The Guest House by Rumi: Sufism

The first glimpse of Sufism

I remember it. My first glimpse of Sufism. An unusual book was lying on the table, with the name “Bulleh Shah” printed on it. The name struck a chord. Just like the name “Rumi” did later on. Bit by bit, poem by poem, the love for his poetry solidified into supreme devotion, and a new gate opened for me – the golden gate of Sufi ecstasy!

So, who is a Sufi ?

Is he the one immersed in deep meditative silence? Or is he the one whirling in a divine ecstasy? Or perhaps the one whose dance has solidified into a deep silence?

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As waves upon my head the circling curl,
So in the sacred dance weave ye and whirl.
Dance then, O heart, a whirling circle be.
Burn this flame - is not the candle he? 
- Rumi

A Sufi can be just anybody: a wanderer, a saint, a beggar, a poet, an ascetic. He can easily fit into any of these categories. Or he can transcended all these mind-imposed categories & move into the realm of nothingness.

“The Guest House” by Rumi is a stroke of genius, an enchanting lyric, a masterpiece that started a life-long addiction to Rumi and his works.

The Guesthouse by Mewlava Jallaludin Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
 Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
 As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
 Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
 who violently sweep your house
 empty of its furniture,
 still treat each guest honorably.
 He may be clearing you out
 for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Note: The image has been sourced from the Internet. No infringement intended. 

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

Life Runs A Full Circle

 Bits And Pieces,
Of You And Me.

A Loveless Scar Here,
An Innocent Blush There.

Autumn Of A Withering Leaf,
Decayed Now, In Full Bloom Once.

Only Hope, A Warm Casket –
A Wintery Sheet Of Death-Cold Snow.

Reminisces Spring, The Days Gone By,
When Love Was Pure, Promises True.

Life Runs A Full Circle:
Broken And Cherished Fragments,
Of You And Me.

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State Of My Heart: It’s Hollow

Hollow is the shape of the planet,
Hollower, the state of my heart.
Shallow, the world slowly walks by,
Shallower, thy friendly smile.

In a bid to avoid “the hollows”,
I took a thousand vows, –
Friend.Lover.Child.Parent.Sister.
Benumbed, as each vow entangles,
Vacant, the state of the heart.

Let’s not hide, you and I,
Behind the veil of an empty Gaze.
Void is the Space that is Matter.
Vacant is the Touch of your Gaze.

When I seek refuge in the mountain,
“Hollow” is the Note it Plays.
“Silence”, the ound that Echoes,
Lost in a forlorn Haze.

Torpid is the Numbness of Mind,
Estranged, the world idly goes by.
Hollow, the shape of the planet,
Nadir be the Truth of my Fate.

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Submit To The Nothingness

Ganga Rishikesh India
The Ganages in Rishikesh, India

Sacred silence of majestic mountains,
Gentle murmur of the ageless Ganges,
A gust of untamed wind quietly whispers the timeless secret,

“I am nothing…

A negligible entity in the infinite space,
A tiny bubble of energy destined,
To explode back into the nothingness.

My existence, a cosmic accident,
Never to repeat again.

Purpose of existence, –
Witness the blissful interplay, of nature & its elements,
To submit to its nothingness.”

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Nature : A bittersweet interplay of polarities

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A vivid scene of mother nature,
Glimpse of life itself,
A bittersweet interplay of polarities: joy & sorrow.

The gloomy greyish tinge,
Of dark thoughts & malice,
That plague us, make us human.

The pristine whitish hue,
Of peace & hope,
A fair shot at redemption of human soul.

The omnipresent bluish space,
Stage beyond the two polarities,
Peek into the timeless eternity.

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