If clings my Being--let the Sufi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
This is the fifty-fifth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The wine (made from grapes from the vines) has stuck me hard, has stuck deep and has touched the marrow. It has wrapped around my Self and moved me to a higher plane. Such is the ecstasy of it! I do not care if the world sees me as a Sufi gone berserk! Let it be! This base and primal and unremarkable state of my Being has now been filed into a Key (by the pleasures of the vine) that will unlock the secrets of the existence, without the howling and fervour utterances that has till now achieved nothing. There is nothing to be found by zealous arguments and passionate devotion. A glass of this would move to a state of mystical bliss where all worries, all questions do not matter.. everything is ephemeral, but it has to be lived.
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