Rooming With Rumi

From the file of I-didn’t-realize-what-I-had-until-it-was-gone:

Last year, while in Turkey, we visited the city of Konya.  We visited a museum/shrine connected to Hazrati Mevlana, a Muslim mystic from the 1200’s.  The most intriguing bit of that day to me concerned the Whirling Dervishes, followers of Mevlana’s who practiced a unique form of dance as a spiritual exercise of submitting and uniting their spirits to God.  Odd my most standards around me, I found it touching.  Along that same day, a few mentions of the famous poet Rumi were made.  I confess that I was only marginally familiar with the name.

In the past twelve months, Rumi (aka Mevlana) has crossed my path a dozen times or more, I kid you not.  And the thought that we were in his tomb before I knew who he was–well, that’s a bit unfortunate!

But in a recent quest to stretch my reading list and to seek out something beautiful, I’ve come upon Rumi’s poetry.  A couple pieces that have initially resonated with me go like this:

All your stress and all of your troubles
are due to your reading your own letter all the time
and not listening to the melody of the Darling.

And:

Listen, O drop, give yourself up without regret,
and in exchange gain the Ocean.

Listen, O drop, bestow upon yourself this honour,
and in the arms of the Sea be secure.

Who indeed should be so fortunate?
An ocean wooing a drop!

In God’s name, in God’s name, sell and buy at once!
Give a drop, and take this Sea full of pearls.

Going With Gershwin

Last weekend, we attended the symphony with tickets we’d won in a recent silent auction.  One of the pieces played was “Cuban Overture” by George Gershwin.  In the program, I read this:

Gershwin effortlessly blurred the lines between serious and popular composition, “classical” and “jazz”.  To him music was music, and he gave as much attention to his songs and shows as he did to more formal concert works.  One reason for this is that he was a natural, instinctive musician rather than a trained one.

I’ve been taking inventory lately–particularly with my “spiritual life”.  Perhaps Gershwin should mentor me because my heart likes the idea of a “natural, instinctive” approach to spirituality, as opposed to a “trained” one, and my mind quickly spins those phrases into a question: Have you somehow, Jason, traded the first for the second?  Are you seeking God “as you feel you should”, to the loss of keeping it simple and child-like (or natural and instinctive)?  Have you succeeded in complicating and cluttering what need not be?

In recent days, my head would have to nod more often that shake.

Time to go with Gershwin.