Who gets up early to discover the moment light begins?
Who finds us here circling, bewildered, like atoms?
Who, like Jacob blind with grief and age,
smells the shirt of his lost son and can see again?
Who lets a bucket down and brings up a flowing prophet?
Or like Moses goes for fire and finds what burns inside the sunrise?
Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies,
and opens a door to the other world.
Solomon cuts open a fish, and there’s a gold ring.
Omar storms in to kill the prophet and leaves with blessings.
But don’t be satisfied with stories,
how things have gone with others.
Unfold your own myth,
so everyone will understand the passage, We have opened you.
Start walking toward Shams. Your legs will get heavy and tired.
Then comes a moment of feeling the wings you’ve grown, lifting.
-rumi, of course-
They say a picture speaks a thousand words. Let these speak, then.
How can we still walk on the face of the earth with our head held up high?
[pics courtesy of Efrulwan, Surabaya]
I have no real reason to put this picture other than the fact that it is so adorable. They are so adorable. My nieces. Look at the expression. Look at the smile. Look how happy they are. Love them to bits.
On second thought, I supposed this is real enough as a reason.
Friends from the office asked if I wanted to hang out with them tonight. I said no. I just wanted to go home.
I thought about going to the gym after work. But I changed my mind. I wanted to go home.
I drove some friends to their hotel. They asked if I wanted to stop by for a while. I declined. I wanted to go home.
I just wanted to rush home. To be with my mom.
When you give a noble falcon
to a fussy old woman who knows nothing of falconry,
she will clip its wings short, for its own good.
Young man, where has your mother been
that your toenails have gotten this long?
Those talons are how the falcon hunts for its food.
The old woman fixes him tutmaj, dumpling stew.
He won’t touch it. Too good to eat my tutmaj, huh?
She ladles some broth and holds it to his beak.
Her anger builds, and suddently she pours
the laddle of hot soup over his head.
Tears come from those beautiful falcon eyes.
He remembers his former life, the king’s love-whisle,
the great circling over the ocean,
the distance that condense so quickly to a point.
Falcon tears are food for a true human being,
perfume for Gabriel.
Your soul is the king’s falcon,
who says, This old woman’s rage
does not touch my glory or my discipline.
My friend’s friend was a victim in the recent Garuda crash in Yogya.
It feels different when it is someone you know. It even feels different when it is someone that someone you know knows.
I wish I have wiser things to say to you. But I don’t. All I can think of is that I want to say I am so sorry for your loss. You are such a strong person, that it makes me sad to see you this sad.
In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you.
but sometimes I do,
and that light becomes this art.
Note: You’re going to read many of these as I go through his book.