Rumi

I may be clapping my hands, but I don’t belong to a crowd of clappers.
Neither this nor that, I’m not part of a group that loves flute music
or one that loves gambling or drinking wine.
Those who live in , descended from Adam, made of earth and water,
I’m not part of that.
Don’t listen to what I say,
as though these words came from an inside and went to an outside.
Your faces are very beautiful, but they are wooden cages.
You had better run from me.
My words are fire.
I have nothing to do with being famous, or making grand judgments, or feeling
full of shame. I borrow nothing.
I don’t want anything from anybody.
I flow through human beings.
Love is my only companion.~ Rumi♥

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What hurts the soul…… By Rumi

WHAT HURTS THE SOUL?
We tremble, thinking we’re about to dissolve
into nonexistence, but nonexistence
fears even more that it might be given human form!
Loving God is the only pleasure. Other delights turn bitter. What hurts the soul?
To live without tasting the water of its own essence. People focus on death and this material earth.
They have doubts about soul water.
Those doubts can be reduced! Use night
to wake your clarity. Darkness and the living water are lovers. Let them stay up together.
When merchants eat their big meals and sleep their dead sleep,
we night-thieves go to work.

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You Worry Too Much by RUMI

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You Worry Too Much
Oh soul, you worry too much.
You say, I make you feel dizzy.
Of a little headache then, why do you worry?
You say, I am your antelope.
Of seeing a lion here and there why do you worry?
Oh soul, you worry too much.
You say, I am your moon-faced beauty.
Of the cycles of the moon and passing of the years,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your source of passion, I excite you.
Of playing into the Devils hand, why do you worry?
Oh soul, you worry too much.
Look at yourself, what you have become.
You are now a field of sugar canes, why show that sour face to me?
You have tamed the winged horse of Love.
Of a death of a donkey, why do you worry?
You say that I keep you warm inside.
Then why this cold sigh?
You have gone to the roof of heavens.
Of this world of dust, why do you worry?
Oh soul, you worry too much.
Since you met me, you have become a master singer,
and are now a skilled wrangler, you can untangle any knot.
Of life’s little leash why do you worry?
Your arms are heavy with treasures of all kinds.
About poverty, why do you worry?
You are Joseph, beautiful, strong,
steadfast in your belief, all of Egypt has become drunk
because of you. 
Of those who are blind to your beauty,
and deaf to your songs, why do you worry?
Oh soul, you worry too much.
You say that your housemate is the
Heart of Love, she is your best friend.
You say that you are the heat of the oven of every Lover.
You say that you are the servant of Ali’s magical sword, Zolfaghar.
Of any little dagger why do you still worry?
Oh soul, you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less, why do you worry?
You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
You are the security, the shelter of the spirit of Lovers.
Oh the sultan of sultans, of any other king,
why do you worry?
Be silent, like a fish, and go into that pleasant sea.
You are in deep waters now,
of life’s blazing fire.
Why do you worry?

by RUMI

Love Dogs by Rumi

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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.

[Mevlana Rumi]

This Is Enough by “Rumi”

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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!

[RUMI]

The Cure in the Pain

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The Cure in the Pain

The grief you cry out from 

draws you towards 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.

There is only so long you can ignore a throbbing, bleeding vein. You’ve got to stop the flow. Unable to find an obvious cure, you begin to see the cure within the pain.

How? Well that’s absolutely relative. For me, the pain shows me how everyone in the world has their own aches and pains. Sorrows and griefs. Sources of absolute misery. And we all have to brave through it. There is no escaping it. No running away. Sometimes, you’ve just got to stand up and face the music.

Sometimes, your grief may create a connection so unique, so strong, you’d be totally caught of guard. And when it does, it never leaves you the same way as it found you.

[RUMI]

What was said to the ROSE

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W H A T       W A S      S A I D    T O    T H E     R O S E
What was said to the rose that made it open
was said to me here in my chest.
What was told the cypress that made it strong
and straight, what was whispered the jasmine
so it is what it is, whatever made sugarcane
sweet; whatever was said to the inhabitants
of the town of Chigil in Turkestan that makes
them so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate
flower blush like a human face, that is being
said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence
in language, that’s happening here. The great
warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude,
chewing a piece of sugarcane, in love with
the one to whom every that belongs!