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| Topic: RUMI | |
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The Guest House
This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes As an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. -Rumi Translator: Barks |
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Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent as a guide from beyond Very Grateful indeed ((((S1ow)))) 
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A woman appears at the door and wants in silence comes from the man inside as the cold naked cherry of his guitar slides against the sweaty flesh of his belly his fingers begin plucking the blues as if coaxing life from a dead resonant cavern his voice halfheartedly humming melancholy bars like an aged but harmonious dragonfly A chirrup springs from the screen door as the sensuous woman slithers into the abode her flimsy attire frail and scant in the midsummer’s heat she saunters up behind the musician caressing his neck with her long slender fingers slowly sinking her teeth into his golden sun-baked skin He begins howling his blues like a famished artic wolf in the night droplets of sweat cascade from his cheeks like water droplets from a mountain spring the salty fluid stings the tip of the temptress's tongue as she taunts him from behind Her lustful fingers plow through his thick rich hair her hot breath floods the cavity of his ear he feels the resonance of his guitar against his chest as he takes another deep breath for his final howl of blues The music fades away the guitar clangs as it touches the floor his slow hand rests the neck of the instrument against the rail of the bar as his stool spins around to face the woman Her scant attire brushes aside easily as his slow hands caresses her waist slipping upwards toward her armpits as he stands to tower over her his slow hands continue upward pulling her wrists high above her head looking up into his eyes she sees the depth of his soul his face descend upon hers lips melding like icy fire in an orgasmic osculation of emotion life is what we make it but it’s always best to make it with ~ Slow Hands. ~ Slumi ~ Translator – Dust Bunnies from the Nile |
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    GOOD READING and GREAT writes in all these pages.... 
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ooh goodie ... I was looking for this thread the other day ...
Thank you!
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A woman appears at the door and wants in silence comes from the man inside as the cold naked cherry of his guitar slides against the sweaty flesh of his belly his fingers begin plucking the blues as if coaxing life from a dead resonant cavern his voice halfheartedly humming melancholy bars like an aged but harmonious dragonfly A chirrup springs from the screen door as the sensuous woman slithers into the abode her flimsy attire frail and scant in the midsummer’s heat she saunters up behind the musician caressing his neck with her long slender fingers slowly sinking her teeth into his golden sun-baked skin He begins howling his blues like a famished artic wolf in the night droplets of sweat cascade from his cheeks like water droplets from a mountain spring the salty fluid stings the tip of the temptress's tongue as she taunts him from behind Her lustful fingers plow through his thick rich hair her hot breath floods the cavity of his ear he feels the resonance of his guitar against his chest as he takes another deep breath for his final howl of blues The music fades away the guitar clangs as it touches the floor his slow hand rests the neck of the instrument against the rail of the bar as his stool spins around to face the woman Her scant attire brushes aside easily as his slow hands caresses her waist slipping upwards toward her armpits as he stands to tower over her his slow hands continue upward pulling her wrists high above her head looking up into his eyes she sees the depth of his soul his face descend upon hers lips melding like icy fire in an orgasmic osculation of emotion life is what we make it but it’s always best to make it with ~ Slow Hands. ~ Slumi ~ Translator – Dust Bunnies from the Nile oh my! 
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A woman appears at the door and wants in silence comes from the man inside as the cold naked cherry of his guitar slides against the sweaty flesh of his belly his fingers begin plucking the blues as if coaxing life from a dead resonant cavern his voice halfheartedly humming melancholy bars like an aged but harmonious dragonfly A chirrup springs from the screen door as the sensuous woman slithers into the abode her flimsy attire frail and scant in the midsummer’s heat she saunters up behind the musician caressing his neck with her long slender fingers slowly sinking her teeth into his golden sun-baked skin He begins howling his blues like a famished artic wolf in the night droplets of sweat cascade from his cheeks like water droplets from a mountain spring the salty fluid stings the tip of the temptress's tongue as she taunts him from behind Her lustful fingers plow through his thick rich hair her hot breath floods the cavity of his ear he feels the resonance of his guitar against his chest as he takes another deep breath for his final howl of blues The music fades away the guitar clangs as it touches the floor his slow hand rests the neck of the instrument against the rail of the bar as his stool spins around to face the woman Her scant attire brushes aside easily as his slow hands caresses her waist slipping upwards toward her armpits as he stands to tower over her his slow hands continue upward pulling her wrists high above her head looking up into his eyes she sees the depth of his soul his face descend upon hers lips melding like icy fire in an orgasmic osculation of emotion life is what we make it but it’s always best to make it with ~ Slow Hands. ~ Slumi ~ Translator – Dust Bunnies from the Nile That was a nasty piece of hyperbolic rumi-twaddle! But i am delighted to be ridiculed along with such purrsian company! (i can almost feel nipples like pinpricks bursting through the tenuous cheesecloth of her discount secondhand wardrobe as she slips her playful toes under my lap - and though the mind slows to match the parkinsonian tremor of his hands, for obviously there is no blood, the blues growl on like cement in the mixing truck disgorging in error on a busy downtown street)
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Edited by
Jess642
on
Mon 03/31/08 03:05 PM
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Struck tent
I am the tent you set up, then strike, quill pen you sharpen, then bear down on and split, flagstaff with the emblem upside down, particle in window light, a galaxy. I am all skin, yet soul as well. Without you, I am fake. With, as real as the cool spring ground warming. You say, I keep my distance to see what dance you will do out in the air, little dust grain. Why would the sun speak to one bit? Friend, you destroy and restore. Do what must be done to this love that has no fear or no sense of being safe. RUMI. |
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In love, aside from sipping the wine of timelessness,
nothing else exists. There is no reason for living except for giving one's life. I said, "First I know you, then I die." He said, "For the one who knows Me, there is no dying." Rumi |
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What you have despised in yourself.
