Towards Solomon's Mountain

Without Solomon every bird is a bat in love with darkness. Listen, oh mischievous bat, try to become his friend. Do you want to stay in your cave forever? If you go even three feet towards Solomon's mountain, others will use that as a yardstick to measure their lives. Suppose your leg is gimpy, and you have to hop, what's the difference? Going toward Solomon, even by limping, the leg grows whole.

- Rumi 

Image: K2's shadow over China, Photographer unknown. 

Journey Between Caterpillar to Butterfly

Patience does not mean to passively endure. It means to be farsighted enough to trust the end result of a process. What does patience mean? It means to look at the thorn and see the rose, to look at the night and see the dawn. Impatience means to be so shortsighted as to not be able to see the outcome. The lovers of Allah never run out of patience, for they know that time is needed for the crescent moon to become full. 

- Rumi

Crux

حاصل عمرم سه سخن بیش نیست

خام بدم ، پخته شدم ، سوختم

مولانا رومی

The summary of my life exceeds naught three sentences:

I was raw. I stewed. I cindered.

Compromised translation: mine.

Completely Changed

An eye is meant to see things.

The soul is here for its own joy.

A head has one use: For loving a true love.

Feet: To chase after.

Love is for vanishing into the sky. The mind,

for learning what men have done and tried to do.

Mysteries are not to be solved: The eye goes blind

when it only wants to see why.

A lover is always accused of something.

But when he finds his love, whatever was lost

in the looking comes back completely changed.

― Rumi

Of Wine And The Beaker

I am a lover ...
Those who are enlightened
know that Layla and I
are one and the same.

Whoever is loved is beautiful, but the reverse is not true: it does not follow that anyone who is beautiful is loved. Beauty is a part of being loved. As being loved is the root, when an object is loved it follows that it is beautiful. The part cannot be separated from the whole since it derives from the whole.

In Majnun's time there were girls who were much more beautiful than Layla, but they were not loved by Majnun. People used to say to him, 'There are girls more beautiful than Layla. Let us bring them to you.'

'I do not love Layla for her external appearance,' Majnun would reply. 'Layla is not external form. She is like a drinking vessel held in my hand, a beaker from which I drink wine. I am in love with the wine I drink from the beaker, but you see only the beaker and not the wine. If I had a golden beaker studded with precious gems, and it were filled with vinegar or something other than wine, of what use would that beaker be to me? To my eyes a broken old gourd filled wine is better than a hundred such goblets.'

You need love's yearning to see the difference between the wine and the beaker.



~ The Essence of Rumi by John Baldock.

Culmination

بر من درِ وصل بسته می‌دارد دوست

دل را به عنا* شکسته می‌خواهد دوست

زین پس من و دل شکستگی بر در او

چون دوست، دل شکسته می‌دارد دوست

Beloved kept the door closed on my endless pleas.

Beloved wanted a broken heart, and I on my knees.

So now, I wring my heart, I kneel down with ease:

“Beloved! It's a pleasure to do what you please!”

Credits: Persian verse by Rumi, translated to English by Maryam Dilmaghani.
Image resourced via free web.

More ...

I want to see you.

Know your voice.

Recognize you when you

first come 'round the corner.

Sense your scent when I come

into a room you've just left.

Know the lift of your heel,

the glide of your foot.

Become familiar with the way

you purse your lips

then let them part,

just the slightest bit,

when I lean in to your space

and kiss you.

I want to know the joy

of how you whisper

"more."

- Rumi

Of Ruined City And The Architect

Today is 806th birthday of the master we recognize as Rumi.
I, for one, am deeply in love with the Architect for having created a city that had ruins like Rumi.
You're most welcome to explore through seventy other Rumi posts spread across the blog via this link: Rumi posts

To mark the special occasion, sharing with you one of his poems, a personal favourite of mine: بیا بیا که نیابی

بیا بیا که نیابی چو ما دگر یاری

چو ما به هر دو جهان خود کجاست دلداری

 

بیا بیا و به هر سوی روزگار مبر

که نیست نقد تو را پیش غیر بازاری

 

تو همچو وادی خشکی و ما چو بارانی

تو همچو شهر خرابی و ما چو معماری

 

به غیر خدمت ما که مشارق شادیست

ندید خلق و نبیند ز شادی آثاری

 

هزار صورت جنبان به خواب می‌بینی

چو خواب رفت نبینی ز خلق دیاری

 

ببند چشم خر و برگشای چشم خرد

که نفس همچو خر افتاد و حرص افساری

 

ز باغ عشق طلب کن عقیده شیرین

که طبع سرکه فروشست و غوره افشاری

 

بیا به جانب دارالشفای خالق خویش

کز آن طبیب ندارد گریز بیماری

 

جهان مثال تن بی‌سرست بی‌آن شاه

بپیچ گرد چنان سر مثال دستاری

 

اگر سیاه نه‌ای آینه مده از دست

که روح آینه توست و جسم زنگاری

 

کجاست تاجر مسعود مشتری طالع

که گرمدار منش باشم و خریداری

 

بیا و فکرت من کن که فکرتت دادم

چو لعل می‌خری از کان من بخر باری

 

به پای جانب آن کس برو که پایت داد

بدو نگر به دو دیده که داد دیداری

 

دو کف به شادی او زن که کف ز بحر ویست

که نیست شادی او را غمی و تیماری

 

تو بی‌ز گوش شنو بی‌زبان بگو با او

که نیست گفت زبان بی‌خلاف و آزاری


Come, come, for you will not find another friend like Me.
Where indeed is a Beloved like Me in all the world? 

