By Daniel Oz

A gaunt moon-faced woman ran toward me on the street, pointing at words in an open book. Without a trace of breathlessness she said: I am sure you are unaware of this, but all of your yarns have already been spun by others. Here, for instance, is a tale Rumi told long before you did. I pretended to glance at the page and admitted she was correct. When she turned to leave, I shouted after her: But I told it long after he did!