Christmas Thoughts, From Rumi and Me

Christ is the population of the world

and every object as well.  There is no room

for hypocrisy.  Why use bitter soup for healing

when sweet water is everywhere?

(Rumi)

and from me:

As Christmas ends,

here on the other side of 12 21 12,

make change in the world, dear friends,

by being the Jesus in yourselves. . . 

wishing you a blessed holiday,

every single day.

And again, from Rumi:

Lovers think they're looking for each other,

but there's only one search: wandering 

this world is wandering that, both inside one

transparent sky.  In here

there is no dogma and no heresy.

The miracle of Jesus is himself, not what he said or did

about the future.  Forget the future.

I'd worship someone who could do that.

On the way you may want to look back, or not,

but if you can say There's nothing ahead,

there will be nothing there.

Stretch your arms and take hold the cloth of your clothes

with both hands.  The cure for pain is in the pain.

Good and bad are mixed.  If you don't have both,

you don't belong with us.

When one of us gets lost, is not here, he must be inside us.

There's no place like that anywhere in the world.

(Rumi - both translated by Coleman Barks)

(both photos taken at Cheestnut Ridge Park, 

in Orchard Park, New York)

words have left me for awhile (what follows is a short poem from Rumi)

( larkcrafts )

Birdsong brings relief

to my longing.

I am just as ecstatic as they are,

but with nothing to say!

Please, universal soul, practice

some song, or something, through me!

(by: Rumi)

Father Reason, by Rumi

astronomydvd

The universe is a form of divine law,

your reasonable father.

When you feel ungrateful to him,

the shapes of the world seem mean and ugly.

(this and upcoming images from drwcampbell )

Make peace with that father, the elegant patterning,

and every experience will fill will immediacy.

Because I love this, I am never bored.

Beauty constantly wells up, a noise of springwater

in my ear and in my inner being.

Tree limbs rise and fall like the ecstatic arms

of those who have submitted to the mystical life.

Leaf sounds talk together like poets

making fresh metaphors.  The green felt cover slips,

and we get a flash of the mirror underneath.

Think how it will be when the whole thing

is pulled away!  I tell you only one thousandth

of what I see, because there's so much doubt everywhere.

The conventional opinion of this poetry is,

it shows great optimism for the future.

But Father Reason says,

No need to announce the future!

This now is it.

This.

Your deepest need and desire 

is satisfied by the moment's energy

here in your hand.

(pakistantimes)

The Dream That Must Be Interpreted (by Rumi, illustrations by Odilon Redon)

(  oceansbridge)

This place is a dream.

Only the 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 come now,

the swift, payback hit,

is just a boy's game

to what the other will be.

(this, and the above, from
artunframed )

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.

artinthepicture

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.


venu

                     That's how a young person turns
toward a teacher.  That's how a baby leans
toward a 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.




canvaz

The Dream That Must Be Interpreted, by Jalal al-Din Rumi

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. . . .

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 begin

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.

all photos by Makropoulos

Guest House, by Rumi

( mocoloco )

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each as been sent

as a guide from beyond.

(unusual architecture )

(more to come from me, soon. . . .)

Birdsong From Inside The Egg, by Jal al-Din Rumi

( RowdyBlue's WonderBlog )

Sometimes a lover of God may faint

in the presence.  Then the beloved bends

and whispers in his ear, "Beggar, spread out

your robe.  I'll fill it with gold.

I've come to protect your consciousness.

Where has it gone?  Come back into awareness!"

This fainting is because

lovers want so much.

A chicken invites a camel into her henhouse,

and the whole structure is demolished.

A rabbit nestles down

with its eyes closed

in the arms of a lion.

There is an excess

in spiritual searching

that is profound ignorance.

Let the ignorance be our teacher!

The Friend breathes into one

who has no breath.

A deep silence revives the listening

and the speaking of those two 

who meet on the riverbank.

Like the ground turning green in a spring wind.

Like birdsong beginning inside the egg.

Like this universe coming into existence,

the lover wakes, and whirls

in a dancing joy,

then kneels down

in praise.

