Long Sweet Solitude

O’ long sweet solitude
beside You
and if not with You,
then surrounding the thought of,
If not the thought,
then within the vast lingering emptiness
that only Your limitless essence could leave.
I melt and pour myself into Your mold
I harden to become Your cast.
It seems, whether I am or am not,
I am either You, or becoming You.

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Shebi-Arus: Rumi’s Wedding Night (Khamosh)

The Dervish [original] by Artist Nasser Ovissi.

Khamush (Silence)
(Jelal-a-din Rumi)

“Carry your baggage toward silence:
when you seek the signs of the Way,
don’t make yourself the focus of attention.
The Prophet said, “Know that amid the sea of cares
my Companions are like guiding stars.”
Fix your eye on the stars and seek the Way;
speech confuses the sight: be silent.”

“Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance”
Camille and Kabir Helminski, 1996

 

December 17th is Shebi-Arus, the celebrated “wedding night” of the adored 13th century mystic poet and teacher, Jalal-a-din Rumi. This was the night of his passing and his reunion with the Beloved. On that day, there was much lament for the loss of a man and yet there was rejoicing in the elevation of his soul.

Many are surprised to find out that Rumi is among the most widely read poets in America. Yet, despite his poetic couplets and ghazals being so prolific, many do not realize it is his that they are reading. It is amusing to think that many believe his passages are by writers for Hallmark. Most of his poems originally written in pristine Persian, have been translated to English over many decades and centuries.[oftentimes poorly or with incorrect citation of authorship]. It is never authentic to break apart poems into greeting cards; but who is really speaking Rumi’s words anyway? If this is how the fragrance of the message is passed, so be it.

Kabir Helminski is an esteemed Sufi scholar, beloved devotee, and renown Shaikh of the Mevlevi Order of Sufi. The Mevlevi order was founded around 1273 by Rumi’s followers after his death, particularly by his successor Hüsamettin Çelebi and Rumi’s son, Baha al-Din Muhammad-i Walad. Anointed as Shaikh, Kabir is a widely read and listened to translator of Rumi and cofounder and codirector of the Threshold Society, dedicated to Sufism. He is one the world’s most influential Muslim spiritual leaders. His translations of Rumi are indeed beautiful and faithful.

Kabir explains that Rumi’s original name was Muhammad and that he was given the title Jalal (glory, splendour) al-Din (of the religion) meaning the great [one] of religion. Later he was also named Molana meaning lord or master. The name “Rumi” refers to his place of origin, in this case, from Rum (or Rome). Ottomans named the Eastern Roman Empire as Rum and since Rumi lived most of his life and is enshrined in Konya, Turkey, his name endures. Actually, Rumi was born in Balkh (now Afghanistan) so he is also called Balkhi.

Kabir tells us that Khamush, the Silent, is a sobriquet that Rumi (also referred to as Mevlana or Maulana) often used in his poems. More than a thousand of his poems end with reference to his beloved teacher and friend, Shams-i Tabrizi, and about five hundred odes end with khamush. The word “khamush” has many meanings when spoken in Farsi, Urdu, and Hindi; but in all applications, it means silent, mute, and quiet. Rumi makes reference to silence because only silent contemplation can lead one to the Way of Sufis, to self knowledge, and ultimately the knowledge (reunion) amidst God.

The true translations of Rumi’s poetry, while fragile and sometimes contested between native Persian speakers and others, are faithfully accomplished less by scholars than by impassioned lovers of esoteric divine expression. The original light of Divine Love is expressed from pre-eternity across centuries and diverse cultures through a succession of metaphoric glass panes of many a lamp; each pane being that of a prophet or teacher’s clarity. Often we do not even see the glass, so pure is the teacher. What we behold instead is simply the source of light itself – the timeless intention of Love.

The veils that intercede with the light of loving consciousness are raised by the limited mind, but lowered by the purified heart. One does not polish panes of glass (of understanding) with broadcast words, but rather with devotional silence; khamush. This silence is a still and untainted awareness, not muddled by words and rationalizations. To feel the Love of Rumi, say nothing with your mouth and listen without ears.  Let the senses slip back to the sea of deep consciousness.

Rumi wrote,

“There’s a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it. Give

more of your life to this listening. As
brightness is to time, so you are to

the one who talks to the deep ear in
your chest. I should sell my tongue

and buy a thousand ears when that
one steps near and begins to speak.”

We are not all attuned to perceiving the mystical properties of Divine Love. And even those that are, long to behold the dream vision of God and of the prophets. Rumi conveys to us the relieving words of the Prophet Mohammed, “… Happy [is] he that has seen me and [happy is] he that looks at him that saw my face.”

