100. Mystical Poetry, translated from the writings of RUMI

Excerpts

from

"The Essential Rumi",

translated
by
Coleman Barks,

with

John Moyne,
A. J. Arberry,
and
Reynold Nicholson,

Castle Books,
1995

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A taste

of the
Mystical Poetry
of
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī

("Born" September 30, 1207 --
"Died" December 17, 1273)

A 13th-century Persian Muslim
poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic,
known
to the English-speaking world
as Rumi.

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On Jesus
-----------
 
There's
a strong connection
between
Jesus and Rumi.
 
I'm told
a Christian church
in Shiraz (Iran)
has a quatrain from Rumi
carved in stone
over its door:
 
     "Where Jesus lives, the great-hearted gather.
     We are a door that's never locked.
 
     If you are suffering any kind of pain,
     stay near this door.  Open it."
 
A sweet
inclusiveness
and
healing mercy
are felt
around both.
 
The friendship
of Rumi and Shams
has no parallel
in
the great aloneness
of Jesus' life,
but
the relationship
with children
and
with society's outcasts
is very similar.
 
Rumi showed
deep consideration
for
the least-recognized members
of his thirteenth-century
Muslim small town.
 
(Written by
Coleman Barks)
 
[from page 201]
 
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"What Jesus
Runs
Away From"
 
The son of Mary,
Jesus,
hurries up a slope
as though
a wild animal
were chasing him.
 
Someone
following him
asks,
 
     "Where
     are you going?
 
     No one
     is after you."
 
Jesus keeps on,
saying nothing,
across
two more fields.
 
     "Are you
     the one
     who says words
     over
     a dead person,
     so that
     he wakes up?"
 
          "I am."
 
     "Did you
     not make
     the clay birds
     fly?"
 
          "Yes."
 
     "Who then
     could possibly
     cause you
     to run like this?"
 
Jesus
slows his pace.
 
          "I say
          the Great Name
          over
          the deaf
          and the blind --
          they are healed;
 
          over
          a stony mountainside --
          and
          it tears its mantle
          down to the navel;
 
          over
          non-existence --
          it comes
          into existence.
 
          But
          when I speak
          lovingly
          for hours,
          for days,
          with
          those who take
          human warmth
          and
          mock it,
          when
          I say the Name
          to them,
          nothing happens.
 
          They
          remain rock,
          or turn to sand,
          where
          no plants can grow.
 
          Other diseases
          are ways
          for mercy to enter,
          but
          this non-responding
          breeds
          violence and coldness
          toward God.
 
          I am fleeing
          from that.
 
          As
          little by little
          air steals water,
          so praise
          dries up and evaporates
          with
          foolish people
          who
          refuse to change.
 
          Like
          cold stone you sit on
          a cynic
          steals body heat.
 
          He doesn't feel
          the sun."
 
Jesus
wasn't running
from
actual people.
 
He was teaching
in a new way.
 
[from page 204]
 
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On Separation
-------------------
 
"Sometimes
I Forget Completely"
 
Sometimes
I forget completely
what
companionship is.
 
Unconscious
and insane,
I spill sad energy
everywhere.
 
My story
gets told
in various ways:
a romance,
a dirty joke,
a war,
a vacancy.
 
Divide up
my forgetfulness
to any number,
it
will go around.
 
These
dark suggestions
that I follow --
are they
part
of some plan?
 
Friends,
be careful.
 
Don't come near
me
out of curiosity,
or
sympathy.
 
+
 
"A Man
and
a Woman
Arguing"
 
One night
in the desert
a poor Bedouin
woman
has this
to say
to
her husband:
 
     "Everyone
     is happy
     and prosperous,
     except us!
 
     We
     have no bread.
 
     We
     have no spices.
 
     We
     have no water jug.
 
     We
     barely have any clothes.
 
     No blankets
     for the night.
 
     We
     fantasize
     that
     the full moon
     is a cake.
 
     We
     reach for it!
 
     We're
     an embarrassment
     even
     to the beggars.
 
     Everyone
     avoids us.
 
     Arab men
     are
     supposed to be
     generous warriors,
     but
     look at you,
     stumbling around!
 
     If some guest
     were
     to come to us,
     we'd
     steal his rags
     when
     he fell asleep.
 
     Who
     is
     your guide
     that
     leads you
     to this?
 
     We
     can't even get
     a
     handful of lentils!
 
     Ten years' worth
     of nothing --
     that's
     what we are!"
 
She
went on
and on.
 
     "If God
     is abundant,
     we
     must be following
     an imposter.
 
     Who's
     leading us?
 
     Some fake,
     that
     always says,
     'Tomorrow,
     illumination
     will bring you
     treasure,
     tomorrow.'
 
     As everyone
     knows,
     that
     never comes.
 
     Though
     I guess,
     it happens
     very rarely,
     sometimes,
     that
     a disciple
     following
     an imposter
     can
     somehow
     surpass
     the pretender.
 
     But
     I still
     want to know
     what
     this deprivation
     says
     about us."
 
The husband
replied, finally,
 
          "How long
          will you
          complain
          about money
          and
          our prospects
          for money?
 
          The torrent
          of
          our life
          has
          mostly gone by.
 
          Don't worry
          about
          transient things.
 
          Think
          how
          the animals
          live.
 
          The dove
          on the branch
          giving thanks.
 
          The glorious
          singing
          of
          the nightingale.
 
          The
          gnat --
 
          the
          elephant --
 
          every
          living thing
          trusts in God
          for
          its nourishment.
 
