Ruminating on Rumi

I had the great honor of visiting the Tomb of Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi , when I was in Konya, Turkey. It was a holy moment, akin to visiting the tomb of a Catholic saint.

Today I found this wonderful verse of his.

God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,

from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed.

As roses, up from ground.

Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,

now a cliff covered with vines,

now a horse being saddled.

It hides within these,

till one day it cracks them open.

Space for New Joy

A year ago at this time, I was reflecting that 2011 was probably the worst year of my life. Little did I know that 2012 was going to be even more difficult. When I was writing last year's complaint, I had no idea that my mother would die in a few days and I would be catapulted into a year of griefwalking, coupled with anxiety and panic.

It's a good thing we don't know what's coming or we wouldn't have the fortitude to withstand it. At least I wouldn't. If I had been told a year ago that the 2012 was going to be much more challenging on every level than 2011, I would have curled up in the fetal position and refused to move.

But today, in these first bright days of 2013, I realize I have gained an important lesson.  I don't want to look back.  I don't want to go over 2012 and remember all the dark and difficult days.  I don't want to relive the fear, the panic, the grief, the sorrow, the anguish, the struggles.  I just want them to be part of the past, and not carry them with me into the future.

I don't know what this year will bring...thankfully...but I hope and pray that after two years of sorrow mounted on sorrow, these words of the great Sufi mystic Rumi will ring true and soon "new joy can find space" in my life.

 Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.

I've loved Rumi for many years and when I visited Turkey, I got to go to his tomb.  I really should write about it.  It was one of the seminal experiences of my life.  In the meantime, here is one of his poems that means a great deal to me right now. (Not sure how the copyright works, so here's the link:

 http://www.gratefulness.org/poetry/guest_house.htm)

The Guest House This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice. meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. Be grateful for whatever comes. because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. -- Jelaluddin Rumi,     translation by Coleman Barks

Copyright 1997 by Coleman Barks. All rights reserved. From The Illuminated Rumi. © design by gratefulness team