(Rumi)

(also from Rowdyblue )

my worst habit (two poems by Rumi)

( gamesandwallpapers )

My worst habit is I get so tired of winter

I become a torture to those I'm with.

If you're not here, nothing grows.

I lack clarity.  My words

tangle and knot up.

How to cure bad water?  Send it back to the river.

How to cure bad habits?  Send me back to you.

When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools,

dig a way out through the bottom

to the ocean.  There is a secret medicine

given only to those who hurt so hard

they can't hope.

The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

Look as long as you can at the friend you love

no matter whether that friend is moving away from you

or coming back towards you.

~  ~ ~

( hickerphotography )

Pale sunlight,

pale the wall.

Love moves away.

The light changes.

I need more grace

than I thought.

(Jelaluddin Rumi 1207 - 1273

translated by Coleman Barks)

Rumi on Jesus, part I

~ * ~

Christ is the population of the world,

and every object as well. There is no room

for hypocrisy.  Why use bitter soup for healing

when sweet water is everywhere?

~*~

Seeing ourselves in the mirror

1.
I used to tell people that I wished I could see myself when I walked through a door.  Any door.  I wished I could see the physical impression I made, the whole me, the me with my strengths, and all my visible weaknesses.  It has taken a long time to be able to do that.

Then I had a lover who was my mirror, and I saw how beautiful I was capable of being,  but also how vulnerable.  Because I did not know the impression I made,  I was so wrapped up in my inner life, my outer life was neglected, and that naivete was written all over my demeanor.

It's true: mirrors have become terrifically important to me these days, as an image, as a motif, as a way of understanding.  See my earlier entries on mirrors and the palindrome.  If you dare.

2.
One of my favorite themes from Rumi is this, which is said to be the saying of the "everlasting and eternal Lord":
"I am not contained in the heavens or in the void
or in the exalted intelligences and souls; 
but I am contained, as a guest,
in the true believer's heart,
without qualification or definition or description,
so that by the meditation of that heart
everything above and below may win from Me
abilities and gifts.
Without such a mirror neither earth nor time 
could bear the vision of My beauty.
I caused the steed of My mercy to gallop
over the two worlds. 
I fashioned a spacious mirror."
From this mirror appear at every moment
fifty spiritual wedding-feasts;
pay attention to the mirror,
but don't ask me to describe it.

The mirror; the vanishing point; the reflecting surface; the point of juncture where the two reflected sides of the palindrome meet.  This juncture is the abode of God.


3.
Sometimes we get so hung up at the imperfections that we see in the mirror.  That zit, for instance, right below my eye.  It's slowly going away, but I know it's there, because I can even see it, just at the lower range of my vision.   I could become so obsessive about it, trying to hide it with make-up, or I could just let it be.  I've been letting it be, taking a small delight in the fact I can see it a little, and each time I let myself be conscious of it, I remember what I saw in the mirror that morning.  That imperfection unites me with my whole self, if that makes any sense.

But I also know it's there because of all the chocolate I've been eating.  So I'm trying not to eat so much chocolate.

4.
Google earth is amazing.
Google earth makes it possible to see stuff like this:

This is the volcano erupting in Iceland.  (source: FromTheOld )

Or this:

(source: gearthblog )

(This was actually taken from the Space Station traveling overhead.)  This is a result from the Chilean earthquake.  Also the following entry, which includes images of Haiti after the earthquake.

Getting cameras up into the distant skies over our planet gives us the opportunity to get a mirror image of ourselves, flaws and all.  Remember the awe the world felt the first time it got an image of Earth from outer space?  Yes, this planet is beautiful!  But right now it's erupting, showing us some pimples and fractures, and points of change.


My question is simple: how can we go on ignoring them?  The earth is trying to tell us something about itself.  It's showing us something we all need to see: what our collective self looks like as it goes spinning through space.

We can either keep ignoring it, being so self-involved that we can pretend it doesn't matter.  Or we can pay attention to the signs.

And some stop being so self-indulgent.