On Breadmaking as a Metaphor for the Love of God

My good friend, Mark, drew my attention to this poem by Rumi. I had forgotten this wonderful piece. Leave it to a Persian to make you feel insecure, even one from the 8th Century:

from "Breadmaking" by Rumi: There was a feast. The king was heartily in his cups. He saw a learned scholar walking by. "Bring him in and give him some of this fine wine." Servants rushed out and brought the man to the king's table, but he was not receptive. "I had rather drink poison! I have never tasted wine and never will! Take it away from me!" He kept on with these loud refusals, disturbing the atmosphere of the feast. This is how it sometimes is at God's table. Someone who has heard about ecstatic love, but never tasted it, disrupts the banquet. If there were a secret passage from his ear to his throat, everything in him would change. Initiation would occur. As it is, he's all fire and no light, all husk and no kernel. The king gave orders, "Cupbearer, do what you must!" This is how your invisible guide acts, the chess champion across from you that always wins. He cuffed the scholar's head and said, "Taste!" And, "Again!" The cup was drained and the intellectual started singing and telling ridiculous jokes. He joined the garden, snapping his fingers and swaying. Soon, of course, he had to pee. He went out, and there, near the latrine, was a beautiful woman, one of the king's harem. His mouth hung open. He wanted her! Right then, he wanted her! And she was not unwilling. They fell to, on the ground. You've seen a baker rolling dough. He kneads it gently at first, then more roughly. He pounds it on the board. It softly groans under his palms. Now he spreads it out and rolls it flat. Then he bunches it, and rolls it all the way out again, thin. Now he adds water, and mixes it well. Now salt, and a little more salt. Now he shapes it delicately to its final shape and slides it into the oven, which is already hot. You remember breadmaking! This is how your desire tangles with a desired one. And it's not just a metaphor for a man and a woman making love. Warriors in battle do this too. A great mutual embrace is always happening between the eternal and what dies, between essence and accident. The sport has different rules in every case, but it's basically the same, and remember: the way you make love is the way God will be with you. So these two were lost in their sexual trance. They did not care anymore about feasting or wine. Their eyes were closed like perfectly matching calligraphy lines. The king went looking for the scholar, and when he saw them there coupled, commented, "Well, as it is said, 'A good king must serve his subjects from his own table!'" There is joy, a winelike freedom that dissolves the mind and restores the spirit, and there is manly fortitude like the king's, a reasonableness that accepts the bewildered lostness. But meditate now on steadfastness and clarity, and let those be the wings that lift and soar through the celestial spheres. --The Essential Rumi --pages 183-185