" A lover’s food is the love of bread,
not the bread. No one who really loves,
loves existence. Lovers have nothing to do with existence.
They collect the interest without the capital. No wings, yet they fly all over the world. No hands, but they carry the polo ball from the field. That dervish got a sniff of reality.
Now he weaves baskets of pure vision. "

― Rumi , The Essential Rumi