Sunday, 22 July 2012

Love, a question Pablo Neruda

Love has nothing to do with the five senses and the six Rumi

Love has nothing to do 
with the five senses and the six directions

Its goal is only to experience 
the attraction exerted by the Beloved. 

Afterwards, perhaps,
permission will come from God

The secrets that ought to be told will be told
with an eloquence nearer to the understanding
than these subtle confusing allusions.

The secret is partner with none
but the knower of the secret:
in the skeptic's ear the secret is no secret at all.

~ Rumi
Mathnawi VI:5-8
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996

There's hidden sweetness in the stomach's Rumi

There's hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness.
We are lutes, no more, no less. 

If the soundbox is stuffed full of anything, no music.
If the brain and belly are burning clean with fasting, 
every moment a new song comes out of the fire.

The fog clears, and new energy makes you
run up the steps in front of you.
Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.
Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.

When you're full of food and drink, Satan sits
where your spirit should, an ugly metal statue
in place of the Kaaba. When you fast,
good habits gather like friends who want to help.

Fasting is Solomon's ring. Don't give it
to some illusion and lose your power,
but even if you have, if you've lost all will and control,
they come back when you fast, like soldiers appearing
out of the ground, pennants flying above them.

A table descends to your tents,
Jesus' table.
Expect to see it, when you fast, this table
spread with other food, better than the broth of cabbages.

~ Rumi
From The Illuminated Rumi,
Translated by Coleman Barks

Tuesday, 17 July 2012 Rumi

Hours make the young old. 
All changes have arisen from the hours: 
the one who is freed from hours is freed from change. 

When for an hour you escape from the hours, 
"How" no longer remains: 
you become familiar with that which is without "How."

Hours are not acquainted with timelessness.
For the one who is possessed by time,
there is no way there except bewilderment.

~ Rumi
Mathnawi III:2073-2076
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996

Such a bird can only fly above and beyond any known universe ~ Rumi

If you dwell very long 
in a heart depressed and dark 
be aware you've fallen low 
in will and quest 

A heart filled with grief 
whirling and spinning endlessly
can never feel at peace

What makes you
tremble in fear
that's your true worth now

Whatever seems to be
your healing source
is the cause of your pain

Whatever you think
is sure secure and forever
is what has hunted you down

Whenever your mind flies
it can only land
in the house of madness

Whenever love arrives
there is no more space
for your self claim

A heart filled with love
is like a phoenix
that no cage can imprison

Such a bird can only fly
above and beyond
any known universe

~ Rumi
Translated by Nader Khalili
"Rumi, Fountain of Fire"
Burning Gate Press, Los Angeles, 1994

Everyday I meditate upon this, and every night I Rumi

Everyday I meditate upon this, and every night I groan
Why is my own existence to myself the least known?

Whence have I come, why this coming here?
Where to must I go, when will my home to me be shown?

I am in desperate awe, why was I ever created?
For this, my creation, whatsoever was the reason?

Whatever is of the celestial realm, of that I speak
I am ready to go, my clothes are packed to be away thrown.

Why, take me to the tavern of that mighty King
I am drunk of that aroma, only by that wind may be blown

Joyous be that day that in search of the beloved
I take wing towards that land, upon that air I am flown.

Where is that ear that can hear my speech and song?
Who is the one who puts voice in this mouth of dust and stone?

Who is in these eyes through which gazes out to see?
Who is the one who wears this garment of flesh and bone?

Until I am lead without a doubt to my way home,
I will hold my breath, will only complain and moan.

Let me taste the wine of eternal communion
Cry out in drunkenness, intoxicated, broken, alone.

I did not come here on my own accord, nor will I thus leave
He who brought me here, shall return me to my very own.

Think not that I write these verses in a sober state
If sober, such seeds I could not possibly have sown.

Shams-e Tabriz, if you show not your face here and now
My earthly corpse, by God, I shall surely disown.

Between my beloved and I this is the only veil
It is time to unveil and disrobe the light that brightly shone

With extreme joy I tear and shred my earthly garment
By casting of my clothes, into the glory of my soul I’ve grown.

I wear this earthly corps for what use, to what avail?
I am not a cawing crow, of heavenly birds is my tone

I am a bird of Paradise, I am not of the earthy realm
For a few days imprisoned in my cage of flesh and bone.

My soul is my guide, for my soul is of that abode
I will not speak of the earthly, I am of the unknown.

The fragrant morning breeze brings news of union
With joy and with song I’ll leave this cage, this earthly throne.

From Divan -e-Shams By RUMI
Image courtesy:Mahmud Farshchian’s miniature work “Shams and Rumi

I am the Rumi

The singer sings about love, until 
the Friend appears in the doorway. 

