Betrayal into Trust

When school and mosque and minaret

get torn down, then dervishes

can begin their community.

Not until faithfulness

turns to betrayal

and betrayal into trust

can any human being

become part of the truth.

The image above was taken at a Rumi reading

in November 2007, by Coleman Barks,

who is seated just to the left of the dervishes.

Neither This nor That

I may be clapping my hands,

but I do not belong to a crowd of clappers.

I am neither this nor that. I am not part of a group

that loves flute music, or one that loves gambling,

or one that loves drinking wine.

Those who live in time, descended from Adam,

made of earth and water, I am not part of that.

Do not listen to what I say as though these words

came from an inside and went to an outside.

Your faces are very beautiful, but they are wooden cages.

You had better run from me. My words are fire.

I have nothing to do with being famous,

or with making grand judgments or feeling shame.

I borrow nothing. I do not want anything

from anybody. I flow through all human beings.

Love is my only companion.

When union happens, my speech goes inward,

toward Shams. At that meeting

the secrets of language are no longer secret.

It's Afternoon

 Speak quietly

and say nothing that is not true.

It's afternoon. We need to be quiet

for a while. Speaking would be

such an orchard to walk in,

if we could do it without alphabet and sounds.

These stories and images and conversations

through which we try to show the inner life,

Husam and I,

they are like a donkey's head

that we carry from the skinning pit

to the kitchen. Let further changes come.

I give word-shape to this poetry.

Husam supplies the essence.

No, that's wrong. Both come from Husam,

Ziya-Haqq, the sun that is one

with earth and sky, one with intention and heart.

Husam, when my spirit completely recognizes yours,

they recall our being one.

People Want You to Be Happy

Flock of Birds, Joan de Bot

People want you to be happy.

Don't keep serving them your pain.

If you could untie your wings

and free your soul of jealousy,

you and everyone around you

would fly up like doves.

Love for Certain Work

Traveling is as refreshing for some

as staying at home is for others.

Solitude in a mountain place

fills with companionship for this one,

and weariness for that one.

This person loves being in charge

of the workings of a community.

This other one loves the ways

heated iron can be shaped with a hammer.

Each has been given a strong desire

for certain work, a love for those motions,

and all motion is love.

The way sticks and pieces of dead grass and leaves

shift about in the wind

and with the directions of rain and puddle-water

on the ground, those motions

are all following the love

they have been given.

Looking into the Creek

The way the soul is with the senses

and the mind, is like a creek.

When desire-weeds grow thick,

your intelligence cannot flow,

and soul-creatures stay hidden.

But sometimes a flooding comes

that runs so strong

it clears the clogged stream,

as though with God's hand.

No longer weeping and frustrated,

your being grows as powerful

as your wantings were before.

Laughing and satisfied,

that masterful current

lets soul-creatures appear.

You look down,

and it's lucid dreaming.

The gates made of light

swing open. You see in.

The Oldest Thirst There Is

Give us gladness that connects

with the Friend, a taste of the quick.

You that make a cypress strong

and jasmine jasmine.

Give us the inner listening

that is a way in itself

and the oldest thirst there is.

Do not measure it out with a cup.

I am a fish. You are the moon.

You cannot touch me, but your light

fills the ocean where I live.