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-Titulo Original : The Essential Rumi, New Expanded Edition
-Fabricante :
HarperOne
-Descripcion Original:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Tavern:Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have to Take Me HomeOn the TavernIn the tavern are many wines-the wine of delight in color and form and taste, the wine of the intellects agility, the fine port of stories, and the cabernet of soul singing. Being human means entering this place where entrancing varieties of desire are served. The grapeskin of ego breaks and a pouring begins. Fermentation is one of the oldest symbols for human transformation. When grapes combine their juice and are closed up together for a time in a dark place, the results are spectacular. This is what lets two drunks meet so that they dont know who is who. Pronouns no longer apply in the taverns mud-world of excited confusion and half-articulated wantings.But after some time in the tavern, a point comes, a memory of elsewhere, a longing for the source, and the drunks must set off from the tavern and begin the return. The Quran says, -We are all returning. The tavern is a kind of glorious hell that human beings enjoy and suffer and then push off from in their search for truth. The tavern is a dangerous region where sometimes disguises are necessary, but never bide your heart, Rumi urges. Keep open there. A breaking apart, a crying out into the street, begins in the tavern, and the human soul turns to find its way home.Its 4 a.m. Nasruddin leaves the tavern and walks the town aimlessly. A policeman stops him. Why are you out wandering the streets in the middle of the night? Sir, replies Nasruddin, if I knew the answer to that question, I would have been home hours ago!Who Says Words with my Mouth?All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, Im sure of that, and I intend to end up there.This drunkenness began in some other tavern. When I get back around to that place, Ill be completely sober. Meanwhile, Im like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary. The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth?Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking. If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks. I didnt come here of my own accord, and I cant leave that way. Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.This poetry. I never know what Im going to say. I dont plan it. When Im outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups. Thats fine with us. Every morning we glow and in the evening we glow again.They say theres no future for us. Theyre right. Which is fine with us.A Community of the SpiritThere is a community of the spirit. Join it, and feel the delight of walking in the noisy street, and being the noise.Drink all your passion, and be a disgrace.Close both eyes to see with the other eye.Open your hands, if you want to be held.Sit down in this circle.Quit acting like a wolf, and feel the shepherds love filling you.At night, your beloved wanders. Dont accept consolations.Close your mouth against food. Taste the lovers mouth in yours.You moan, She left me.He left me.Twenty more will come.Be empty of worrying. Think of who created thought!Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence.Flow down and down in always widening rings of being.Theres a strange frenzy in my head, of birds flying, each particle circulating on its own. Is the one I love everywhere?Drunks fear the police, but the police are drunk too.People in this town love them both like different chess pieces.A Childrens GameListen to the poet Sanai, who lived secluded: Dont wander out on the road in your ecstasy. Sleep in the tavern.When a drunk strays out to the street, children make fun of him.He falls down in the mud. He takes any and every
-Fabricante :
HarperOne
-Descripcion Original:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Tavern:Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have to Take Me HomeOn the TavernIn the tavern are many wines-the wine of delight in color and form and taste, the wine of the intellects agility, the fine port of stories, and the cabernet of soul singing. Being human means entering this place where entrancing varieties of desire are served. The grapeskin of ego breaks and a pouring begins. Fermentation is one of the oldest symbols for human transformation. When grapes combine their juice and are closed up together for a time in a dark place, the results are spectacular. This is what lets two drunks meet so that they dont know who is who. Pronouns no longer apply in the taverns mud-world of excited confusion and half-articulated wantings.But after some time in the tavern, a point comes, a memory of elsewhere, a longing for the source, and the drunks must set off from the tavern and begin the return. The Quran says, -We are all returning. The tavern is a kind of glorious hell that human beings enjoy and suffer and then push off from in their search for truth. The tavern is a dangerous region where sometimes disguises are necessary, but never bide your heart, Rumi urges. Keep open there. A breaking apart, a crying out into the street, begins in the tavern, and the human soul turns to find its way home.Its 4 a.m. Nasruddin leaves the tavern and walks the town aimlessly. A policeman stops him. Why are you out wandering the streets in the middle of the night? Sir, replies Nasruddin, if I knew the answer to that question, I would have been home hours ago!Who Says Words with my Mouth?All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, Im sure of that, and I intend to end up there.This drunkenness began in some other tavern. When I get back around to that place, Ill be completely sober. Meanwhile, Im like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary. The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth?Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking. If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks. I didnt come here of my own accord, and I cant leave that way. Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.This poetry. I never know what Im going to say. I dont plan it. When Im outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups. Thats fine with us. Every morning we glow and in the evening we glow again.They say theres no future for us. Theyre right. Which is fine with us.A Community of the SpiritThere is a community of the spirit. Join it, and feel the delight of walking in the noisy street, and being the noise.Drink all your passion, and be a disgrace.Close both eyes to see with the other eye.Open your hands, if you want to be held.Sit down in this circle.Quit acting like a wolf, and feel the shepherds love filling you.At night, your beloved wanders. Dont accept consolations.Close your mouth against food. Taste the lovers mouth in yours.You moan, She left me.He left me.Twenty more will come.Be empty of worrying. Think of who created thought!Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence.Flow down and down in always widening rings of being.Theres a strange frenzy in my head, of birds flying, each particle circulating on its own. Is the one I love everywhere?Drunks fear the police, but the police are drunk too.People in this town love them both like different chess pieces.A Childrens GameListen to the poet Sanai, who lived secluded: Dont wander out on the road in your ecstasy. Sleep in the tavern.When a drunk strays out to the street, children make fun of him.He falls down in the mud. He takes any and every
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