Kitchen smoke drifts up into clouds 
and becomes a thousand-year-old wine. 

I am here, not reckoning the credit
accumulated or future speculation.

I am the vineyard and the barrel
where the grapes are crushed,

the entire operation, whose transaction
pours this glass of wine,
this moment, this poem.

A man stumbles by with baggage,
papers from the house, regret and wishing,
not knowing which to tend to. Neither.

After you see the face, concerns change,
as lakewater rises into mist.

~ Rumi
Ghazal (Ode) 2394
Version by Coleman Barks, with Nevit Ergin
"The Glance"
Viking-Penguin, 1999

Monday, 16 July 2012

The Rumi

When the friend opens the door and says, 
You are here, please come in. 
It is such a pleasure to give up talking 
and listen to his long story 
about Khidr, the guide of souls. 

A tailor cuts cloth uniquely for each person.
Springs open in the center of the lake.
Trees move in the breeze that comes before dawn.

A nightingale sits in the rosebush and asks,
Who do you love? Tell me.
No one else is here.

The rose, So long as you are you,
I cannot. This is the passionate demand,
the one the burning bush made of Moses.

I am a sacred pool. Take off your shoes.
Wade in. You are the essence
of place and placelessness, honored one.
Take my hand.

The needle's eye will not accept
a strand of thread that is folded double.

So it is with you.
You find yourself holding the royal bowl
and welcoming all to the banquet.

The sun stands in the fire up to its chin
so we can have daylight.

When you take the hand of someone you love,
what happens to those hands?

Your darling comes, and you ask,
How can I help? Come here.

Reason wonders, Should I go?
And your loving, Should I run?

The one you love signals,
Yes. I want both of you.

The table is there. Sit down,
Choose the bright company.
Do not worry about food.

Now I pass to you this silence,
so that the alternations of night and day
with their flaming language
may finish the story.

~ Rumi
(The Meeting )
Ghazal 45
Version by Coleman Barks
Rumi: Bridge to the Soul
HarperCollins, 2007

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

If your physician is the Light of Rumi

Over the years that soft moonlike face 
becomes like the back of a Libyan lizard, 

and that head crowned with fair hair 
grows ugly and bald. 

Truly these are signs of pain and decay,
each a messenger of death.

But if your physician is the Light of God,
no loss or crushing blow is suffered
from fever or old age.

The one without Light is an orchard without fruit,
which the autumn will bring to ruin.

~ Rumi
Mathnawi V: 968-969; 973; 977
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996

Monday, 2 July 2012

What is this anger...? Rumi

What is this anger?
You left me no food, 
and took my sleep away.

You turned your face from me,
Then directed me to the Mihrab.

You changed the taste in my mouth,
It’s more bitter than poison.

You scared the daylight out of me,
You melted my lungs with your sorrow.

You sent me to Hadj,
And made me lose my way in the desert.
You gave my camel, my belongings, to Arabs.

Sometimes, you give a drought,
Burn my crops, and dry my fruits.

Sometimes you give a flood,
And wipe away everything with rain.

If I run away from your roof,
You hit me with arrows.

If I climb your roof,
You bring me down with melodies.

When I behave, you say,
“Come on, you are not drunk.”

When you don’t like my manner,
You start telling stories about morals.

If your kindness rains on my roof,
You turn my eyes into a gutter with tears.

When I ceased to associate with people,
When I became recluse,
“Now,” you said, “you turned into a monk.”

When I socialize, you make my friends enemies to me.
If I wrap my heart with your sorrow, like linen,
If I would be weaved by your troubles,
You melt me like linen under the moonlight,
You destroy me from my source.

When I believe, trust you,
“Reason is our way”, you say.
When I start reasoning,
You say, “Logic is not good.”

You hunt the falcon of the soul,
And break its nails.
The body becomes a trained dog,
You make him weak, tired and old.

If the jeweler of our face’s color opens a store,
You tell everyone,
“Our jeweler sells fake goods,”

Giving me a bad reputation.
Who am I?

Even the real morning trembles at your door.
By fear, “He may find me out as a liar.”

You destroy everything,
Then you gave a hundred times more back.

You send winter,
Then you bring spring,
Making everything green again.
You cut the neck of the stars,
With the sword of the Sun.
Then give them a face like a hünnap,
Offer sparkles.

When man stays silent,
“Talk”, you say.
When he talks,
You say, “Be silent.”
Why are you knocking such a door?

~ Rumi
(What is this anger?)
Mihrab Niche in a mosque’s wall facing Mecca
You melt me like linen under the moonlight An old belief
hünnap Jujube (botanical term)
Photo by Belle Heywood

The moon has become a dancer at this festival of Rumi

The moon has become a dancer
at this festival of love.
This dance of light,

This sacred blessing,
This divine love,
beckons us
to a world beyond
only lovers can see
with their eyes of fiery passion.

