soho. Rumi is sitting by himself until a couple enter and ask if they can join his table — he gestures them to sit. A waiter takes their order and then asks Rumi if he would like anything else.
Rumi: How about some more tea, and honey too (pointing at the empty honey saucer)?
The Waiter: Sure. (turns around and leaves).
Rumi (to the woman): You are a beautiful woman.
The woman (startled): Oh thank you.
The man: Nice day, isn’t it?
Rumi: Are you?
The woman: What?
Rumi: Are you beautiful?
The Woman: Excuse me?! (To her friend) Honey let’s go somewhere else. (They get up and leave in anger).
The man: Mind your own business old man. No manners, must be going senile. (Other people sitting around look astonished. Rumi looks at them and gestures with his hand).
Rumi: I just asked an honest question. (The waiter shows up with a tray full of coffee cups and cake).
The waiter: Where did they go?
Rumi: They left.
The waiter: Shit. (Puts the tea and honey on the table and walks away mumbling under his lips. A young woman, looking every bit an artist, enters and approaches Rumi’s table).
The woman: May I join you?
Rumi: I am afraid not.
The woman: Oh, I am sorry, I thought you are sitting alone.
Rumi: I am.
The woman (with a delayed reaction). You are?! Why then?
Rumi: Because I don’t want you to get angry.
The woman: Why would I get angry? I don’t understand.
Rumi: Well, another woman sitting here left in anger after I asked her a simple question – which I intend to ask you as well, and I am afraid you will do the same.
The woman (sits): Okay. Let’s have it. As you can see, I am rather curious – about your question.
Rumi (sipping his tea after pouring some honey): Honey to tea is like you and I. When we mix it makes sweet experience.
The woman: I don’t think so.
Rumi: Why not?
The woman: For one thing, you could be my father, or even grand father. Besides, I am engaged (shows the ring). So you asked an impertinent question from that woman, am I right?
Rumi: Impertinence is a personal judgment. No, it was not. I only asked her if she thought she was beautiful?
The woman: That’s all? I thought you asked her to go to bed with you?
Rumi: Oh, not before I knew her answer.
The woman (laughs): Oh, I see, so depending on my answer, you may ask me if I want to go to bed with you?
Rumi: It is perfectly possible. (The waiter reappears and she orders some coffee).
The woman: This is interesting. My answer is, yes I think I am beautiful. (She waits for Rumi’s reaction. He sips his tea and smiles).
The woman: Well.
Rumi: Well.
The woman: Well, what?
Rumi: I don’t know. You said well, and I only echoed you.
The woman: I mean, what do you think of my answer?
Rumi: That was your answer.
The woman: Yes.
Rumi: That it was your answer.
The woman: Come on Mister. But before you answer, what is your name? I am Michel (shakes hands with Rumi).
Rumi: Rumi.
Michel: Rumi? Nice name. Sounds familiar.
Rumi: Thank you. I like your name too.
Michel: What do you do, if I may ask?
Rumi: Nothing.
Michel: I see. You are retired in other words.
Rumi: You could say that.
Michel: So. Do you think I am beautiful.
Rumi: Certainly. That is why I wanted to know if you shared my perception.
Michel: Of course I would say that. What woman would say she is ugly?
Rumi: I don’t know.
Michel: neither do I? But, why did you really ask that question?
Rumi: I was curious.
Michel: So you see, I am not angry at you. Can I stay now? Do I have your permission (laughs)?
(The waiter brings her the coffee and then leaves).
Rumi: Your fiancé must be very happy to have such a beautiful woman in his life?
Michel: I hope so.
Rumi: You mean you don’t know?
Michel: Yeah, I do.
Rumi: But you are not one hundred percent certain.
Michel (after a sip): Honestly, and I don’t know why I am all of a sudden confiding in a stranger, I am not completely certain.
Rumi: Well, most things in life we cannot be absolutely certain. The ship of life roars through many currents.
Michel: So true. I mean, most of the times I am certain, but once in a while I go through my moments of doubt.
Rumi: Doubt about him or yourself?
Michel: Myself. Oh no, I have no doubt about myself.
Rumi: You don’t?
Michel: Of course not.
Rumi: But your thoughts about your man that is doubtful is a part of you, and my question is do you trust that part?
Michel: You mean my mind?
Rumi: Yes.
Michel: Do I trust my mind, my own mind? Is that what you are asking me? (Rumi nods. Michel thinks). Yes I do.
