Rumi - "When I see you and how you are..."

When I see you and how you are,
I close my eyes to the other.
For your Solomon's seal I become wax
throughout my body. I wait to be light.

I give up opinions on all matters.
I become the reed flute for your breath.

You were inside my hand.
I kept reaching around for something.
I was inside your hand, but I kept asking questions
of those who know very little.

I must have been incredibly simple or drunk or insane
to sneak into my own house and steal money,
to climb over the fence and take my own vegetables.
But no more. I've gotten free of that ignorant fist
that was pinching and twisting my secret self.

The universe and the light of the stars come through me.
I am the crescent moon put up
over the gate to the festival.

This version of Rumi's poem is by Coleman Barks from,
"These Branching Moments: Forty Odes by Rumi."
Published by Copper Beech Press, 1988

This is one of my favorite poems by the 13th century Persian poet and mystic Jalal ad-Din Rumi. I was interested to read today, on a website devoted to Rumi's poems, that many of the translations of Rumi's poems that we read in the West are really interpretations, rather than direct word-for-word translations.  If you're interested to see how divergent the interpretations can be, on this blog you can read three distinctly different versions of the above poem. 

The part I connect to most in this poem is towards the end, where Rumi writes,

I must have been incredibly simple or drunk or insane
to sneak into my own house and steal money

It is such a  comical way of describing  human behaviour; we act in ways that we think will better our own cause, but what we're really doing is harming ourselves. When I read this I realised that when I'm lost in anger or self-criticism I'm not improving my life, but breaking-in to it - "pinching and twisting" my secret-self.  

I love the imagery of the last few lines - the stars, the universe, the crescent moon, and the festival.  They invoke such a sense of joy and mystery. It feels to me that the time I spend in mindfulness meditation - just compassionately observing the ways I've been "incredibly simple or drunk or insane" - is slowly but steadily leading to a sense that the stars are shining through me, and through a transparent universe. 

The guest house

This being human is a guest house.

                Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meaness,

Some momentary awareness

                comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!...

The dark though, the shame, the malice,

               meet them at the door laughing,

                                and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

                 because each has been sent

                                    as a guide from beyond.

Rumi

I read this poem last night, just before sleeping.  As I was trying to sleep I ruminated on what kind of 'guest house' I was running.  How did I welcome new arrivals?  Was I this smiling Bed & Breakfast owner -  always on hand with a cup of hot chocolate to welcome weary and grumpy travellers? 

Or was I the gumpy manager of a cheap highway motel, with never a friendly smile for anyone?

Rumi's poem is a great reminder to me not to constantly judge each morning's new arrivals.  This morning there was pain, sadness and despair. 'Yet another day lost to exhaustion,' I thought, miserably. Instead of pushing this pain and misery away, or telling myself I just had to tough it out, I thought of this poem and tried to stay with my sensations.  'Pain, pain, misery, misery,' I repeated to myself.  

I realised what an aversion I have to feeling miserable!  Voices and images rose in my mind, all telling me that I was weak and self-absorbed to be focusing on my misery.  

We live in a culture that emphasizes positive thinking and an individualistic 'can-do' attitude.  How much, I wonder, does this culture allow us just to be sad? Just to focus, for a few minutes, on our daily pains - both large and small? I wonder if I will ever be able to sit with my difficult guests, welcoming them all...'as a guide from the beyond.' Will I ever be able to offer my sadness a cup of hot chocolate and a soft pillow for the night?