(Masnavi Introduction Series)
August 13, 2015
Hearken to the reed flute, how it complains,
Lamenting its banishment from its home:
“Ever since they tore me from my osier bed,
My plaintive notes have moved men and women to tears.
I burst my breast, striving to give vent to sighs,
And to express the pangs of my yearning for my home.
One who abides far away from home
Is ever longing for the day one shall return.
My wailing is heard in every throng,
In concert with them that rejoice and them that weep.
Each interprets my notes in harmony with one’s own feelings,
But not one fathoms the secrets of my heart.
My secrets are not alien from my plaintive notes,
Yet they are not manifest to the sensual eye and ear.
Body is not veiled from soul, neither soul from body,
Yet no person hath ever seen a soul.”
This plaint of the flute is fire, not mere air.
Let anyone who lacks this fire be accounted dead!
(adapted from Masnavi i Ma’navi,
translated by E.H. Whinfield, p. 3)
* * *
Building upon the previous posts, let’s close this series looking at the opening of the Masnavi. Tradition holds that these were the only lines actually written by Jalaal ud-Diin Rumi’s hand, that the rest of the six books were dictated by him and scribed by the hand of Husam ud-Diin Chelebi -- may Allaah bless both their hands...
The starting point and a continuing theme of the Masnavi is separation from the Beloved. Or dare I say, the appearance of such separation: which many of us fuel by misidentification with the mind / body entity (and the ego we contrive from such), then alighting this fuel with self- centered, sometimes evil, actions. As a lover of the Beloved, the Sufi does not take kindly to this separation:
Hearken to the reed flute, how it complains,
Lamenting its banishment from its home:
Key to realizing the Masnavi as Jalaal ud-Diin Rumi intends is to be cognizant of the pain of this separation and the burning drive to “return home.” Most humans look to resolve this issue -- this void of incompleteness, lacking, and displacement -- by outward searching: seeking to find something outside of ourselves to salve or fill this void. Many people, in ignorance, seek such through worldly pleasures; but even many spiritual people look to external things such as teachers, scriptures, spiritual practice, etc. to address this void. If these “spiritual components” are genuine, they guide and remind the seeker to look within. In this manner, the wit of Rumi presents poems, stories, and lessons that reflect and point us in the direction to realize for ourselves that the destination we are seeking is already within. As a famous hadith states, the Beloved declares: “Neither My heavens nor My earth contain me, but the heart of My faithful servant contains and embraces Me.”
So how do we come to not only know this (conceptually and theoretically) but realize this as a deeper, more intimate realization? Or dare I say, (divine) revelation? Again and again, throughout the expanse of human existence, the path to such realization treads through deep suffering and pain. Note Jalaal ud-Diin Rumi’s words: Ever since they tore me from my osier bed, literally ripped him from his home like a reed uprooted, he has wailed in such pain that My plaintive notes have moved men and women to tears. Sometimes we take his words too casual: he is literally describing a pain so intense that his expression of it moves others to tears. And yet he doesn’t stop there: I burst my breast, striving to give vent to sighs. This pain is so intense he cannot contain it, and its expression moves beyond mere words to sighs. Why: to express the pangs of my yearning for my home. In fact, the realization that there is a home he has been separated from may actually increase the intensity of the pain; even if he was still in pain but was unaware that his separation from home is the reason, such ignorance may be easier to bear. I stress that even when the Masnavi is clever and humorous, if we embrace such remembering this driving pain, more expansive and deeper meanings may reveal themselves. The presence of this pain is literally imbibed in every syllable of the Masnavi: One who abides far away from home / Is ever longing for the day one shall return.
Let me be clear: this is not a call to glorify suffering, or even “spiritualize” it as some do. Rather, once we are immersed in ignorance, the release of our attachments to suffering is often necessary to arrive at the threshold of freedom. Acknowledgment and release of suffering is often intensely painful. But when engaged as part of a sound spiritual practice, it serves to bring us to a place where we can be free from all suffering (the grasping and mental reactions to pain), although we most likely will still encounter pain in our lives. Even pain can be endured joyfully when we cease from grasping, reacting, and holding on to mental attachments.
Returning to Jalaal