Where Everything is Music

This week I have struggled a little bit with some of the Rumi that I’ve read. Here are a range of my journal notes: Reading Rumi’s poems, I wonder what it must have been like for him to try to portray through his words what his revelations were. How do you describe the sky to a blind person? It’s always there but it has it’s moods and is always changing. Even in the moment of describing the sky it may change before your eyes. On another day I wrote: I think Rumi is telling us we try too hard. Even if we do nothing we will reap the rewards of the harvest. And one day I questioned who actually wrote the poem (Only Breath) or who was it who inspired Rumi to write the words he did?

Today “Where Everything is Music” resonates with me. In 2015, as an adult with no musical background, I decided to learn to play cello.(Seen in the above photo!) I have loved every minute of the journey. It has been challenging for sure but it has opened my eyes to a world I had been on the periphery of before. I feel I have “opened a window” as Rumi suggests in his final stanza of this poem.

“We have fallen into the place

where everything is music.

Stop the words now.

Open the window in the center of your chest,

and let the spirits fly in and out.” ~ Rumi

Rumi compares love, his passion for life and living, to the intoxicating effect of music, with its enlivening effect on the soul.

Throughout the day today I see references to Bach and to Nietzsche, “Without music life would be a mistake.” Reminders of Rumi’s words are everywhere. A quote from Virginia Woolf falls open, “That is the quality which dance music has – no other: it stirs some barbaric instinct – lulled asleep in our sober lives – you forget centuries of civilization in a second and yield to that strange passion which sends you whirling round the room – oblivious of everything save that you must keep swaying with the music -” I listen to my favorite songs and I know that Rumi’s assessment of music will resonate with many!

Craftsmanship and Emptiness

Today I felt I was sitting at Rumi’s feet listening to him teach. His calm, gentle demeanor radiated out to create a calm, gentle atmosphere in the circle of his teaching.

“I’ve said before that every craftsman

searches for what’s not there

to practice his craft.”

Rumi goes on to say how a builder notices a hole in a roof, a water carrier notices an empty jug, a carpenter notices a house without a door. Each craftsman is looking for something that isn’t there so they can then practice their craft, have something to do. But then Rumi states:

“Their hope, though,

is for emptiness, so don’t think

you must avoid it. It contains

what you need!”

The poem continues with a teaching frm another Sufi mystic, Attar. As always, I am left with a hint of knowing but still not 100% sure of Rumi’s message. I am left with more of a feeling than actual knowing. But I believe from this hint of knowledge, great knowing can be acquired if I am patient.

Shadow Lake

The road winds into the distance
rocks, roots, puddles and mud
draw them higher.
Each step one closer to the lodge
built years ago by others
who passed beneath more youthful trees.
Trees that now bend and sway
creak and groan as they lean
to hear conversation below,
chatter to ease the monotony
of the upward stretch.

Clouds twist and tumble
tease with grey and blues swirls,
jackets on and off
in rhythm with their play.

Each stride squashes every day worry.
Layers of adult responsibility shed
as boots splash and smiles spread.
Friends greet each other,
prairie dogs happy to ascend to the alpine,
to explore new territory.
Covered in mud they giggle,
children who play in the rain
because they can.

Speechless


Words have fled my lips,
like moulting feathers that litter the ground,
useless.
My heart is in my throat.
I see abundance.
Numerous seals and penguins dot the landscape
like so many pixels creating an image.
Great beauty rises from stark surroundings.
Thick glaciers melt into leaping waterfalls,
cascade to the sea.
Wash over red rust whaling station scars
that blister the horizon.
Macabre glory days over,
sea and salt air reclaim what once ignored her.
Beleaguered oil containers lean into the future
waiting for cargo that will no longer fill
their insatiable appetite.
Once we pillaged the sea,
now the earth.

Wallowing

Woke up this morning
took a moment to see
through blurry eyes
exactly what
was looking back at me

Garbage can lids
cardboard under my head
a dumpster spilling over
can’t remember what I did
what I said

Do you have a light
can you spare a dime
I thought things would be different
this time
Do you have a light
can you spare a dime
I really thought life would be different
this time

Went to a center
finally took someone’s advice
lost my wallet, my cigarettes, my hoodie
came away with lice

Story of my life
always seems to be
no matter what it is I do
bad luck follows me

Do you have a light
can you spare a dime
I thought things would be different
this time
Do you have a light
can you spare a dime
I really thought life would be different
this time

One hundred push ups
fifty sit ups with a kick
didn’t make a difference
left me feeling kinda sick

Don’t know why the fuss
wish people would let things be
let me face my own future
wallow in misery

Do you have a light
can you spare a dime
I thought things would be different
this time
Do you have a light
can you spare a dime
I really thought life would be different
this time

Speechless

seconds
less than a minute
time it takes to cross threshold
from one room to another
life changes

voice stolen
gone
unexpected words
spoken in anger
have power to stop any motion
power to steal any utterance
vocalization
a thing of the past
articulation arrested
stunted
swallowed in disbelief

frantic heartbeat
racing thoughts
no sound escapes lips
seared together
saliva fled along with speech

flaming cheeks
follow flash of insight
no rebuttal will be justly heard
knowledge of necessary decision
crystal clear
in order to save
authentic self

Tumbled

Sights and sounds flow
swiftly by
tumbling me
shaping me
rolling me along the river of life

Radiant sunlight filters through
a canopy of leaves
dappled beams
scattered across my smooth surface
solar energy touching my rocky being
warmth absorbed

Rain drops add to the river
cares and worries pitter patter around me
howling wind and icy hail
roil the waters

Vibrant birds alight
colorful refractions shimmer across my hard surface
a dancing sparkle in the water
tempting
They peck
and peck and peck
then fly away
graceful wings growing smaller in the distance

I remain alone

Layers

Dark morning
single star wavering
alone in sky

no sunrise promise on horizon

Dark buildings
stand impassive
skeleton towers
waiting to come to life

Dark absorbs thoughts
hides goals
hides dreams
Self walks away
layers peel off
another
then another
onion skin transparencies

Strong urge to chase after them
bring back these diaphanous apparitions
but curiosity wins
need to know meaning of layers
these beautifully fragile layers

Sky remains dark
single star blinks
layers have gone
mystery remains

Inside dark building
shower stings
water beads pelt
raw form
no promise of sunrise
on horizon