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We have gone to heaven, we have been the friends of the angels, And now we will go back there, for there is our country. We are higher than heaven, more noble than the angels: Why not go beyond them? Our goal is the Supreme Majesty. What has the fine pearl to do with the world of dust? Why have you come down here? Take your baggage back. What is this place? Luck is with us, to us is the sacrifice! Like the birds of the sea, men come from the ocean--the ocean of the soul. How could this bird, born from that sea, make his dwelling here?

No, we are the pearls from the bosom of the sea, it is there that we dwell: Otherwise how could the wave succeed to the wave that comes from the soul? The wave named 'Am I not your Lord' has come, it has broken the vessel of the body; And when the vessel is broken, the vision comes back, and the union with Him. Eva de Vitray-Meyerovitch, 'Rumi and Sufism' trans. A builder looks for the rotten hole where the roof caved in. A water-carrier picks the empty pot. A carpenter stops at the house with no door.

Workers rush toward some hint of emptiness, which they then start to fill. Their hope, though, is for emptiness, so don't think you must avoid it. It contains what you need! Dear soul, if you were not friends with the vast nothing inside, why would you always be casting you net into it, and waiting so patiently? This invisible ocean has given you such abundance, but still you call it "death", that which provides you sustenance and work. God has allowed some magical reversal to occur, so that you see the scorpion pit as an object of desire, and all the beautiful expanse around it, as dangerous and swarming with snakes.

This is how strange your fear of death and emptiness is, and how perverse the attachment to what you want. Now that you've heard me on your misapprehensions, dear friend, listen to Attar's story on the same subject. He strung the pearls of this about King Mahmud, how among the spoils of his Indian campaign there was a Hindu boy, whom he adopted as a son. He educated and provided royally for the boy and later made him vice-regent, seated on a gold throne beside himself.

One day he found the young man weeping.. You're the companion of an emperor! The entire nation is ranged out before you like stars that you can command! Nothing could be more hellish! You are the Hindu boy. Mahmud, which means Praise to the End, is the spirit's poverty or emptiness. The mother and father are your attachment to beliefs and blood ties and desires and comforting habits. Don't listen to them! They seem to protect but they imprison. They are your worst enemies.

They make you afraid of living in emptiness. Some day you'll weep tears of delight in that court, remembering your mistaken parents! Know that your body nurtures the spirit, helps it grow, and gives it wrong advise. The body becomes, eventually, like a vest of chain mail in peaceful years, too hot in summer and too cold in winter.

But the body's desires, in another way, are like an unpredictable associate, whom you must be patient with. And that companion is helpful, because patience expands your capacity to love and feel peace. The patience of a rose close to a thorn keeps it fragrant. It's patience that gives milk to the male camel still nursing in its third year, and patience is what the prophets show to us. The beauty of careful sewing on a shirt is the patience it contains.

Friendship and loyalty have patience as the strength of their connection. Feeling lonely and ignoble indicates that you haven't been patient. Be with those who mix with God as honey blends with milk, and say, "Anything that comes and goes, rises and sets, is not what I love. These spiritual window-shoppers, who idly ask, 'How much is that? They handle a hundred items and put them down, shadows with no capital. What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping.

But these walk into a shop, and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment, in that shop. Where did you go? Start a huge, foolish project, like Noah. It makes absolutely no difference what people think of you. I died from minerality and became vegetable;. And From vegetativeness I died and became animal. I died from animality and became man.

Then why fear disappearance through death? Next time I shall die. Bringing forth wings and feathers like angels;. After that, soaring higher than angels -. What you cannot imagine,. I shall be that. Soul receives from soul that knowledge, therefore not by book. If knowledge of mysteries come after emptiness of mind, that is. If thou wilt be observant and vigilant, thou wilt see at every moment the response to thy action. Be observant if thou wouldst have a pure heart, for something is born to thee in consequence of every action.

I said , 'Thou art harsh, like such a one. Rub thine eyes, and behold the image of the heart. Make yourself free from self at one stroke! Like a sword be without trace of soft iron;.

Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

Like a steel mirror, scour off all rust with contrition. A Star Without a Name. When a baby is taken from the wet nurse,. Seeds feed awhile on ground,. So you should taste the filtered light. That's how you came here, like a star. Move across the night sky. Mathnawi III, God has given us a dark wine so potent that, drinking it, we leave the two worlds.