Rumi: That was a long pause.
Michel: That was a tough question.
Rumi: Was it?
Michel: Why did you ask that? Do I look like someone who is unsure of herself?
Rumi: I didn’t ask because of your look, only because of what you said.
Michel: Remind me. What did I say that caused you question my self-trust? Forget it. Please don’t answer. I have had a hectic day and just wanted to rest for a few minutes.
Rumi: As you wish. (After a long moment of silence).
Michel: Are you a wise man of sorts? Like a palm reader or something?
Rumi: I wish. I know nothing.
Michel: But you know enough to ask me if I trust my own intuition, that’s interesting.
Rumi: You want to talk about it?
Michel: About what?
Rumi: Your mind.
Michel: Do I want to talk about my mind? Well, let’s see. Okay, let’s talk about your mind first before we talk about my mind.
Rumi: But that is not what I want to talk about.
Michel: No?
Rumi: No. But that is only because I feel you want to talk about your mind.
Michel: Really. You think so, ha? Okay Mr. Rumi. What do you like to know?
Rumi: The question is what do you like to know?
Michel: Me?! About my mind?
Rumi: Right. About yourself.
Michel: Why do you say that?
Rumi: Because an ego branches from the mind. You must always go to the roots.
Michel: You sound like my philosophy professor.
Rumi: I am sorry, I had no such intention.
Michel: My mind, right now, is all about love and partnership and so on.
Rumi: I am very happy for you. But what about those moments of doubt you mentioned a minute ago?
Michel: Oh nothing important. We all go through moments of self-doubt, especially when we are about to make huge decisions in life, don’t we?
Rumi: I suppose so.
Michel (looks at her watch): I must get going soon. Too bad.
Rumi: Not if you don’t feel the urgency.
Michel: Urgency of what?
Rumi: This conversation.
Michel: Urgency of this conversation? Well.
Rumi: Do you? (stares at her). Looking at you, I have a distinct feeling that you do, but somehow can’t admit it, am I right?
Michel: You’re so wicked insightful. Okay, I admit it. I do.
Rumi: Then you must weigh what is more important: Continuing with this talk or leaving to your next station in life?
Michel: Are we all passengers?
Rumi: Well, I prefer the word visitor.
Michel: Rumi. Is that your first or last name?
Rumi: It’s first and last.
Michel: Does it mean anything.
Rumi: As far as I know nothing.
Michel: You asked me about my doubts, and I wanted to tell you that sometimes I am not sure if I am truly in love with this man, and that bothers me because almost every day I tell him that I do.
Rumi: I see.
Michel: But I am thousand percent sure that he loves me. You see what I am talking about?
Rumi: Yes. You are sure about his love but not so sure about your own.
Michel: Precisely. I definitely like him, and like so many things about him. He is absolutely charming and wonderful person who makes me laugh all the time. But I.
Rumi: What? You feel sometimes that you tell him you love him when you are not quite sure?
Michel: That’s right. Why do you think I do that?
Rumi: If I had to make a wild guess, it is because you haven’t dissected yourself enough, and not knowing who you are, as a result you’re incapable of loving someone else since this love must come from a firm ground – that is missing.
Michel: Well, I am not sure if I would go that far.
Rumi: Oh don’t worry. I am perfectly subjective about these things. Don’t mind my assessment, coming from a skeptical old man.
Michel: Mr. Rumi. I am starting to enjoy this conversation with you.
Rumi: But that was not why you decided to stay longer, was it?
Michel: No. Why did I?
Rumi: You found it important enough.
Michel (laughs): Right. How do I dissect myself, Mr. Zen master?
Rumi: Please don’t call me names. I have enough pseudo-names, can’t keep one more.
Michel: I am sorry, didn’t mean to insult you. But, in a way, you insulted me by suggesting that I don’t know myself enough.
Rumi: Enough to have a meaningful relationship with your partner, that is what I meant.
Knowing yourself is the precondition for relationship, and since you are apparently not there yet, I am wondering how you can succeed in your relationship?
Michel: You certainly are a judgmental person. You hardly know me and yet you have formed a firm opinion of me.
Rumi: I know nothing about you, and my opinions are based on what you told me, or rather inferred from them.
Michel: You see, I was right. You are a philosopher. Inferred. Isn’t that a philosophical lingo?