Come, come, and do not spend your life in wandering to and fro,
Since there is no market elsewhere for your money. 

You are as a dry valley and I as the rain,
You are as a ruined city and I as the Architect.

Except My service, which is joy's sunrise,
Man never has felt and never will feel an impression of joy.

You behold in dreams a thousand moving shapes;
When the dream is past you do not see a single one of the kind.

Close the eye that sees falsely and open the intellectual eye,
For the senses resemble an' ass, and evil desire is the halter. 

Seek sweet syrup in the garden of Love,
For Nature is a seller of vinegar and a crusher of unripened grapes. 

Come to the hospital of your own Creator:
No sick man can dispense with that Physician. 

The world without that King is like a headless body:
Fold yourself, turban-wise, round such a head. 

Unless you are black, do not let the mirror go from your hand:
The soul is your mirror, while the body is rust. 

Where is the fortunate merchant, whose destiny Jupiter controls,
That I may eagerly trade with him and buy his wares? 

Come, and think of Me who gave you the faculty of thought,
Since from My mine you may purchase an ass-load of rubies. 

Come, advance towards Him who gave you a foot,
Look with all your eyes on Him who gave you all eye. 

Clap your hands for joy of Him, by whose see the hand (foam) is produced,
For His joy admits no sorrow nor affliction. 

Listen without ears, speak to Him without tongue,
Since the speech of the tongue is not without offence and injury.

- Rumi in Deewan-e Shams

Translation via web.

Sa'raey Shab

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.

- Rumi

Credits: 
"The Essential Rumi", translated by Coleman Barks.

The Grand Play Field

در فراخ عرصۂ آں پاک جاں

تنگ آید عرصۂ ہفت آسماں

-  مولانا رومیؒ

In the heart of the pure is such extent

Heavens seven, are but pent 

Verse: Rumi

Inapt translation: mine

You - The Treasure Chest

You are a volume in the divine book
A mirror to the power that created the universe
Whatever you want, ask it of yourself
Whatever you’re looking for can only be found
Inside of you. 

Rumi

Roo'ay Shab'ay HijraaN

The first god man creates is always inside. A divinity, a deity, perched at the highest pedestal within the confines of one's own being.

This is probably why the concept of a structured religion mostly brings with it an outlandish, invader's cry of war. It tends to reduce man's majestic divinity to that of an undignified subject; and the Throne is anchored at a place so remote from access, that many lose their path in approaching it... swaying somewhere in between the abysmal abyss, belonging to neither the Conqueror, nor the conquered. 

Surrendering to the shift of holiness from within their own core of self, is then followed by another dilemma. Love.

Intoxicated by the Wine of Love.

From each a mystic silence Love demands.

What do all seek so earnestly? ‘Tis Love.

What do they whisper to each other? Love.

Love is the subject of their inmost thoughts.

In Love no longer ‘thou’ and ‘I’ exist,

For Self has passed away in the Beloved.

Now will I draw aside the veil from Love,

And in the temple of mine inmost soul,

Behold the Friend; Incomparable Love.

He who would know the secret of both worlds,

Will find the secret of them both, is Love.  

(Farid ud Din Attar, from The Jawhar Al-Dhat)

The tyranny of love, when subjects are exposed to it, is gagging. It unleashes its whip, and spares none. It shatters, it brands, it crushes. The crumbled, walloped, ashed subject is all there is left of the once lofty lord. The burns, the scars, the bruises, all but diminish the subject further. However, surprisingly, the abyss lying at the pit of the gulf separating the minuscule subject and the Divine Majesty begins to shrink!

Some say that there does exit a Silk Route that leads one across the abyss, that enjoins one battered lover with the lofty Lord. But none is sure how to read the Emerald Tablet that bears the map of the route. Rumi, perhaps, had grasped something of the scripture when he exclaimed

Drunkenness and emptyhandedness brought Thee to me;

I am the slave of Thy drunkenness and indigency!

But in the tradition of lovers, no one recognizes another's seal of kiss. Each wants his own seal...

And they keep searching. Some falling to the abyss, a few making it across...

