A meeting containing Rumi-like sayings.

Lulu A4 8.3×11.7 coil-bound)  added 4/25/2017 Bigger, better, with some adornments.

Amazon 8.5×11

Inline video (other):

Lulu book pages:

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Amazon book pages:

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A MEETING WITH RUMI

Welcome. What bringest thee, friend?
There, on some remoter shore of human soul
To which I helped restore life and spirit,
I learned that love was the only flame that lit
This life, for she had taught me how to give it.

What once I was has dimmed, physically,
But, I am a star, still bright in the night,
Though, when the sun rises, I disappear into her.
For no one looks for the stars when the sun is out.

No, I did not just disappear—
I am just completely soaked in her qualities.
The drop has become the ocean—
Now I drink from her spring of eternal youth.

Do we feel some memory of elsewhere?
Do we dare to look into the setting sun?
It shines through us, illuminating us.
We re-energize. We become supernovae.

What flaming forge fires all that we know?
What do we seek? We long for the TOE—
As the human mind turns to the inward sown
And thence outward as well to find its way home.

Why do we wander around in the starry dark,
In the middle of the night as this lighted spark?
Well, if we knew the answer to our vertigo,
We would have been home some hours ago.

Where would that be—wholly home? My voice says:
I don’t know—mind ever seeks. Whatever
Brought me here will have to take me home.
Or this is home and we’re already there.

How do we see this home from our newer house?
Close both eyes, to see with the other eye.
Then how do we hear of it with our ears?
The blossoms drop their blessings all around.

What quenches our thirst in this life of ours?
Break the wineglass, this earthly cup of thine,
And fall toward the glassblower’s breath and drink.

Why?
We are the sweet cold water as well the jar
That pours it. Plus more—we are even
That which makes the drink taste so refreshing.

Where do we go to know, climbing mountains,
The Himalayas, to find there the wise old man?
No, for a mountain is but a little piece of straw
Blown off into the sheer emptiness of the All.

What shall we feast on? The before and the afterly?
No, for we taste this minute the time of eternity.
We have wet our robes in the shallows of mirth;
Then we dive deeper, under the fathomless surf.

We’re not afraid to feast
On the sweet taste
Of eternity this minute?

We dive under, even naked under,
And deeper under the fathomless surf,
Wherein the drop becomes the Ocean, too,
As the Ocean, as well, becomes the drop.

Where is the light that shines to make us so?
It was born of the many stars in that milky glow,
And so there is a light seed grain deep inside you;
You fill it up with yourself, or it dies, to embers few.

And what of her, the beloved beyond?
There is a window open across the pond.
How’s that? The quiet airs mix our beings.
There’s a unified field. Go forth, singing.

Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing
And rightdoing, there’s the underlying.
Go forth and then wait; you will meet her there.

And then do we see the bright light of day?
Ever this day that we sought is inside the way
Of living and dying, sunrise, sunset, and noon.
Blossom—lest the petals wither much too soon.

Did we not tire, ever walking, looking, lame?
At first, we did, yes, but then the beauty came—
The grand moment of wings grown; lifting, new.
That rhythm flies us—the music plays through.

From. . .?
‘Twas fashioned even before it was.

Where have we been through all of these scenes?
Well, everywhere, and nowhere—as but in-between.
Come home! There was never the less or the prime;
And then you will know this place for the first time.

I drink the very wine that moves in me.
I freely let life’s spirit play through me.
I’m its rhythm and music and live it.
Life, though rough sometimes, must be lived fully.

I spring into another level of being,
By “dying into life”, so colorfully,
Like a spring flower—the energy was there
In the bulb all along, deep within.

There’s a longing, between Body and Soul,
That reassures us when we go with the flow,
And tugs at us when we don’t—an undertow.

The world can crash, out there,
But the flowers grow, in here.
For, we are the garden.

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