That, I'm thinking, is what life isn't (although I believe that life is also lived in dream time, especially if one has lucid dreams).
Life, though, is for the living -- and I (for once not being glib, although unduly parenthetical, which is a sign, but I do not know for what) do not mean that it is not for the dead, but that is is a thing to be fully lived, not kissed on the cheek and lightly dodged in case it reciprocate with something more overwhelming, but rather that it be taken openly and fully, embraced and yielded to, in full-throated and (inshallah) full-bodied welcome, utterly.
Today, I find myself in the tired simplistic mode, thinking of this life as a road and this time as our chance to journey along it. The only guaranteed companion on this road is oneself. However far you run, however fast you travel, there you are. It serves each of us well, then, to know and be comfortable with her or himself, otherwise it's going to be an awfully awkward (and simply awful) trip, serving no-one well.
Me being me and the body and its fillings being what they are, this word-path runs to Rumi, a Sufi mystic and a poet. (John Moyne and Coleman Barks, translators) (Is that not a wonderful thing: 'to translate'? Think on it.)
Life, though, is for the living -- and I (for once not being glib, although unduly parenthetical, which is a sign, but I do not know for what) do not mean that it is not for the dead, but that is is a thing to be fully lived, not kissed on the cheek and lightly dodged in case it reciprocate with something more overwhelming, but rather that it be taken openly and fully, embraced and yielded to, in full-throated and (inshallah) full-bodied welcome, utterly.
Today, I find myself in the tired simplistic mode, thinking of this life as a road and this time as our chance to journey along it. The only guaranteed companion on this road is oneself. However far you run, however fast you travel, there you are. It serves each of us well, then, to know and be comfortable with her or himself, otherwise it's going to be an awfully awkward (and simply awful) trip, serving no-one well.
Me being me and the body and its fillings being what they are, this word-path runs to Rumi, a Sufi mystic and a poet. (John Moyne and Coleman Barks, translators) (Is that not a wonderful thing: 'to translate'? Think on it.)
For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.
From within, I couldn't decide what to do.
Unable to see, I heard my name being called.
Then I walked outside.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
You don't need to be a Sufi to understand or heed that call. Whatever your faithlessness or faith, it's only ('only' -- ha) a matter of being awake, fully alive inside and out, hearing, sensing, knowing, not racing through without being where you are. Thousands of years of study and meditation and refining faiths seem offhandedly dismissed in that.
In the 1st century, someone approached Rabbi Hillel and said, 'If you can tell me all of Judaism while standing on one leg, I'll convert.' The rabbi lifted one foot from the ground and said, 'Be good to each other. The rest is commentary.'
Rumi isn't telling anybody when or what or how to pray, what to ingest and avoid, how to do or be. He is exhorting wakefulness.
Someone cleverer than I (I do not -- yet -- know who this person is or was) said tartly that it's okay to fall asleep in the middle of the road; somebody will be along in a while to wake you up. This is true. However, I know that it is possible for me to sleep through an alarm, how easy it is to hit the snooze button, and how unbearably seductive is the temptation to go back to bed (those duvets are warm and the mattress comfortable, still formed to fit the body).
If you're awake, then try to stay that way. Begs cup after cup of spiritual caffeine. Why Christ made wine instead of espresso (Wake up, people.), I do not know . . . although I do like a good glass of wine and it, too, serves its many purposes.
I'm not going to go on at length. Rumi wrote, 'Be silent! be silent! for love behaves contrary to normal; Here the meaning hides itself if you talk too much.' I think I'm going to be still for a while and listen.
In the 1st century, someone approached Rabbi Hillel and said, 'If you can tell me all of Judaism while standing on one leg, I'll convert.' The rabbi lifted one foot from the ground and said, 'Be good to each other. The rest is commentary.'
Rumi isn't telling anybody when or what or how to pray, what to ingest and avoid, how to do or be. He is exhorting wakefulness.
Someone cleverer than I (I do not -- yet -- know who this person is or was) said tartly that it's okay to fall asleep in the middle of the road; somebody will be along in a while to wake you up. This is true. However, I know that it is possible for me to sleep through an alarm, how easy it is to hit the snooze button, and how unbearably seductive is the temptation to go back to bed (those duvets are warm and the mattress comfortable, still formed to fit the body).
If you're awake, then try to stay that way. Begs cup after cup of spiritual caffeine. Why Christ made wine instead of espresso (Wake up, people.), I do not know . . . although I do like a good glass of wine and it, too, serves its many purposes.
I'm not going to go on at length. Rumi wrote, 'Be silent! be silent! for love behaves contrary to normal; Here the meaning hides itself if you talk too much.' I think I'm going to be still for a while and listen.
No comments:
Post a Comment