Forgo The Frivolous

اي ناطقه بر بام ما ور در تاكي روي در خانه پر

  نطق زبان ترك كن بي چانه شو بي چانه شو

 مولانا

Roughly translated to

 (In the company of the Beloved),

Over the roof, under the sky, talk your heart out

Talk, and not beg for words,

Be restless. Embrace craze

Verse: Rumi

Inapt translation: mine

The Symphony Of The Soul

يـار مـرا , غار مـرا , عشق جگر خـوار مـرا
يـار تـوئی , غار تـوئی , خواجه نگهدار مـرا

نوح تـوئی , روح تـوئی , فاتح و مفتوح تـوئی
سينه مشروح تـوی , بر در اسرار مـرا

نـور تـوئی , سـور تـوئی , دولت منصور تـوئی
مرغ کــه طور تـوئی , خسته به منقار مـرا

قطره توئی , بحر توئی , لطف توئی , قهر تـوئی
قند تـوئی , زهر تـوئی , بيش ميازار مـرا

حجره خورشيد تـوئی , خانـه ناهيـد تـوئی
روضه اوميد تـوئی , راه ده ای يار مـرا

روز تـوئی , روزه تـوئی , حاصل در يـوزه تـوئی
آب تـوئی , کوزه تـوئی , آب ده اين بار مـرا

دانه تـوئی , دام تـوی , باده تـوئی , جام تـوئی
پخته تـوئی , خام تـوئی , خام بمـگذار مـرا

- Rumi 

Aye Tabib-e-Jumla Illat Haye Maa!

When inward tenderness finds the secret hurt,

pain itself will crack the rock and Ah!!!

let the SOUL emerge.

- Rumi

Journey Of This Night

Following is reportedly Rumi's last sonnet.

رو سر بنه به بالین تنها مرا رها کن

ترک من خراب شبگرد مبتلا کن

ماییم و موج سودا، شب تا به روز تنها

خواهی بیا ببخشا ، خواهی برو جفا کن

از من گریز تا تو ، هم در بلا نیفتی

بگزین ره سلامت، ترک ره بلا کن

ماییم و آب دیده ، در کنج غم خزیده

بر آب دیده ما صد جای آسیا کن

خیره کشی است مارا ، دارد دلی چو خارا

بکشد ، کسش نگوید :" تدبیر خونبها کن"

بر شاه خوبرویان واجب وفا نباشد

ای زرد روی عاشق ، تو صبر کن، وفا کن

دردی است غیر مردن ، آن را دوا نباشد

پس من چگونه گویم کاین درد را دوا کن؟

در خواب ، دوش، پیری در کوی عشق دیدم

با دست اشارتم کرد که عزم سوی ما کن

گر اژدهاست بر ره ، عشق است چون زمرد

از برق این زمرد ، هین ، دفع اژدها کن

کلیّات شمس، ۲۰۳۹

Go, rest your head on a pillow, leave me alone;
leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,
writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn.
Either stay and be forgiving,
or, if you like, be cruel and leave.
Flee from me, away from trouble;
take the path of safety, far from this danger.
We have crept into this corner of grief,
turning the water wheel with a flow of tears.
While a tyrant with a heart of flint slays,
and no one says, "Prepare to pay the blood money."
Faith in the king comes easily in lovely times,
but be faithful now and endure, pale lover.
No cure exists for this pain but to die,
So why should I say, "Cure this pain"?
In a dream last night I saw
an ancient one in the garden of love,
beckoning with his hand, saying, "Come here."
On this path, Love is the emerald,
the beautiful green that wards off dragon's nough,
I am losing myself.
If you are a man of learning,
read something classic,
a history of the human struggle
and don't settle for mediocre verse.


-Rumi's Last Sonnet
Kolliyat-i-Shams, 2039

Che Goyem?

Hallaj steps away from the pulpit and climbs the stairs to the gallows. - Rumi

Don't Go Back To Sleep

One night a man was crying,

Allah! Allah!

His lips grew sweet with the praising,

until a cynic said,

"So! I have heard you

calling out, but have you ever

gotten any response?"

The man had no answer to that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,

in a thick, green foliage.

"Why did you stop praising?"

"Because I’ve never heard anything back."

"This longing you express is the return message."

- Rumi

Biya Biya...

Biya, biya, ke nayabi chu ma digar yare,

Chu ma ba jumlajahan khud kujast dildare?

Biya, biya, wa bar har sue ruzgar mabar,

Ke nest naqd-i-tura pesh-i-ghair bazare.

Rumi

Translation:

Come, come for you will not find another friend like Me,
Where indeed is a Beloved like Me in all the world ?
Come, come, and do not spend your life in wandering to and fro,
Since there is no market elsewhere for your money.


Prof. Nicholson

The Two-Way Road

No lover ever seeks union with his beloved,

But his beloved is also seeking union with him.

But the lover's love makes his body lean,

While the Beloved's love makes her fair and lusty.

When in this heart the lightning spark of love arises,

Be sure this Love is reciprocated in that heart.

When the Love of God arises in thy heart,

Without doubt God also feels love for thee.


Rumi