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A SHAMBHALA THRESHOLD BOOK

OPEN SECRET Versions of Rumi Translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks

*

SHAMBHALA Boston & London 1999

SHAMBHALA PUBLICATIONS, INC. Horticultural Hall 300 Massachusetts Avenue Boston, Massachusetts 02115

www.sha111bha/a.com © 1984 by John Moyne and Coleman Barks Published by arrangement with Threshold Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the pubiisher. 9876543 Printed in the United States of America @) This edition is printed on acid-free paper that meets the American National Standards Institute Z39.48 Standard. Distributed in the United States by Random House, Inc., and in Canada by Random House of Canada Ltd Some of these versions have appeared in the Yellow Moon Press publication

Night and 5/up, and in Plainsong and Epos magazines.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publications Data Jahil al-Oin Rum!, Maulana, 1207-1273 [Selections. English. 1999] Open secret: versions of Rumi/translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks. p.

em.

Includes bibliographical references (p. ISB�

ix.).

1-57062-529-8 (pbk.)

1. JalJ 7

Sometimes I Forget Completely Sometimes I forget completely what companionship is. Unconscious and insane, I spill sad energy everywhere. My story gets told in various ways: A romance, a dirty joke, a war, a vacancy. Divide up my forgetfulness to any number, it will go around. These dark suggestions that I follow, are they part of some plan? Friends, be careful. Don't come near me out of cu riosity, or sympathy.

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2558

The R ights of Crying W hy so fugitive? I have some right to be with you, rights of crying. If there were laughter all around me, I would feel closed i n if you weren't t here. With my children and everyone else I love, I'd still be distracted. How can I tie down one of your feet? I do have enough strength and patie nce. No ma tter how fa r you go, even beyond sunlight into where J esus is visible, I'll come a nd wait to be told why you go away from me.

63

After Being

m

Love, the N ex t R esponsibility

Tu rn me like a waterwheel turning a millstone. Plenty of water, a Living River. K eep me in one place and scatter the love. Leaf-moves in wind, straw drawn toward amber, all parts of the world are in love, bu t they do not tell their secrets: Cows grazing on a sacramental table, ants whispering i n Solomon's ear. Mou ntains mu mbling an echo. Sky, calm. I f the s u n were not in love, he would have no brigh t n ess, the side of t he hill no grass on it. The ocean would come to rest somewhere. Be a lover as they are, that you come to know your Beloved. Be faithful that you may know Faith. The other parts of the u niverse did not accept the next responsibility of love as you can. They were afraid they might make a mistake with it, the inspired knowing that springs from being in love.

64

The Diver's Clothes Lying E mpty You're sitt ing here wit h us, but you're also out wa lking in a field at dawn. You a re yourself the animal we hunt when you come with us on the hunt. You're in your body like a plant is solid in the ground, yet you're wind. You're the diver's clothes lying empty on the beac h. You're the fish. In the ocean are many bright strands and many dark strands like veins that a re seen when a wing is lifted up. Your hidden self is blood in those, those veins tha t are lute strings that make ocean music, not the sad edge of surf, but the sound of no shore.

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2 7 7 t>

An Empty Garlic You miss the ga rden, because you want a s mall fig from a random tree. You don't meet the beau tiful woman. You're joking with an old crone. I t makes me want to cry how she detains you,

stinking-mou thed, with a hundred t alons, pu t ting her head over the roofedge to call down, tasteless fig, fold over fold, empty as dry-rotten ga rlic. She has you tight by the belt, even though there's no flower and no milk inside her body. Dea th will open your eyes to what her face is: Leath er spine of a black lizard. No more advice. Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love.

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2788

The S hop Lightning falling on the helpless, a s u rge of pearl out of the rock, covering the rock, this life torn into a hundred pieces, and one of those pieces a ticket to let me back into my life. A spirit-world divided into eight sections, one a scroll. Eight scrolls in the parchment of your face. W hat kind of bird am I becoming, kneeling like a camel, pecking at the fire like an ostrich? You and I have worked in the same shop for years. Our loves are great fellow-workers. Friends cluster there and every moment we notice a new light coming out in the sky. Invisible, yet taking form, like Christ coming t hrough Mary. In the cradle, God. Shams, why this inconsistency? That we live within love and yet we run away?