They are here with us now, those who saddle a new unbroken colt every morning and ride the seven levels of sky, who lay down at night with the sun and moon for pillows. Each of these fish has a Jonah inside. They sweeten the bitter sea. They shape-shift the mountains, but with their actions neither bless nor curse. They are more obvious, and yet more secret than that. Mix grains from the ground they walk with streamwater. put that salve on your eyes and you will see what you have despised in yourself as a thorn opens to a rose. Rumi. |
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I ask my heart. Why do you keep looking
for the delights of love? I hear the answer back. Why will you not join me in this companionship? This is the conversation of being a human being, the living doubleness. Cool, and in motion like water, placed and passionate like fire. Subtle as wind, yet obvious as a wineglass poured to the brim, spilled over and drunk all at once for a toast. Like rain, you make any image more vivid. Like a mirror, you can be trusted to hold beauty. There are mean people who see only meanness reflected in you, but they are wrong. You are pure soul and made of the ground. You are eyeshadow, and the kindness in eyesight. A ruby from no telling which mine, let yourself be set in a seal ring. Lift the sword-discernment that rules a thousand compassions. The Living Doubleness - Rumi. |
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Whatever journeys your life, and will, is taking you on, thankyou Alex, for this part of you, that we have .
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Whatever journeys your life, and will, is taking you on, thankyou Alex, for this part of you, that we have . Alex
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Bump! |
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Alex
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Time's knife slides from the sheath
as a fish from where it swims. Being closer and closer is the desire of the body. Don't wish for union! There's a closeness beyond that. Why would God want a second God? Fall in love in such a way that it frees you from any connecting. Love is the soul's light, the taste of morning, no me, no we, no claim of being. These words are the smoke the fire gives off as it absolves its defects, as eyes in silence, tears, face. Love cannot be said. -Rumi (trans Coleman Barks) |
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Edited by
Jess642
on
Tue 03/24/09 07:36 PM
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The Most Alive Moment
The most living moment comes when those who love each other meet each other's eyes and in what flows between them then. To see your face in a crowd of others, or alone on a frightening street, I weep for that. Our tears improve the earth. The time you scolded me, your gratitude, your laughing, always your qualities increase the soul. Seeing you is a wine that does not muddle or numb. We sit inside the cypress shadow where amazement and clear thought twine their slow growth into us. - Rumi translated by Coleman Barks |
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Love With No Object
There is a way of loving not attached to what is loved. Observe how water is with the ground, always moving toward the ocean, though the ground tries to hold the water's foot and not let it go. This is how we are with wine and beautiful food, wealth and power, or just a dry piece of bread: we want, and we get drunk with wanting, then the headache and bitterness afterward. Those prove that the attachment took hold and held you back. Now you proudly refuse help. "My love is pure. I don't need anyone to show me how to be free!" This is not the case. A love with no object is a true love. All else, shadow without substance. Have you seen someone fall in love with his own shadow? That's what we've done. Leave the partial loves and find one that's whole. Where is someone that can do that? They're so rare, those hearts that carry the blessing and lavish it over everything. Hold out your beggar's robe and accept their generosity. Anything not coming from that will damage the cloth, like a sharp stone tearing your sincerity. Keep that intact, and use clarity, call it reason or discernment, you have within you a deciding force that knows what to receive, and what to turn from. - Rumi |
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Refuge
I see the lamp, the face, the eye an altar where the soul bows, a gladness and refuge. My loving says, "Here. I can leave my personality here." My reason agrees! "How can I object when a rose makes the bent back stand up like cypresses?" Such surrender changes everything. Body abandons bodiness. Soul goes to the centre. Rubies appear in the begging bowl. But don't brag when this happens. Be secluded and silent. Stay in the delight, and be brought the cup that will come. No artfulness. Practice quiet and this new joy. - Rumi |
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The Road Home
An ant hurries along the threshing floor with it's wheat grain, moving between huge stacks of wheat, not knowing the abundance all around. It thinks it's one grain is all there is to love. So we choose a tiny seed to be devoted to. This body, one path or one teacher. Look wider and farther. The essence of every human can see, and what the essence-eye takes in, the being BECOMES. The ocean pours through a jar, and you might say it swims INSIDE the fish! This mystery gives peace to your longing and makes the road home, Home. -Rumi. |
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