Every war and every conflict between human beings has happened because of some disagreement about names.
It is such an unnecessary foolishness,because just beyond the arguing there is a long table of companionship
set and waiting for us to sit down.
What is praised is one, so the praise is one too,
many jugs being poured into a huge basin.
All religions, all this singing, one song.
The differences are just illusion and vanity.
Sunlight looks a little different on this wall
than it does on that wall
and a lot different on this other one,but it is still one light.
We have borrowed these clothes,these time-and-space personalities,from a light, and when we praise,we are pouring them back in.
“By Rumi on Religion”
L O V E D O G S One night a man was crying Allah! Allah! His lips grew sweet with praising, until a cynic said, “So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?” The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep. He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls, in a thick, green foliage. “Why did you stop praising?” “Because I’ve never heard anything back.” “This longing you express is the return message.” The grief you cry out from draws you toward union. Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the names of. Give your life to be one of them.
T H I S I S E N O U G H
Aphrodite singing ghazals. A sky with
gold streaks across. A stick
that finds water in stone. Jesus
sitting quietly near the animals.
Night so peaceful. This is enough
was always true. We just haven’t
seen it. The hoopoe already wears
a tufted crown. Each ant is given
its elegant belt at birth. This love
we feel pours through us like a giveaway
song. The source of now is here!
When you are with everyone but me, you’re with no one. When you are with no one but me, you’re with everyone. Instead of being so bound up with everyone, be everyone. When you become that many, you’re nothing. Empty
E S C A P I N G T O T H E F O R E S T
Some souls have gotten free of their bodies.
Do you see them? Open your eyes for those
who escape to meet with other escapees,
whose hearts associate in a way they have
of leaving their false selves
to live in a truer self.
I don’t mind if my companions
wander away for a while.
They will come back like a smiling drunk.
The thirsty ones die of their thirst.
The nightingale sometimes flies from a garden
to sing in the forest.