Rumi: I would think it is an ordinary verb used by philosophers and others. At any rate, what I said about you is self-evident, that a beautiful woman like you who is engaged and about to get married is having doubts, perhaps serious doubts, and my conclusion, entirely provisional, is that it stems from lack of deep self-knowledge, that if you did know yourself better, then your doubts may go away.
Michel: Mr. Rumi. I am not going to argue with your insight, and since I want to get something tangible out of this conversation, like to admit to you that you’re probably right, but can I help it?
Rumi: Of course. First you have to cut yourself, your inside, mind and soul I mean, into a few hundred pieces and examine them separately first and then in combination.
Michel: Okay, let’s say I did that, where is a good place to start.
Rumi: Your problems. Pick one.
Michel (after thinking): Okay. Impulse. My fiancé thinks I am a bit impulsive and hyper.
Rumi: Do you agree?
Michel: Yes. I do, especially hyper.
Rumi: And what causes you to be hyper, if I may ask?
Michel: My therapist, I have one you know, and been seeing her for three years now, thinks it is because I grew up in a competitive environment with annoying step-mother and step-sisters.
Rumi: Are you sure about that?
Michel: No, that is her theory. I didn’t say I agree.
Rumi: I didn’t think so either.
Michel: No? How come?
Rumi: Because that is delegating a present problem to a distant past, when it may well come from more recent moments that may even linger to today. Are you sexually satisfied?
Michel: Well, I don’t think that is a subject I like to share with a stranger.
Rumi: Better share that with a stranger than someone you know.
Michel: Why?
Rumi: Because I would not use that against you to make you feel weak and vulnerable, whereas telling me is like telling the wind, except that I am a slow wind that doesn’t whiz past, too old for that kind of speed.
Michel: Fine. If you really want to know, not really. I mean, I am half-satisfied, at best.
Rumi: And are you satisfied spiritually?
Michel: Look, you’re talking to an artist. I am a painter. I live for spirituality. I do yoga every day.
Rumi: Fabulous. So you are spiritually satisfied but not sexually?
Michel: Yes, you could say that. Don’t take me wrong, we have great sex.
Rumi: Great sex? How can it be great and not very satisfying?
Michel: You’re right. It is not that great, not all the time. I feel sometimes he wants it more than I want to, that I should go along even if I didn’t feel like it.
Rumi: Why do you go along?
Michel: I don’t know. May be it’s a woman thing, you know, satisfying your partner, and sacrificing a little.
Rumi: There is no sacrifice if there is love.
Michel: I am surprised you say that? Every one says love and sacrifice go together.
Rumi: A lover who sacrifices gives nothing that he does not relinquish with pleasure, therefore it is not a sacrifice.
Michel: Whatever. So you don’t think I am making a sacrifice when I consent to have sex even when I don’t feel like it?
Rumi: No, I think you do, but that is only because you are not truly in love.
Michel: I am not?
Rumi: No, simply because you don’t know who you are to be capable of loving another.
Michel: Knowledge is relative, and I am old enough and know enough to know that I love this guy, despite everything.
Rumi: Despite the doubts, and your dislike of sex when it is not what you like to be doing, right?
Michel: The way I look at it, it is alright to have a little doubt about everything, don’t you?
Rumi: I do.
Michel: That is the first time you agree with me. Great. So what is the big deal?
Rumi: The big deal is that you minimize the importance of what is troubling you within, preferring to put on a cheery face and pretend all is well.
Michel: I never said that.
Rumi: But you implied it.
Michel: May be I did.
Rumi: That is why I think you have yet to dissect yourself.
Michel: Isn’t that what they do to people in morgues, when they are dead.
Rumi: Not always, only when there is suspicion of a foul play, or an unknown disease.
Michel: And what would be my disease (laughs)?
Rumi: If you ask me in earnest, I would say the disease of denial. You live in denial, the perpetual denial that something is wrong, that it needs to be addressed instead of ignored all the time, that is why you go to a therapist, and that is why you open up to a stranger to me, because you are starting to sense that the old denial doesn’t work, that it is taking away your integrity and chips at your soul, that you must fill the voids where they are deepest, and the little efforts you have made so far simply amount to scratching the surface. That requires a new mirror, here, take this (pulls a small mirror and gives it to Michel).
Michel (looks at it): Oh, thank you. It’s nice.
Rumi: Please look at yourself with this a few times every day. You have no idea how many people in life I have met who don’t bother even once a week or a month, let alone every day. It’s absolutely preposterous.