          These pains
          that you feel
          are
          messengers.
 
          Listen to them.
 
          Turn them
          to sweetness.
 
          The night
          is almost over.
 
          You
          were young
          once,
          and content.
 
          Now
          you think about
          money
          all the time.
 
          You
          used to
          be
          that money.
 
          You
          were
          a healthy vine.
 
          Now
          you're
          a rotten fruit.
 
          You ought to be
          growing
          sweeter and sweeter,
          but
          you've gone bad.
 
          As my wife,
          you should
          be equal
          to me.
 
          Like
          a pair of boots --
          if one
          is too tight,
          the pair
          is of no use.
 
          Like
          two folding doors --
          we
          can't be mismatched.
 
          A lion
          does not mate
          with
          a wolf."
 
So
this man
who was
happily poor
scolded his wife
until daybreak,
when
she responded,
 
     "Don't talk
     to me
     about
     your high station!
 
     Look
     how you act!
 
     Spiritual arrogance
     is the ugliest
     of all things.
 
     It's like
     a day
     that's cold and snowy,
     and
     your clothes
     are wet too!
 
     It's
     too much to bear!
 
     And
     don't call me
     your mate,
     you fraud!
 
     You scramble after
     scraps of bone
     with the dogs.
 
     You're
     not as satisfied
     as you pretend!
 
     You're
     the snake
     and
     the snake charmer
     at
     the same time,
     but
     you don't know it.
 
     You're
     charming a snake
     for money,
     and
     the snake
     is charming you.
 
     You talk about
     God
     a lot,
     and
     you make me
     feel guilty
     by
     using that word.
 
     You
     better watch out!
 
     That word
     will poison you,
     if you use it
     to
     have power
     over me."
 
So
the rough volume
of her talking
fell
on the husband,
and
he fought back,
 
          "Woman,
          this poverty
          is
          my deepest joy.
 
          This
          bare way of life
          is
          honest and beautiful.
 
          We
          can hide nothing
          when we're like this.
 
          You say
          I'm really
          arrogant and greedy,
          and
          you say
          I'm a snake charmer
          and a snake,
          but
          those nicknames
          are for you.
 
          In your anger
          and your wantings
          you see
          those qualities
          in me.
 
          I want nothing
          from
          this world.
 
          You're
          like a child
          that
          has turned
          round and round,
          and
          now you think
          the house is turning.
 
          It's your eyes
          that see wrong.
 
          Be patient,
          and you'll see
          the blessings
          and
          the lord's light
          in
          how we live."
 
This argument
continued
throughout the day,
and
even longer.
 
*
 
A night
full of talking
that hurts --
my worst
held-back secrets.
 
Everything
has to do
with loving
and not loving.
 
This night
will pass.
 
Then
we have work
to do.
 
 
[from pages 47 - 50]
 
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Getting to the Treasure
Beneath the Foundation
--------------------------------
 
"The Dream
That
Must Be
Interpreted"
 
This place
is
a dream.
 
Only
a sleeper
considers it
real.
 
Then
death comes
like dawn,
and
you wake up
laughing
at
what
you thought was
your grief.
 
But
there's
a difference
with
this dream.
 
Everything
cruel
and
unconscious
done
in the illusion
of
the present world,
all that
does not
fade away
at
the death-waking.
 
It stays,
and
it must be
interpreted.
 
All the
mean laughing,
all the
quick,
sexual wanting,
those
torn coats
of Joseph,
they change
into
powerful wolves
that
you must face.
 
The retaliation
that
sometimes
comes now,
the swift,
payback hit,
is
just
a boy's game
to
what
the other
will be.
 
You know
about
circumcision here.
 
It's
full castration
there!
 
And
this groggy time
we live --
this
is what
it's like:
 
     A man
     goes to sleep
     in the town
     where
     he
     has always lived,
     and
     he dreams
     he's living
     in
     another town.
 
     In the dream,
     he doesn't remember
     the town
     he's
     sleeping
     in his bed in.
 
     He believes
     the reality
     of
     the dream town.
 
The world
is
that kind
of sleep.
 
The dust
of
many
crumbled cities
settles over us
like
a forgetful doze,
but
we
are older
than those cities.
 
We began
as
a mineral.
 
We emerged
into
plant life
and
into
the animal state,
and
then
into being human,
and
always
we have
forgotten
our former states,
except
in early spring
when
we slightly recall
being green
again.
 
That's how
a young person
turns
toward
a teacher.
 
That's how
a baby
leans toward
the breast,
without knowing
the secret
of its desire,
yet
turning
instinctively.
 
Humankind
is being
led along
an
evolving course,
through
this migration
of intelligences,
and
though we
seem
to be sleeping,
there is
an
inner wakefulness
that
directs the dream,
and that
will eventually
startle us
back to the truth
of
who we are.
 
[from pages 112 - 113]
 
 
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Emptiness and Silence
-----------------------------
 
"Quietness"
 
Inside
this new love,
die.
 
Your way
begins
on the other side.
 
Become
the sky.
 
Take an axe
to
the prison wall.
 
Escape.
 
Walk out
like someone
suddenly born
into color.
 
Do it now.
 
You're
covered
with thick cloud.
 
Slide out
the side.
 
Die,
and
be quiet.
 
Quietness
is the surest sign
that
you've died.
 
Your old life
was
a frantic running
from silence.
 
The speechless
full moon
comes out
now.
 
[from page 22]
 
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