God has put into the form of hashish a power to deliver the taster from self-consciousness. God has made sleep so that it erases every thought. God made Majnun love Layla so much that just her dog would cause confusion in him. There are thousands of wines that can take over our minds. Don't think all ecstacies are the same! Jesus was lost in his love for God. His donkey was drunk with barley.

Drink from the presence of saints, not from those other jars. Every object, every being, is a jar full of delight. Be a conoisseur, and taste with caution. Any wine will get you high.

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Judge like a king, and choose the purest,. Drink the wine that moves you as a camel moves when it's been untied,. At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen. What marvelous route did you take from this world? Beating your wings and feathers, you broke free from this cage. Rising up to the sky you attained the world of the soul. You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.

Then you heard the drummer's call and flew beyond space and time. As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls. Then came the scent of the rosegarden and you flew off to meet the Rose. The wine of this fleeting world caused your head to ache. Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity. Like an arrow, you sped from the bow and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs But you turned from the illusion and journeyed to the land of truth. You are now the Sun - what need have you for a crown? You have vanished from this world - what need have you to tie your robe? I've heard that you can barely see your soul. But why look at all? O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.

Seeking divine heights, Flapping your wings, you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy. The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you - You are the fearless rose that grows amidst the freezing wind. Pouring down like the rain of heaven you fell upon the rooftop of this world. Then you ran in every direction and escaped through the drain spout. Now the words are over and the pain they bring is gone. Now you have gone to rest in the arms of the Beloved. How did you get away? You were the pet falcon of an old woman. Did you hear the falcon-drum? You were a drunken songbird put in with owls.

Did you smell the odor of a garden? You got tired of sour fermenting and left the tavern.

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You went like an arrow to the target from the bow of time and place. The man who stays at the cemetery pointed the way, but you didn't go. You became light and gave up wanting to be famous. You don't worry about what you're going to eat, so why buy an engraved belt? I've heard of living at the center, but what about leaving the center of the center?

Flying toward thankfulness, you become the rare bird with one wing made of fear, and one of hope. In autumn, a rose crawling along the ground in the cold wind. Rain on the roof runs down and out by the spout as fast as it can. Talking is pain. Lie down and rest, now that you've found a friend to be with. I met a gentleman in Tokyo, an Englishman, a couple years ago, who described himself as an Anglo-Catholic. I assumed that this was just a way of suggesting that he was a conservative Anglican. He gently insisted that he and other Anglo-Catholics regard themselves as Catholic rather than Protestant, just not under the rule of the pope.

Henry Vaughan : A Divine Mystic

Pingback: Nursing mothers and children of God shecallsme. Thanks for pointing that out. I realize I was quoting one of my lit professors from long ago who called him a Catholic. I will update the post accordingly. Reading this page is like looking into a mirror. I attended the University of St. Thomas in Houston. And I have read and re-read Yeats and Eliot throughout my life. Many thanks for your page here. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account.

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The Awakened Kingdom by N.K. Jemisin

Notify me of new posts via email. Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Sign me up! The First Gates. Skip to content. Marina, a poem by T. Eliot Posted on September 7, by Morgan Mussell. Eliot by Lady Ottoline Morrell, Public Domain.

Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga? Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning Death Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning Death Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning Death Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning Death Are become insubstantial, reduced by a wind, A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog By this grace dissolved in place What is this face, less clear and clearer The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger— Given or lent?

Rate this:. Like this: Like Loading This entry was posted in Authors , Poetry and tagged authors , poetry , T. Bookmark the permalink. Eliot Rosi says:. September 10, at pm. Morgan Mussell says:. Who knows — maybe… Like Like. Greg Hutchinson says:. October 16, at pm. Shefali says:. October 10, at am. Ry says:. December 7, at pm. That the future is a royal rose, Like Like. November 6, at am. November 6, at pm. Protik Prokash Banerji says:.

December 16, at pm. May 23, at am. May 23, at pm. Thanks for you thoughtful and detailed comment. November 25, at pm. Gregory Hutchinson says:. November 7, at am. My pleasure. I too have read Eliot, and especially the Four Quartets for decades. Kev says:.


January 20, at am. Thanks Kev. Eliot continues to be an inspiration to me, as I think is obvious in the post. January 20, at pm. Simon says:. May 17, at am. June 2, at pm.

Thanks for the clarification, Simon. Don Rood says:. September 4, at pm. October 16, at am. Grayson says:. March 31, at am. Eliot never joined the Roman Catholic Church. March 31, at pm. Paul D. Frazier says:. February 19, at pm.