Michel: May be people don’t like to find out what they discover when they look at themselves in the mirror. But not me. I do it all the time.
Rumi: I am happy to hear that. That is why you didn’t hesitate to call yourself beautiful.
Michel: Well, now that we are back to that subject (as she looks in the mirror), sometimes I have even doubt about that.
Rumi: I know.
Michel: Now. How would you know that?
Rumi: Simply because looks is an aspect of self—identity, and if you have doubts about your mind, how could you trust what it sees in the mirror? Besides, who defines beauty? To me a woman’s beauty lies in her self-trust and confidence. It is the internal unity that beautifies.
Michel: I agree, and inside I feel less beautiful, less clean, than outside.
Rumi: Then I suggest you start using this mirror to look inside yourself first, then outside. See if you can do it. Go on.
Michel (stares in the mirror): There is too much glare. I can hardly see myself.
Rumi: The glare only hides what you don’t want to see. Think a problem with you and see if you can see it through the mirror. Think of that doubt you told me about?
Michel: What about it?
Rumi: Where does it come from?
Michel: My mind. It comes from my mind.
Rumi: Then get into your mind and find out why?
Michel: It’s so difficult. Oh it’s useless (puts down the mirror).
Rumi: On the contrary, it is so easy, and we usually take easy things for useless. Utility has nothing to do with it, I dare think.
Michel: Why do you think I have doubts – about myself?
Rumi: We all have doubts, but yours is of a different nature from mine. My feeling is that you haven’t spent a great deal of time thinking about yourself, who you are, and your inner core, and instead you have been busy living your life.
Michel: May be. What else?
Rumi: What you need now is to stop doing that, and concentrate on yourself instead of your partner, think first about being happy with yourself, and then with your partner, and if you are not happy with yourself, don’t drag someone else into that uncertainty. My advice is take a critical distance, in order to have the space to develop your knowledge of yourself first before you plunge into this partnership with some one else who would be injured by this premature unity. Self-unity comes first or there will be no real unity with the other, but in order to get to that unity the journey that you must travel inside your own soul may occupy more time than you’re willing to devote to it, and certainly a lot more energy.
Michel: Well, if every one followed your advice, it would be a society of mass individuals with very few actually getting married or living together.
Rumi: I agree. A lot more people would be single than married, but then the marriages would be more long-lasting perhaps because people who would enter them would do so on solid grounds, based on firm self-knowledge and self-confidence, whereas I detect no such confidence in you my darling.
Michel: I would prefer if you didn’t call me your darling.
Rumi: I apologize.
Michel: That is okay. One must know his limits.
Rumi: That actually has always been my problem. I have always been scolded for recognizing no limits, to be crossing them when I shouldn’t.
Michel: That’s interesting. I was wondering when we ‘re going to make this into a real conversation with you sharing a bit about yourself.
Rumi: That is my most serious problem. I have never seen a limit that I respected, not even the divine. I have ventured on his almighty’s territory as well, which is why I am banished here, what is this place called?
Michel: Here? You mean Soho?
Rumi: Right. Soho. I thought at first that it means Somehere for “S,” On this planet for “o,” humanity for “h,” Originates..
Michel: For “o.” (laughs). You are funny Mister. Who banished you here? God?
Rumi: No. He had some awful places in mind, but I managed to convince him otherwise.
Michel: So, God has banished you to Soho. Why?
Rumi: To learn about humanity.
Michel: I see. And how long ago did this happen?
Rumi: Do you have a watch? What time is it?
Michel: It’s approximately 3:35.
Rumi: Then that makes it two and a half hour.
Michel: I see. And where were you before that, if you don’t mind me ask?
Rumi: I am afraid I can’t disclose without the possibility of losing your company. So why don’t we just continue on what you were saying about…
Michel: Nonsense. I just want to know what you’ve learnt about humanity.
Rumi: Nothing so far. Just a few tips about New Yorkers.
Michel: Such as?
Rumi: They need more than what they are given, and yet are given more than they can consume, but that is only on the spiritual level.
Michel: Are you saying we have a crisis of spirituality?
Rumi: No, never. That sort of outlandish statements is not appealing to me. I am more interested in the microcosm, and looking at these people sitting around here, I can see the hunger for food but none for spirituality.
Michel: Well, they are here to eat and drink.
Rumi: And they are doing this without experiencing it spiritually.
Michel: If I were to ask you how you can do that, can you teach me?