Extending this further as a metaphor, I would say that few, if any, can stare at the sun without being blinded. We can, however, gaze without harm at its light reflecting in the face of the moon. The moon, who directly and forever faces the sun (the Beloved), is the beautiful glowing lover. Rumi reflects (transmits) Shams this way. If we stay in the presence of lovers, we can feel the Sun.

Rumi says,

“When a [glass] lamp has derived [its] light from a candle [within], every one that sees it [the lamp] certainly sees the candle. If transmission [of the light] occurs in this way till a hundred lamps [are lighted], the seeing of the last [lamp] becomes a meeting with the original [light]. Either take with [all] thy soul from the hindmost [last in succession] light— there is no difference— or from the candelabrum [lamp].”

Rumi is the flame of Shams. He held a love so pure – as to be self dissolving – that they are unified in the highest state of love. This story of the embodiment and dissolution in pure love is told in other epic romances; Majnun became one and the same with Layla; we see the same Romeo with Juliet, Viz and Shamin, Heer and Ranjha.

Rumi continues,

“Either behold the light [of God] from the lamp of the last [saints], or behold His light from the candle of those who have gone before.”

It is said, “my teacher’s teacher is my teacher.” And so human love can rise to archetype of the true “True” Love.

The translations of Rumi have taken a Persian voice into an English one, but this is merely the succession of lamps; teachers and clerics, poets and empaths, those who bear the torch of mystic lineage. Irrespective of the transmission’s link in the chain, the source is the same. Love cannot be conveyed, shaped, or obscured by language – it stirs the heart and confuses the mind.

May God bless us in the direction of our attentions to the Truly existent; those messages from Mevlana which cannot be heard or seen, but passes through all mediums. Rumi’s poetry fills silence with deeper silence…only in this state do we directly hear the Beloved.

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Mysterious Depths

There are page-empty days
that I do not wish to draw you,
in charcoal or yellow
or write of you,
or kiss you, or make love to you;
or to sing beside you about lost treasure,
or to hear you, or to speak English to you…
these are days when I do not know myself.

I only slip on loose-laced shoes,
throw my cloak over my shoulders,
grab my grandfather’s walking stick,
and wander down into the mysterious depths
of loving you.

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Waiting for the Spider to Return

Planet earth is a garden forest skyline.
I stick my face in its bosom often.
It is a sea of foaming white caps, and a
buzzing hive of fuzzy bodied bees;
a pile of empty paint cans and
half buried abandoned car tires.
It is the tipping sleeping tea tree,
filled with the susurrus of singing birds.

Below the silver mist
is a percussion of clicking heals
and pavement-scuffers.
Etching paths on a celestial-sized magnetic sphere
to which the metal of all mankind sticks.
The earth is the sweet creamy filling
between chocolate wafers.

The mantle surface is teaming
with a tangle of connective nerve fibers
that defibrillates the heart.
Everything is conjoined through the senses,
so that life seems to be just a country road
between dusty towns.

Electric hissing dendrites
attach the hollows of my chest
to every single vibrating thing –
I am nothing but a gossamer thread
scintillating in sunlight.
The earth ensnared in me,
we are waiting for the spider to return.

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A lion will never eat me because it hates me

I wonder what else have we bred out of the domestic house cat over all these centuries? I look at my cat Tiger and see the ancestry of vicious animals, vicious not out of malice, but nature. We sifted this from their feline-ness, and now they are docile. But what else was the cost of this sieving – what wheat was lost in the discard of chaff?

And of humans… who has domesticated us? What master, keeper, benefactor has culled us? Are we of a finer nature… or worse off? What if we left it solely up to the Lion to domesticate itself… could this be possible?  Yet we believe it is so with us… perhaps our consciousness makes us fools.

In nature, what loves should be left to love; what hates should be left to hate… Perhaps, we try to interfere with ourselves and wild animals when we should bow to the master of compassion.

A lion will never eat me because it hates me.

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-ness

supermoon1c

Sometimes we are only organisms among organisms – we respond through both willful and involuntary action to primal instincts and desires, triggered by external causes. We covet and protect and hunt and gather. Other times, we are more complex than this, we are – more esoteric.

Sometimes, we listen to music and recite memorized lines and dance with our extremities flailing about ecstatically. Other times, we look out from our waiting morning window to investigate a noise and are struck by a sky filled with streaks of pink carnation and rose on gradations of blue – and we are compelled to be still and hypnotized. And upon stepping outside or doors, we catch the attar of sweet winter flowers in the shrubbery; and this reminds us of long ago seasons as children. Back then, I didn’t bother myself with these ponderings.

There is something that is greater than a thought, a word, an object.  Something that makes it deeply and characteristically what it is – or seems to be.  That which “makes it so” is a “that” which makes all the universe deeply and characteristically (and uncharacteristically) what it is.  I call this this essence of being its “ness.”

