Wednesday, 9 February 2011

Sharing a poem

The Sheikh who lost two sons

A great sheikh has lost two sons, yet he is not weeping. His family
and his wife wonder at this lack of grief.

"Do not think that I am cold and uncompassionate. 
I don't weep because for me they are not gone. 
The eye of my heart sees them distinctly. 
They're outside of time but very close by here playing and coming to hug me. 
As people sometimes see dead relatives in dream, 
I see my sons constantly in this waking state. 
I am even more deeply with them when I hide for a moment from the world, 
when I let the sense-perception leaves drop from the tree of my being. 
I weep for those who have ungrateful souls. 
I weep when boys throw stones at dogs. 
I weep for dogs who bite for no reason. 
Forgive the harm that anyone does. 
We are here to be a forgiveness door through which freedom comes. 
I weep when I ask that the door not be shut."

Some attend to individual mercies and some to universal Grace. 
Try to let them merge. Pond water eventually arrives at the ocean.
One saint works and lingers in the lakes of personal life. 
Another plays without limits in the sea.
Whatever gives pleasure is the fragrance of the Friend. 
Whatever makes us wonder comes from that light. 
What's inside the ground begins to sprout because you spilled wine there. 
What dies in autumn comes up in spring because this way of saying no 
becomes in spring your praise song yes.

(From The Soul of Rumi. Translated by C. Barks)

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