Rumi: By all means. Just watch (picks up the cup and while staring at Michel, drinks and then puts it down). There, you got it?
Michel: Not really. Do it again, please.
Rumi (repeats his action): Don’t tell me my child you missed it again.
Michel: I am so dumb. I did. Tell me. What did I miss in that?
Rumi: If you insist. I did not drink the tea, rather I drank it with you, by making sure that at no time am I drawn to the exclusivity of my act of drinking my tea, that the whole time I was in connection with you, that even while sipping it I made sure that the pleasure comes partly from the recognition of it as a joint venture, in participation by your passive observation.
Michel: Got it. You did not lose sight of me.
Rumi: Not only that, I also observed that you were lost in your curiosity, that you failed to notice my stare at you, and my ability to see through your failure a more general, and I would even say profound, failure, that being the failure to observe yourself in my act, how you influenced my drinking.
Michel: Really? How did I?
Rumi: You were hoping to see a physical, tangible evidence or sign of spirituality, as if spirituality is a holy sign that shows up on my forehead or above the head, like flying little angels, and when I saw that about you decided to shift the emphasis on the unseen more than the usual.
Michel: The unseen?
Rumi: The unseen is that which would be seen if we did not use screens for spritituality. But since we are all the time, it had to be seen differently, through my act of completion.
Michel: Completion? Of what?
Rumi: Of the tea, of course. Didn’t you notice that I had a very small sip and did not finish the tea?
Michel: Yeah, sort of. Why did you?
Rumi: Because the sip was complete as a moment of satisfaction, particularly since I had to treat it as a lesson in spirituality.
Michel: I am still not getting it. Well, I must get going now.
Rumi: You have now learnt a lesson on self-knowledge, wouldn’t you agree?
Michel: I do, sort of. I am not sure.
Rumi: That is a good beginning for my day’s journey. I bet he is jealous now.
Michel: Who? God.
Rumi: Yes, and all his archangels, who debate with me all the time.
Michel: Funny. What do they debate about with you?
Rumi: Humanity, what else?
Michel: Do you ever lose that debate? I am asking because you seem to have a good handle on this sort of subject.
Rumi: I only excel in what is considered a big failure, the failure of soul.
Michel: Failure of soul. And you excel in that?
Rumi: Unforunately yes.
Michel: Failure in what?
Rumi: It is failure to fail where it must.
Michel: Okay. I won’t argue with you. Whatever you say Mister Rumi. Thank you for your time.
Rumi: And thank you for yours.
Lights out.
Act Two: Rumi at the same café, reading a book. A man enters and after a long stare approaches him. His name is Sam.
Sam: Mr. Rumi? Are you Mister Rumi?
Rumi: Yes.
Sam: I am a friend of Michel, who spoke with you a couple of hours ago. She called me and told me all about your conversation with her. I rushed here to see you. May I sit?
Rumi: Please. I was getting to ready to leave. But I suppose I could have one more tea. There is always time for more tea.
Sam: My name is Sam. I am actually Michel’s fiancé, we are getting married in two months. I have never seen her so impressed by any one.
Rumi: She is a nice woman. You must take care that her spirit is well-preserved by your union.
Sam. Definitely. But, actually, that is one reason we both thought that I should talk to you. You see I have a problem.
Rumi: Tell me.
Sam: I love her, may be too much, and am so jealous that I can’t stand her being near any other man, and worse, sometimes even allow myself into thinking that she is attracted to other men.
Rumi: You have fear that she might betray you.
Sam: Exactly.
Rumi: You are right.
Sam: Really? She told you that?
Rumi: Yes. Very clearly.
Sam (angry): Bitch. How could she? We are supposed to get married?
Rumi (laughs): There. You say you love her and yet you put your faith more in the words of a total stranger than a woman whom you love. Who is betraying who here may dear friend?
Sam: You were joking, right? I am such a fool.
Rumi: I never said I was joking, I only questioned the speed with which you revised your image of her. Love demands faithful trust or it is on shaky foundations.
Sam: Quite right. You see, I don’t really blame her, it is my own stupidities, obsessions and jealousies that have always been with me, as a result of which she has taken some emotional distance from me.
Rumi: A wise man is he who cures what he finds objectionable about him, instead of perpetuating it.
Sam: But how can I? I sometimes feel it is ingrained in me, that I am a puppet of my life habits.