The –ness of all things is the single “a priori” to all cosmic existence. The -ness is an equally shared essence among all we know or could be known by man or not by man. In fact, because it is a single “essence” there can be no “sharing” per se for this would imply multiplicities of truth in which to share and there is only One. Hatred, fear, and love are attributes of human attention that depend not on object or recipient for their existence, but rather are both causal and caused by the shared essence; an Essence that “knows only/only knows” that it is not fear but “fear-ness;” not love, but “love-ness.”

The wind simply is an invisible, quiet current, only detectable through instruments of limited capacity; these instruments deserve our attention, nourishment and cultivating. And watch out the window and there goes autumn in the parade of loosed leaves, whistling tree limbs, and swaying landscapes. What do we know of the stealthy wind other than these minute effects? How the leaves blow before my vision, so goes God.

We are deeply committed to what we know, yet we know not the capacity of that –ness. In the Marvel box office movie, “Doctor Strange,” the main character Steven Strange asks, “You follow her, but you do not know her?”

We can close our eyes and lower our finger into the ocean, or a glass of water – if I didn’t tell you which is which, you’d not know their difference. For all you know, you could drink down both, having no sense of their volume… just water-ness. Why become muddled with particularity? Knowledge is never ending in the cosmic world, compassionate understanding in the spiritual world is the mastery of our station.

What lies just “beyond” is fractured by the foreground of the “cosmic present”…were it not for the moon’s compacted sphere of dust “galactically” suspended there, what would we know of the solar light just beyond that. And so, if not for the moons reflection of (recast) light, what would we know of the foreground of simple tree branches. Each owes its detected existence to the previous. From this position, we see the silhouette, from the moons perspective, she see’s its face most clearly.

All in this world owes existence (as we know it) through our awareness… and that awareness, through our esoteric senses. We know of truth (of light) through its “impedance” not its absolute actuality… for its essence (light-ness) exists quietly and hidden, and still until it bounces off of something. It is like the wind that is invisible and quiet until it collides with tree branches. All persists this way until there is “compassionate interference” which quickens interpretation through our consciousness.

The true Beauty of our observations, the Reality of knowledge, depends not on the object of knowledge nor its cognitive recipient… rather, it is the clarity of the human soul that reflects the essence (the -ness) of divine existence. Perception is a replica; understanding is its interpretation. Yet, we couldn’t be further from the truth, and still the truth depends on us from within us.

It is wise to be “individually” clear, if we are to “compassionately interfere” (understand) in the collective, single universe, which is wholly contained within the multitude of each of us. And all this from a super moon.

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I Came to Draw You

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I came to draw You,
and with my own eyes,
You painted all the cosmos between us,
and then You opened my eyes,
and with the illusion of vision,
I imagined myself, imagining You.

You, Who we cannot see,
You, who requires us to be seen.
Every leaf in flight,
a finger of the invisible wind,
a metaphor to be interpreted.
We follow the invisible through it effects.
I encompass You,
Yet You are hidden within me.

A universe of beauty
slipped through my eyes
a parsec in a fraction of a second,
I dare not blink.
The less I know,
the more I know,
the more I long.

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The Words I Hold Silent

Fleeting failures
along Escher’s steps.
Tender steps
of whispered hope
Ascending toward a timeless state
Returning home,
returning home,
Where the awaited wait.

God has blessed the words I hold silent
Those whose truth is betrayed by a breath
Those that nest in these still lips
Frozen in an imagined press.

We ascend upon descending stairs
For in the end the heart will lead
to placeless places
where the mind wouldn’t dare.

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Heart Holds Vigil

My heart holds vigil
While the pen’s away
As the mind settles
Along the edge of day
At my horizon’s melting
there,
Your stars appear
where
I’ve gone dark
With nothing to say,
Aye, my heart holds vigil
With its candle bright
flickering thrum
you, a quiet moon
in my thinking night
my ink is dry,
my heart alight.

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The Edge

There is love at the edge
and on either steep side
below the scintillating surface
and ocean’s lost depths
and boundless sky.

I am the ocean’s thin edge
step thee nearer to me
step far into this sea foam
you are always becoming
something
and fading
like flittering stars.

You are the lone prairie’s edge
I lie softly in your placeless places
and the sun rises here
then it falls there
all life sleeps in the palms of your nexus.

I am the center of your turning carrousel
while the azure sky chases about
I’m circled by love’s ornate clouds
reigns and bridles of many hues
beyond my grasp
and adrift within you.

I am encircled where the wind is still
where the wind takes shape
I am browned by your eyes
brindled by the warmth of your face
Fallen over the edge of your sigh.

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