blossoming consciousness

There are those, so gifted with words, that in a few simple phrases can describe the deepest truths.  Jelaluddin Rumi is one such individual. He lived 800 years ago, yet his words are more relevant to our present time than so much that is thrown at us today.  I happened upon a collection of Rumi’s work put together by Coleman Barks entitled, “Rumi: The Book of Love”, and will share a few over the coming weeks. My hope is that it will add a little beauty, peace and light to your day.

Roses Underfoot

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The sound of salaams rising as waves

diminish down in prayer,

hoping for some trace of the one

whose trace does not appear.

-

If anyone asks you to say who you are,

say without hesitation, soul

within soul within soul.

-

There’s a pearl diver who does not know

how to swim! No matter.

Pearls are handed to him on the beach.

-

We lovers laugh to hear, “There should be

more that and that more this,”

coming from people sitting in a wagon

tilted in a ditch.

-

Going in search of the heart, I found

a huge rose, and roses under all our feet!

-

How to say this to someone who denies it?

The robe we wear is the sky’s cloth.

-

Everything is soul and flowering.

I

The arrival of spring brings beauty, music and light. In spritual traditions across this earth, this transition marks the new year–the chance to purify oneself of the heaviness that may have attached to our mind body and soul over the past year.  As beings on this Earth, we have the ability and right to be just as colorful and beautiful as the fields of smiling wildflowers; and we can sing as loudly and as joyously as our feathered friends perched above.  Be the beauty you see and feel around you. Happy spring!

Here is a poem by the gifted Rumi in honor of this time of year:

The Music We Are

Did you hear that winter’s over? The basil
and the carnations cannot control their

laughter. The nightingale, back from his
wandering, has been made singing master

over the birds. The trees reach out their
congratulations. The soul goes dancing

through the king’s doorway. Anemones blush
because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the
courtroom, and several December thieves steal

away, Last year’s miracles will soon be
forgotten. New creatures whirl in from non-

existence, galaxies scattered around their
feet. Have you met them? Do you hear the

bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle? A single
narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector

of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen: the
wind is pouring wine! Love used to hide

inside images: no more! The orchard hangs
out its lanterns. The dead come stumbling by

in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be
imprisoned. You say, “End this poem here,

and wait for what’s next.” I will. Poems
are rough notations for the music we are.