Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Sublime Generosity (1)

I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.

He said, You are not mad enough.
You don't belong in this house.

I went wild and had to be tied up.
He said, Still not wild enough to stay with us.

I broke through another layer into joyfulness.
He said, It is not enough. I died.

He said, You are a clever little man
full of fantasy and doubting.

I plucked out my feathers and became a fool.
He said, Now you are the candle for this assembly.

But I'm no candle. Look. I'm scattered smoke.


Neeraj said...

Something in the poem that at the same time disappoints and fills up with celstial joy. It is at the same time about exploring and adaptation. It is about reaching and still being aloof. The poem is at the same time philosophy of win and philosophy of loss.

Ruth said...

Yes. The essence of Rumi. Recognizing that just when you've got it figured out, you have to give it up. Thank you.