Sunday, August 29, 2010

Soul Poems by Rumi


One Song

What is praised is one, so the praise is one too,
many jugs being poured 
into a huge basin. 
All religions, all this singing, one song.

The differences are just illusion and vanity. Sunlight looks slightly different on this wall
than it does on that wall and a lot different on this other one, but
it is still one light. We have borrowed these clothes, these time-and-space personalities,
from a light, and when we praise, we pour them back in.


Four Interrupted Prayers

Four Indians enter a mosque and begin the prostrations.
Deep, sincere praying.

But a priest walks by, and one of the Indians, without thinking says, "Oh, are you going to give the call to prayer now? Is it time?"

The second Indian, under his breath, "You spoke. Now your prayers are invalid."

The third, "Uncle, don't scold him! You did the same thing. Correct yourself." 

The fourth, "Praise to God, I have not made the mistake of these three." 

So all four prayers are interrupted, with the three faultfinders being more at fault than the original speaker. 
Blessed is one who his weakness, and blessed is one who, when he sees a flaw in someone else , takes responsibility for it.
Because, half of any person is wrong and weak and off the path.
The other half is dancing and swimming and flying in the invisible joy. 
You have ten open sores on your head. Put what salve you have on yourself. And point out to everyone the disease you are.

That's part of getting well! When you lance yourself that way, you become more merciful and wiser. Even if you don't have a particular fault at the moment, you may soon be the one who makes some act notorious. 

Don't feel self-satisfied. Lucifer lived eons as a noble angel. Think what his name means now.
Don't try to be famous until your face is completely washed of any fear. If your beard hasn't grown out, don't joke about someone's smooth chin.

Consider how Satan swallowed soul poison, and be grateful that you taste only the sweetness of being warned.

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