Hidden Music

One of my absolute favorite poets is Rumi, who I discovered nearly 7 years ago in a Myths, Rituals, and Mysticism class. The book itself Rumi's Hidden Music was touted as a religious tome, one that spoke of a man's relationship with the divine, his search, not for answers, but respectful acceptance of the universe and all its complexities...

For me, it was the most romantic book I'd ever read. I was moved by the first poem, and in tears by the second. I must have been quite a sight in class - sitting in a far corner, silently blubbering over her text. Someone handed me a kleenex and I have no idea who it was...

What touched me was that this wasn't just about a man's relationship with a divinity - he was head over heels madly in love with God. I had never, until that point, pondered that this was a relationship a rational person could have - without being some kind of zealot. With simple words, heart-tugging, humbling metaphors, Rumi convinced me.

I am re posting a couple - something I have never done on my blog - but yesterday I heard spoken word that reached into my heart, electrifying it, and ever since I've felt a change in me. So I am sharing some of Rumi's words in hopes that your heart may feel the same.

From the website www.rumi.org.uk

I am a sculptor, a molder of form.
In every moment I shape an idol.
But then, in front of you, I melt them down
I can rouse a hundred forms
and fill them with spirit,
but when I look into your face,
I want to throw then in the fire.
My souls spills into yours and is blended.
Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,
I cherish it.
Every drop of blood I spill
informs the earth,
I merge with my Beloved
when I participate in love.
In this house of mud and water,
my heart has fallen to ruins.
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.


"I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it."
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"
it does His bidding;
when that one wills, bodies become spirit.


Because I cannot sleep
I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one
whose face has the color of spring flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a good reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away.
The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The stars and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe
is getting tighter and tighter.
The moon says, "How long will I remain
suspended without a sun?"
Without Love's jewel inside of me,
let the bazaar of my existence be destroyed stone by stone.
O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names.
You who know how to pour the wine
into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but have a thousand faces,
O Love, You who shape the faces
of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,
give me a glass from Your bottle,
or a handful of bheng from Your Branch.
Remove the cork once more.
Then we'll see a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,
and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
Then the addict will be bred of craving.
and will be resurrected,
and stand in awe til Judgement Day.


Have a wonderful weekend beautiful people!

Kagiso!