67

The Torrent L eaves Rise up nimbly and go on your strange j ourney to the ocean of meanings where you become one of those. From one terrace to another through clay banks, washing you r wings with watery silt, follow your friends. The pitcher breaks. You're in the moving river. Living Water, how long will you make clay pitchers that have to be broken to enter you? The torrent knows it can't stay on this mountain . Leave and don't look away from the S u n a s you go. Through him you are sometimes crescent, sometimes full.

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Say Yes Q uickly Forget your life. Say God is G rml. G e t up. You think you know what time it is. I t's time to pray. You've carved so many little figurines, too many. Don't knock on a ny random door like a beggar. Reach your long hand out to a nother door, beyond where you go on the s treet, the street where eveyone says, " H ow a re you ? " a n d n o o n e says How aren't you? Tomorrow you'll see what you've broken and torn tonight, thrashing in the dark. I nside you there's an a rtist you don't know about. H e's not in teres ted in how things look differe n t in moonlig h t . I f you a r e here u n faithfully with us, you're causing terrible damage. I f you've opened your loving to God's love, you're helping people you don't know and have never see n . I s w h a t I say t r u e ? Say yes quickly, if you know, if you've known it from before the beginning of the u niverse.

69

Dissolver of S ugar Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me, if this is the time. Do it gently with a touch of a hand, or a look. Every morning I wait at dawn. Tha t's when it's happened before. Or do it suddenly like an execution. H ow else can I get ready for dea th? You breathe without a body like a spark. You grieve, and I begin to feel lighter. You keep me away with your a rm, but the keeping away is pulling me in.

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J J t:> l

S trange Business If you don't have a woman t h a t lives w i t h you, why aren't you looking? If you have one, why aren't you satisfied? You have no resis tance to your friend. Why don't you become the Friend? If the flute is too quiet to say, teach it manners. Someone's holding you back, break off. You sit here for days saying, This is slnmg e l111si11ess. You're the s trange business. You have the energy of the sun in you, bu t you keep knotting it up at the base of your spine. You're some weird kind of gold that wants to stay mel ted in the fu rnace, so you won't have to be coins. S ay ONE in your lonesome house. Loving two is hiding inside your self. You've gotten drunk on so many kinds of wine. Taste this. It won't make you wild. I t's fire. G ive up, if you don't unders tand by t h is time that your living is firewood. T his wave of talking builds. Better we should not speak it, but let it grow within.

71

The Snow-World M elts Think of the phoenix coming up out of ashes, but not flying off. For a moment we have form. We can't see. How can we be conscious and you be conscious at the same time and separa te? Copper when an alchemist works on it loses its copper qualities. Seeds in Spring begin to be trees, no longer seed . Brushwood put in the fire changes. The snow-world melts. You step in my foo tprint and it's gone. It's not that I've done anything to deserve this attention from you. Predestina tion and freewill: We can argue them, but they're only ideas. W ha t's real is a presence, like Shams.

72

T he N ame Do y o u know a word that doesn't refer t o something? Have you ever picked and held a rose from R, O, S, E? You say the NAME. Now try to find the reality i t names. Look at the moon in the sky, not the one in the lake. If you wan t to be free of your obsession with words and beautiful let tering, make one stroke down. There's no self, no characteristics, bu t a bright center where you have the knowledge the Prophets have, wi thou t books or in terpreter.

(N icholson, quoted in Myslics of lslnm. p. 69)

73

The M usic For sixty years I have been forgetful, every minute, but not for a second has this flowing toward me stopped or slowed. I deserve nothing. Today I recognize that I am the guest the mystics talk about. I play this living music for my Host. Everything today is for the Host.

(N icholson, Mnth nnwi. Book I. 2084-2085)

74

Display There's a kind of person whose ex pertise is display, subtly to hold and catch the eye, builder of lovely t raps, not thinking what constant trap-building does. You make your friends affectionate for a moment, t hen leave. This has been your habit, now your career, since you were born. Touch the cloth you've woven of applause and compliments. S t retch the warp and woof. Is i t there? Your life is more than half gone with you s till working these charming t raps. Catch one person, let another go, no reason for deciding anything, like children feeling mean, in a game wit h no rules. Night . The empty t raps follow you back to you r house. You have locked yourself inside disappointment. No actual hunter would trap himself. You've seen a man chasing a wild pig. H is life is fatigue, and what he finally gets he can't eat . Only One is worth chasing wit h your living. He can't be t rapped. You must t h row away your love-traps and walk into His.

