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    Rumi - Portrait

    Check this Mystical Sufi Poet and his fantastically beautiful material.

    Favorite samples (Note:each paragraph is a seperate poem + these are translations of Coleman Barks):

    Put your vileness up to a mirror and weep. That's when
    the real art, the real

    making begins. A tailor must have a torn shirt to
    practice his expertise

    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[edit]

    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[edit]

    (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[edit]

    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[edit]

    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[edit]

    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))

    Cuisine & Sex[edit]

    You risk your life to feed desires,
    yet you give your soul short

    grazing spans and those grudgingly.
    You borrow ten and repay fourteen.

    Most of you decisions can be traced
    back to cuisine and sex. The fuel

    basket goes from one stoke hole to
    the next. Six friends hoist your

    handsomeness and carry it to the
    cemetary. Food changes going from

    table to latrine. You live between
    deaths, thinking that's right enough.

    Close these eyes to open the other.
    Let the center brighten your sight.

    The soul fell into the soup
    of nature and started mixing

    with all manner of delicious,
    and not so tasty, ingredients.

    Our actions take on a tinge
    of those we're near. God

    keep us from bitter company!

    Be clear and smiling for those who
    are glad to see you. Someone who's

    not, let his way darken like a pen
    leaving his faltering ink trail.


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