Rumi, Rumi, Rumi ...Listen to Rumi
You ask me what I want from you
I ask you to listen to Rumi
I ask you to stop protecting your heart
It is not your heart I want
It is your soul
Your heart is the window to your soul
So how can I reach your soul
If you keep on shielding it
So listen to Rumi
(the Anomaly 3 April 2007)
Rumi: Love's Excess
(Prose preface to Book II of the Masnavi)
Someone asked "What is love?"
"Be lost in me" I said
"You'll know love when that happens."
Love has no calculating in it.
That's why it is said to be a quality of God
And not of human beings.
God loves you is the only possible sentence.
The subject becomes the object so totally that it can't be turned around.
Who will the 'you' pronoun stand for if you say "You love God"?
Rumi: Two Ways of Running
A certain man had a jealous wife and a very appealing maidservant.
The wife was careful not to leave them alone, ever.
For six years they were never left in a room together.
But then, one day at the public bath the wife remembered she'd left her silver basin at home.
"Please, go get the basin," she told her maid. The girl jumped to the task knowing she would finally get to be alone with the master.
She ran joyfully. She flew. Desire took them both so quickly they didn't latch the door.
With great speed they joined. When bodies blend in copulation, spirits also merge.
Meanwhile, the wife back at the bathhouse is washing her hair.
"What have I done! I have set cotton wool on fire! I've put the ram in with the ewe!"
She washed the clay soap and ran, fixing her chador about her as she went.
The maid ran for love.
The wife ran out of jealousy and fear.
There is a great difference.
A mystic lover flies from moment to moment.
The fearful ascetic drags along month to month.
The length of a day for a lover may be fifty thousand years!
There's no way to understand this with your mind. You must burst open!
Love is a quality of God.
Fear is an attribute of those who think they serve God,
but actually they are preoccupied with penis and vagina.
Rule-keepers run on foot along the surface.
Lovers move like lightning and wind.
Theologians mumble, rumble-dumble, necessity and free will,
while lover and beloved pull themselves into each other.
The worried wife reaches the door and opens it.
The maid is disheveled, flushed, unable to speak.
The husband begins his five-times prayer. As though experimenting with clothes, he holds up some flaps and edges. She sees his testicles and penis so wet, semen still dribbling out, spurts of jism and vaginal juices of the maid.
The wife slaps him on the side of the head,
"Is this the way a man prays,
with his balls? Does your penis long for union like this?
Is that why her legs are so covered with this stuff?"
These are good questions.
People who repress desires
often turn, suddenly