Better be quarry than hunter, a voice says in the air. Don't try to be the su n. Be 11 dust mole. Lunar moth, love the Cll ndle. Tasle your life. Put your shoes on upside down . Things are reversed from what t hey should be in this place you live now. One who should be hung on the scaffold is made e mperor. People stand and clap. Tombs with ornamental plaster, self-conceit everywhere. Palm trees made of wax, wax leaves and fruit, wax dirt.

(N icholson, Mathnawi, Book V, 395 -4 1 9 )

75

The Question One dervish to another, What was your visio11 of Cod's presence? I haven't seen anything.

13 u t for the sake of conversation, I'll tell you a story. Cod's presence is there in front of me, a fire on the left, a lovely stream on the right. One group walks toward the fire, ir�to the fire, another towa rd the sweet flowing water. No one knows which are blessed and which not. Whoever walks into the fire appears suddenly in the stream. A head goes under on the water su rface, that head pokes out of the fire. Most people guard against going into the fire, a nd so end up in it. Those who love the water of pleasure and make it their devotion a re cheated with this reversal. The trickery goes further. The voice of the fire tells the truth, saying I am not fire. I

am formta inlread. Come into me and don't mind the sparks.

If you are a friend of God, fire is you r water. You should wish to have a hundred thousand sets of mothwings, so you could burn them away, one set a night. The moth sees light and goes into fire. You should see fire a nd go toward light. Fire is what of God is world-consuming. Water, world-protecting. Somehow each gives the appearance of the other. To these eyes you have now what looks like water burns. W hat looks like fire is a great relief to be inside. You've seen a magician make a bowl of rice seem a dish full of tiny, live worms. Before an assembly with one breath he made the floor swarm with scorpions that weren't there. How much more amazing God's tricks. Generation after generation lies down, defeated, they think, but they're like a woman u nderneath a man, circling him.

76

One molecule-mote-second thinking of G od's reversal of comfort and pain is better than any attending ritual. That splinter of intelligence is substance. The fire and water themselves: AccidentaL done with mirrors.

(N icholson, Moth•�nwi. Book V, 420-455)

77

The V a riety of I ntelligences in Human Beings As m a n y kinds as m ight b e ma rked on a vertical from the grou nd to the highest poi n t of the sky: One in telligence is a steadily burning orb. One a tiny meteor flickering i n a nd out the a tmosphere of Venus. There is a lan tern tha t looks dru nken, barely ligh ted, then flaring to the ceiling, blackening the wall. There is a cold night s ta r. M any sorts of in telligent fire. O ne, green, translucent, plan t-green. One a pole moving out from behind a n obscu rity. There's not one m i nd-form everywhere equal, a s some have said, but it is particular i ntelligences that distort U n iversal I n telligence, the ones that use light to h u n t with . The M ind of the Whole does otherwise. I t gets a glimpse of a lovely h u n t going on, where G od is H u n ter and everything else the h u nted. That M in d sees and tries t o q u i t hun ting a n d completely be prey. Tha t's the difference. There's no way to win from where you've gotten yourself. The queen has you r king i n da nger. W hen you move out of check, she takes the rook. Con trive i nstead to be near one who serves well. Figure how to be delivered from your own figu ring. T ry to lose. Don't do a ny th i ng for power or influence. R u n into the mi nd's fire. Play this game because you love, and the playi ng is love. Beg and cry and come walking on your knees. Thoughtful supplication won't help. Joseph's brothers wept, but inside they were tricky and jealou s .

(N icholson, Mnth ,nwi. Book V , 459-476)

78

Why O rganize a U niverse This Way? W h a t does not exist looks so ha ndsome. What does exist, where is it? An ocea n is hidden. All we see is foam, shapes of dust, spi n n i ng, tall a s mina rets, but I want wind. Dust ca n't rise up withou t wind, I know, but ca n't I u nderstand this by some way other tha n induction. Invisible ocean, wind. Vi sible foam and dust: This is speech. W hy can't we hear thought? T hese eyes were born asleep. W hy organize a u niverse this way? With the mercha nt close by a magici a n measures out five hundred ells of linen moonlight . It takes a l l his money, b u t the merchan t b u y s t h e lot. S uddenly there's no linen, and of course there's no money, which was his life spent wrongly, and yours. S ay, Save me, Thou One, from witches who tie knots a nd blow on them. They're tyi n g them again. P rayers are not enough. You must do somethi ng. Three compa nions for you: N u m ber one, what you own. He won't even leave the house for some danger you might be in. H e stays i n side. N u mber two, your good friend. He at leas t comes t o the funeral. He sta nds and talks a t the gravesite. No further. The third compa nion, what you do, your work, goes down i n to death to be there with you, to help. Take deep refuge with that compa nion, beforehand.

