Sometimes it feels like Rumi is playing with us, maybe to see if we’re paying attention. The poem I read today feels very playful. He says,
“We’re drinking wine, but not through lips.
We’re sleeping it off, but not in bed.”
“Thoughts take form with words,
but this daylight is beyond and before
thinking and imagining.”
Then he finishes the poem with these lines:
“The rest of the poem is too blurry
for them to read.”
Are we so caught up in the busy-ness of our lives that we cannot see the poetry of the world around us? The beautiful mystery that we call heaven is already here around us but we have complicated our vision and forgotten how to see? Today’s poem doesn’t feel like a reprimand or encouragement – it feels like Rumi is teasing a bit, saying to us, look, see how absurd we can sometimes be.