They are the chosen ones
who have surrendered.
Once they were particles of light
now they are the radiant sun.

They have left behind
the world of deceitful games.
They are the privileged lovers
who create a new world
with their eyes of fiery passion.

~ Rumi
From: Love Poems of Rumi
Translated by: Fereydoun Kia

Sunday, 1 July 2012

In this world you have three Rumi

In this world you have three companions:
One is faithful, the others are treacherous.

The latter are friends and possessions;
the faithful one is excellence in deeds.

Your wealth won’t come with you out of your palace;
your friend will come, but only as far as the grave.

When the day of doom comes to meet you,
your friend will say, “I’ve come this far, but no farther.
I will stand a while at your grave.”

Your deeds alone are faithful: make them your refuge,
for they alone will accompany you into the depths of the tomb.

~ Rumi

"The story of the mouse and the camel" Rumi

A mouse caught hold of a camel's lead rope
in his two forelegs and walked off with it,
imitating the camel drivers. 

The camel went along, 
letting the mouse feel heroic. 
"Enjoy yourself,"
he thought, " I have something to teach you, presently."

They came to the edge of a great river.
The mouse was dumbfounded.

Step forward into the river. You are my leader.
Don't stop here."
"I'm afraid of being drowned."

The camel walked into the water. "It's only just about the knee."
"Your knee! Your knee
is a hundred times over my head!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't
be leading a camel, Stay with those like yourself.
A Mouse has nothing really to say to a camel."

"Would you help me get across?"

You are not a prophet, but go humble on the way of the prophets,
and you can arrive where they are. Don't try to steer the boat.
don't open up a shop by yourself. Listen. Keep silent.
you are not God's mouthpiece. Try to be an ear,and if you do speak, ask for explanations.

The source of your arrogance and anger is your lust
and the rootedness of that is in your habits.

Someone who makes habit of eating clay
gets made when you try to keep him from it.
Being a leader can also be a poisonous habit,
so that when someone questions your authority,
you think, "He's trying to take over."
You may respond courteously, but inside you rage.

Always check your inner state
with the Lord of your heart.
Copper doesn't know it copper,
until its change to gold.

Your loving doesn't know its majesty
until it knows its helplessness.

~ Rumi
( "The story of the mouse and the camel")
Mathnawi: II, 3436-3474
Version by Coleman Barks
"This Longing"
Threshold Book, 1988

Seek the owner of the Heart...BY RUMI

The Beloved said, 
"God doesn't pay attention to your outer form:
so in your improvising, seek the owner of the Heart."

God says, 
"I regard you through the owner of the Heart,
not because of prostrations in prayer
or the giving of wealth in charity."

The owner of the Heart becomes a six-faced mirror:
through him God looks out upon all the six directions.

~ Rumi
Mathnawi V, 869-870, 874
The Rumi Collection
By Jelaluddin Rumi,
translated by Kabir Helminski and Camille Helminski

The Ruler of all hearts is waiting for a heart filled with light and goodness’ ~ Rumi

If a wealthy person brings 
a hundred sacks of gold,

God will only say,
“Bring the Heart, you who are bent double.

If the Heart is pleased with you, I am pleased;
and if the Heart is opposed to you, I am opposed.

I didn’t pay attention to “you”; I look to the Heart:
bring it, poor soul, as a gift to My door!

Its relation to you is also mine:
Paradise is at the feet of the mothers“.

The heart is the mother and father
and origin of all creatures:
the one who knows the heart from the skin is blessed.

You will say, “Look, I have brought a heart to You”.
God will respond,
“The world is full of these hearts.
Bring the heart that is the axis of the world
and the soul of the soul of the soul of Adam”.

The Ruler of all hearts is waiting for a heart
filled with light and goodness’

~ Rumi
Mathnawi V.881-888
The Rumi Collection
By Jelaluddin Rumi,
Kabir Helminski, Andrew Harvey

I can write the saddest verses of all Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest verses of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest verses of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and these may be the last verses I write for her.

~ Pablo Neruda

To become Your Face. by Rabia Basri

"O Beloved

Everyone prays to You from fear of the Fire;
And if You do not put them in the Fire,
This is their reward.

Or they pray to You for the Garden,
Full of fruits and flowers.
And that is their prize.

But I do not pray to You like this,
For I am not afraid of the Fire,
And I do not ask You for the Garden.

But all I want is the Essence of Your Love,
And to return to be One with You,
And to become Your Face."

~ Rabia Basri

YOUR Pablo Neruda

My love, in the darkest
hour you laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next tot the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,

Laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

 ~ ♥ Pablo Neruda ♥