( N icholson, Mnthnnwi. Book V, 1 026-1050)

79

Those You Are With What i s a real connec tion between people? When the same knowledge opens a door between them. When the same i nner sight exists i n you as i n a nother, you are d rawn to be compa nions. W hen a ma n feels i n himself the inmost n a t u re of a woma n, he is drawn to her sexually. W he n a wom a n feels the masculine self of a m a n w i t h i n her, she wants him physically i n her. W hen you feel the qualities of G abriel i n you, you fly u p quickly like a fledgling not t h inking of the grou nd. W hen you feel asinine qualit ies i n you, no ma tter how you try to do otherwise, you will head toward the stable. The mouse is not despicable for its form, w hich is a helpless victim to birds of prey, the mouse who loves da rk places a nd cheese and pistachio nuts and syrup. W hen t he white falcon, though, has the in ner n a t u re of a mouse, it is a disgrace to all a nimals. A ngelic figures and criminals shackled head-down i n a pit are similar-looking, same arms, same head. Moses is a bright spirit, Pharoah disgust ing with his sorcery. Always search for you r in nermost n a t u re in those you are with. As rose-oil imbibes from roses. Even on the grave of a holy m a n, a holy m a n lays his face and hands and takes in lig h t .

(N icholson, ,"vfntluwu•i. Book V I . 2992-3008)

80

L earning the S igns of the Z odiac It's reasonable t o b e afraid of dyi ng, b u t love has more cou rage than reason. A s tone is not so frightened of rain as a clod is. T his is the fifth scroll of the Mathnawi. I t can help you find your way like the s tars in the signs of the zodiac. But only a mariner who studies the s tars and knows the directions they lead can use them. To others there's nothing but looking a t them. From darkfall to d aybreak make you rself familiar with these stars. E ach one is boiling n aphtha poured down on demons. S corpions to them; to you, good companions. The S agittarian bow att acks your enem ies. T he Aquarian bucket pours water for your crops . The Piscea n fis h wrecks the wandering boat. The tru thful B ull helps with plowing. The S u n-Lion tears thE' night to shreds a n d brings the honor of a glowing red ness. Every existence is poison to some a n d spirit-swee t ness to others. Be the F riend. T hen you ca n eat from a poison j a r a n d taste only clear discrimina tion.

(N icholson, Mnlh t�nwi, Book V, 4226-4238)

81

The Phrasing Must Change L earn abou t your inner self from those who k now s uch thi ngs, bu t don't repeat verba tim what they say. Zuleika let every thing be the name of Joseph, from celery seed to a loes-wood. She loved him so m uch, she concealed his name in many different phrases, the inner meanings known only to her. When she said, The war is softening

11ear the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me. Or if she said, Look, the moon is up, or The willow has new leaves, or The /Jranches are trembling, or The coriander seeds

have caught fire, or The roses are open ing, or The king is in a good mood today, or Isn't that lucky, or The fu rniture needs dusting, or The waler-w rrier is here, or It's almost daylight, or These vegeta/Jles are perfect, or The bread needs more salt, or The clouds seem to be moving against the wind, or My head hu rls, or My headache's better, a nything she praises, it's Joseph's touch she means, a ny complaint, it's his being away. When she's h u ngry, it's for him. Thirs t y, his name is a sherbet. Cold, he's a fur. This is wha t the Friend can do when one is i n such love. Sensual people use the holy names often, bu t they don't work for them. The miracle J esus did by bei ng the name of God, Z u leika felt i n the name of joseph. When one is u nited to t he core of a nother, to speak of that is to breathe the name Hu, empty of self and filled with love. As the saying goes, The pol drips what is in it. T he saffron spice of connec t i ng, laughter. The onion-smell of separation, crying. O thers have m a ny t h i ngs and people they love. This is not the way of Friend and friend.

(Nicholson, MnthPJnwi, Book VI, 4020-4043)

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