Rumi: You can cure it with the power of love, just poke your fingers in its jar and apply the potion all over your heart and your chest. You see all jealousies originate there and then go up to the brain, not the other way around. So if you clear your chest, and can breath nicely when you feel such anxieties, then you are half way to freedom from such unwanted illnesses.
Sam: Well, I am not sure if I would call it illness.
Rumi: But you must if you want to be married to her on a sound footing, without carrying it a family life founded on a lie, the lie that everything is either fine or not terribly wrong. It is your underestimation of the problem that is your biggest problem.
Sam: But where does this insecurity come from? Why can’t I trust her one hundred percent?
Rumi: That is simple. Because you don’t trust yourself one hundred percent.
Sam: I don’t know. I think it is more her behavior, her keenness on independence and space, and freedom which she demands from me to interact with other men.
Rumi: I see. And your fear is that she may abuse that freedom to go to bed with them.
Sam: Exactly. Shouldn’t I?
Rumi: She may, as long as you have that fear, but once you have given her the freedom to do so, then you will realize that she can be trusted one hundred percent. It is the license to do wrong that keeps people from doing wrong, not the other way around.
Sam: Interesting. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
Rumi: And now start practicing it that way.
Sam: And what if by chance she wanted to practice that right?
Rumi: Then she will do what she desires without hinderance from you, and you will have the freedom to move on.
Sam: I see. That is a good way of looking at it.
Rumi: You welcome. But I wish I could help you.
Sam (as he is getting ready to leave): You did, of course. Why do you say that?
Rumi: Because you have taken intellectually what was meant for you emotionally, and that never works.
Sam: What is the distinction?
Rumi: You are obviously an intelligent man, an educated man, and in my experience, those are the type that are least educated on the personal level, with so much of their energy focused on building careers and becoming successful thinking men, so little has been given to learning the tools of personal development, of emotional cultivation.
Sam; So true. Michel is so good at that, but that is because men are always behind women when it comes to emotional stuff.
Rumi: Not always, but in your case you are buried under pent up emotions that predate Michel, am I right?
Sam: Well, I guess you are right. How do you know?
Rumi: You told me in so many words. Or may be Michel told me when she said you were completely in love with her. Don’t you see that she loves you differently, with less intensity?
Sam: Yes. I sometimes do. Doesn’t she love me?
Rumi: Do you love her?
Sam: Absolutely. She is the love of my life.
Rumi: I would not say that so loudly, since your life as is is not something to brag about.
You know why? Because it sustains itself by loving Michel, when that love should be sustained by your love of life.
Sam: I love my life, what are you talking about?
Rumi: You came here a minute ago in a big hurry, why? Was it because you lack something very significant and hoped that I would help you correct it? Be honest Mister.
Sam: True. I did. But I see no contradiction to what I said about loving my life.
Rumi: You love a life that is based on a lie, the lie that you know who you are, what you want, and where she fits in that scheme of things. Once you have confronted that lie, then you begin to love life, since what you live so far is just a pseudo-life, not worth bringing someone into it to share. Indeed, if you really loved her, you would keep her away from this sickly state of affairs you call your life.
Sam: I strongly object Mister Rumi. And let me tell you something: I know who you are and am familiar with your writings, poetry, aphorisms, and all that. You call my life sickly, because in your esoteric view, all existence is ultimately sickly and without firm foundation, am I right?
Rumi: I must be going now Sam. You have misinterpreted me. I said sickly in a restricted way that points at your fundamental flaw to see that your expressed love for Michel is not genuine, but only an expression of your weaknesses and your secret attempt to hide it forever under the veneer of loving her.
Sam: Hide. I hide nothing by confessing my love to my partner.
Rumi: You do. You hide the inner confession that you are incapable of loving since you don’t know if you love her because of her or because of your inability to love yourself.
Sam: I love her dearly because who she is, her lovely character, her honesty, loyalty, and dedication to me.
Rumi: And you are the same man who a minute ago complained that she is not always trustworthy.
Sam: Right, not because she is not, but because I perceive her as being that.
Rumi: Then you must repair the lenses through which you look at her, clear the fog and shine your shoes before you waltz with her, spiritually speaking.
Sam: Shine my soul’s shoes.
Rumi: Precisely.
Sam: I am not a good dancer.
Rumi: Then you can learn from me. (Stands and dances. Sam and then the other partons and workers at the café and some passersby join him dancing).
A voice in the crowd: What do you think of New York?
Rumi: A giant kindergarten.
End
