Rumi

Rumi
Check this Poet/mystic/sufi and his fantastically beautiful material.

Favorite samples (Note:each paragraph is a seperate poem):

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field... I'll meet you there

There is a way between voice and presence where information flows. In disciplined silence it opens. With wandering talk it closes.

Dance, as though no one is watching, Love, as though you've never been hurt before, Sing, as though no one can hear you, Work, as though you don't need the money, Live, as though heaven is on earth.

I have lived on the lip of insanity, wanting to know reasons, knocking on a door. It opens. I've been knocking from the inside!

Nibble at Me
Nibble at me. Don't gulp me down. How often is it you have a guest in your house who can fix everything?

Who Makes These Changes
(added 31 May 2005 (CEST))

Who makes these changes? I shoot an arrow right. It lands left. I ride after a deer and find myself chased by a hog. I plot to get what I want and end up in prison. I dig pits to trap others and fall in.

I should be suspicious of what I want.

On Resurrection Day
On Ressurection Day your body testifies against you. Your hand says, "I stole money." Your lips, "I said meanness." Your feet, "I went where I shouldn't." Your genitals, "Me too."

They will make your praying sound hypocritical. Let the body's doings speak openly now, without your saying a word, as a student's walking behind a teacher says, "This one knows more clearly than I the way."

(added Kunda 13:33, 2 Jun 2005 (CEST))

The Guest House
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 has been sent as a guide from beyond

(added -Kunda 13:43, 24 Jun 2005 (CEST))

Love is here; it is the blood in my veins, my skin I am destroyed; He has filled me with passion. His fire has flooded the nerves of my body Who am I? Just my name; the rest is him.

You wander from room to room Hunting for the diamond necklace That is already around your neck!

Dervish at the Door
A dervish knocked at a home to ask for a piece of dry bread, or moist, id didn't matter.

- "This is not a bakery," said the owner. --   "Might you have a bit of gristle then?" - "Does this look like a butcher shop?" --   "A little flour?" - "Do you hear a grinding stone?" --   "Some water?" - "This is not a well."

Whatever the dervish asked for, the man made some tired joke and refused to give him anything.

Finally, the dervish ran in the house, lifted his robe, and squatted as though to take a shit.

- "Hey, hey!"

--   "Quiet you sad man. A deserted place --     is a fine spot to relieve oneself, --     and since there's no living thing here, --     or means of living, it needs fertilizing."

The dervish began his own list of questions and answers.

--   "What kind of bird are you? Not a falcon, --     trained for the royal hand. Not a peacock, --     painted with everyone's eyes. Not a parrot, --     that talks for sugar cubes. Not a nightingale, --     that sings like someone in love."

--   "...Not a hoopoe bringing messages to Solomon, --     or a stork that builds on a cliffside."

--   "...What exactly do you do? --     You are no known species."

--   "...You haggle and make jokes --     to keep what you own for yourself."

--   "...You have forgotten the One --     who doesn't care about ownership, --     who doesn't try to turn a profit --     from every human exchange."

(added by -Kunda 03:43, 9 Sep 2005 (CEST))

Related:
 * Rumi
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 * Persian Poetry

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