September 28, 2013
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving -- it doesn’t matter,
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times,
a thousand times, a million times.
Come, come again. Come.
***
The above is an adaption of one of the more well-known poems attributed to Jalaal-ud-Diin Rumi. A poem of invitation. But an invitation to what? To who? And why is such an invitation offered? Let’s explore...
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving -- it doesn’t matter,
Clearly, this is a very open invitation, to perhaps all of creation. But three parties are specifically noted in the second line.
The “wanderer” is stated first. This term can have a layer of meanings for traditional Sufis. Some traditions speak to how the some of first Sufis were mystics who wandered throughout in search of Truth (the Beloved). One of the Arabic roots of the word sufi is şuuf, which means “wool.” These ascetics, not formally organized as a group, left the “home life.” Many carried wool as they traveled through the desert regions of Arabia. Wool was a wise practical choice: it wasn’t a heavy cloth and could be rolled up when traveling through the hot desert days; but it was also very good for keeping the body warm in the cold desert nights. Wool became a marker for these traveling mystics who would venture from place to place to sit with learned ones and spiritual teachers.
These wanderers’ hunger for the realization of Truth was so intense that after learning all they could from one teacher, they would set out in quest of another who would hopefully further expand their awareness and learning. But, as the traditions I have heard tell, when some of these mystics came to sit with the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), they found “a home.” They found a teacher who could do more than share portions of teaching that still fell short of the full realization of Truth; instead they found a humble master whose surrender was so poignant and immersed in Love, that to live in his presence opened the heart to the realization of Truth. When the purpose of their wandering was fulfilled, there was no longer a need to continue to wander; but instead to make a home where they could immerse into the opening of the heart and the song of Truth that fills it.
There are messages for wanderers of today within the above account. Mystic, or less formalized forms of religious / spiritual, traditions tend to attract many “wanderers.” If you are such a person have you ever stopped to ask why you are wandering? Why are you really wandering? Often such persons cite dissatisfaction with elements of more formal / mainstream religions (too strict, imposing dogma, no genuine experience of Truth, etc.). These may be valid reasons. But if the root of wandering is just to get away from something, is this a truly sufficient purpose? The early Sufis were wandering in search of something; and once they found a means to realize that, they made a home. Not just a home of physical location, but also a home within a set of spiritual teachings and practices that served as a foundation for the realization of that which they sought.
This also applies to Jalaal-ud-Diin Rumi, whose spiritual home is Islam. Within the house of Islam, and his uncompromising application of its five pillars, he embraced a path that immersed him in the heart. The importance of a home doesn’t apply to only Islam: even when he took on disciples of other religious and spiritual traditions, he nurtured aspirants to find a home in their paths. An invitation extended to wanderers to not wander forever, to sincerely search until they find that which can be home: a stable “place” to unfold into the beauty of the heart. Come.
The second party is the “worshiper.” This can be understood to be those who adhere to formal mainstream religious and spiritual teachings, upholding the tenets and rites. Yet for some of these persons, there is still something lacking. The pillars and walls of a building don’t make it a home. Rather, it is something more subtle (sometimes untouchable) that infuses the space with a presence that makes that space a home. To such persons, the invitation is extended so that they may make the space of their lives, defined by religion / spirituality, a sacred space open to the presence of (let’s call it) Love. This invitation doesn’t mean leaving the house of living religious and spiritual decrees: no, there is a protection in living such morality and piety that we need never depart from. Rather, it is an invitation to “come” deeper within that space, to not be so fixated with the walls and pillars that we lose sight of the fragrance and presence that will outpour from the heart if we allow the heart to fill the space of this house.
Jalaal ud-Diin Rumi came to his own realization of this upon meeting his master, Shams al-Tabriz. Jalaal ud-Diin was already a prominent spiritual teacher and scholar with a great reputation; but so much of his spiritual living was in the realm of books, the realm of the mind. One tradition tells how Shams, who was a traveling bum, approached Jalaal ud-Diin, took his books, and threw them in a fountain. Books in those days were written by hand with an ink that could smear beyond distortion if wetted by water. This act of Shams was seen as an attempt to destroy the books. Jalaal ud-Diin and his disciples quickly rushed to retrieve the books and then set upon Shams, ready to beat him severely. But when Jalaal ud-Diin opened the books, he saw that not a single dot of ink was smeared although the books were dripping water in his hands. Jalaal ud-Diin looked into the eyes of Shams and heard the message of Come: come beyond the realm of the mind and its limitations into the endless ocean of Love within the heart.
Oh you, who are admirable upholders of the tenets of religion and spirituality, will you receive this invitation to come beyond the mental and conceptual reaches, into the heart that fills presence of our lives with Love. Come.
The third party is the “lover of leaving.” There are some searchers who constantly leave things. They may join a group, stay for a while, and then leave, then join another group, stay for a while, and then leave. Although they may have justified reasons for leaving, they fall into this pattern of constantly departing. Jalaal ud-Diin Rumi extends this invitation even to them, even if they will only come to leave this invitation too. Perhaps it is with great faith that Jalaal ud-Diin offers this invitation trusting that even if someone who has fallen in love with leaving comes and experiences just a fragrance of the unveiled heart, that such a person will come home to one’s own heart. In the end, that is more important than if a person comes to stay and remain part of a particular group or not.
Encountering that fragrance of the heart can be challenging for someone who is constantly leaving things. For most, the biggest barrier to the realization of the heart is one’s own mind. And for most, it is agitation in the mind (encountering something displeasing to the mind) that motivates people to leave. Yet, if by grace, we cross paths with one who rests in the openness of the heart, just such an occurrence can convey to us what we need to turn to our own heart. Words may not be able to convey how this works, yet the array of spiritual traditions are filled with examples of such transformative encounters. So even to such persons who have fallen in love with leaving, Jalaal ud-Diin says to them: Come, just experience the presence of my open heart, nothing else matters. Just for the sake of this, Come.
This entry has become long enough, so I’ll address the rest of the poem in the next entry.
