What Was Said to the Rose

What was said to the rose that made it open

was said to me here in my chest.

What was told the cypress

that made it strong and straight,

what was whispered the jasmine

so it is what it is,

whatever made sugarcane sweet,

whatever was said to the inhabitants

of the town of Chigil in Turkestan

that makes them so handsome,

whatever lets the pomegranate flower

blush like a human face,

that is being said to me now. I blush.

Whatever put eloquence in language,

that's happening here.

The great warehouse doors open,

and I fill with gratitude,

chewing a piece of sugarcane,

in love with the one

to whom every that belongs.

Response to Your Question

Why ask about behavior

when you are soul-essence

and a way of seeing into presence?

Plus you are with us. How could you worry?

You may as well free a few words

from your vocabulary why and how and impossible.

Open the mouth-cage and let those fly away.

We were all born by accident,

but still this wandering caravan

will make camp in perfection.

Forget the nonsense categories

of there and here.

Race and nation and religion.

Starting-point and destination.

You are soul and you are love,

not a sprite or an angel or a human being.

You are a Godman-womanGod-manGod-Godwoman.

No more questions now

as to what it is we are doing here.

The Way You Make Love

The way you make love

is the way God will be with you.

This is Rumi's variation on the golden rule. 

~ Coleman Barks

When Living Itself

If the beloved is everywhere,

the lover is a veil, 

but when living itself becomes

the Friend, lovers disappear.

The Question (2)

You should wish to have a hundred thousand sets

of mothwings, so you could burn them away, one set a night.

The moth sees light and goes into fire. You should see fire

and go to the light. Fire is what of God is world-consuming.

Water, world-protecting.

Somehow each gives the appearance of the other.

To these eyes you have now, what looks like water burns.

What looks like fire is a great relief to be inside.

You have seen a magician make a bowl of rice

seem a dish of tiny, live worms. Before an assembly, with one

breath he made the floor swarm with scropions

that were not there. How much more amazing God's tricks.

Generation after generation lies down defeated, they think,

but they are like a woman underneath a man, circling him.

One molecule-mote-second of considering

this reversal of comfort and pain

is better than any attending ritual.

That splinter of intelligence is substance.

The fire and water themselves?

Accidental, done with mirrors.

The Question (1)

One dervish to another, What was your vision

of God's presence? I haven't seen anything,

but for the sake of conversation, I will tell you a story.

The presence is there in front of me.

A fire on the left, a lovely stream on the right.

One group walks toward the fire, into the fire.

Another toward the sweet flowing water.

No one knows which are blessed and which not.

Whoever walks into the fire appears suddenly

in the stream. A head goes underwater

and that head pokes out of the fire.

Most people guard against going into the fire

and so end up in it. Those who love the water

of pleasure and make it their devotion

are cheated with this reversal. The trickery goes further.

The voice of the fire tells the truth, saying

I am not fire. I am fountainhead.

Come into me and don't mind the sparks.

If you are a friend of the presence,

fire is your water.

The Sight of a Soul

One of the marvels of the world

is the sight of a soul sitting in prison

with the key in its hand.

Covered with dust,

with a cleansing waterfall an inch away.

A young man rolls from side to side,

though the bed is comfortable

and a pillow holds his head.

He has a living master, yet he wants more,

and there is more.

If a prisoner had not lived outside,

he would not detest the dungeon.

Desiring knows there is a satisfaction

beyond this. Straying maps the path.

A secret freedom opens

through a crevice you can barely see.

The awareness a wine drinker wants

cannot be tasted in wine, but that failure

brings his deep thirst closer.