Someone comes in from outside saying,
Do not play music just for yourselves.
Now we are tearing up the house like a drum,
collapsing walls with our pounding.
We hear a voice from the sky
calling the lovers and the odd, lost people.
We scatter lives.  We break what holds us,
each one a blacksmith heating iron
and walking to the anvil.  We blow on the inner fire.
With each striking we change.

-- Rumi
(in Rumi: The Big Red Book, 
translated by Coleman Barks)