The Dervish In Ecstasy

A crisp Autumn night, hot apple cider with cinnamon and cloves, Mendelssohn's piano trio no. 1 in D minor, op. 49, on the stereo, a volume of Emerson in his lap, his faithful dog curled up at his side.

The madness of governments shall not penetrate this sweetness.

The dervish knows, however, that such tranquility cannot last. He lives, even as ibn al-waqt, on borrowed time.

The Empire does not sleep, its criminality rampant.

The genius of Concord has been appropriated according to the needs of the moment but otherwise cast aside.

Piano, violin, and cello are little more than a luxury this evening.

The dervish sighs: How long have I rested? A day or part of a day? Tomorrow comes soon enough. Let us enjoy these stolen moments while we can...