Pearls Of Rumi Quotes

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

Love isn't the work of the tender and the gentle; Love is the work of wrestlers. The one who becomes a servant of lovers is really a fortunate sovereign. Don't ask anyone about Love; ask Love about Love. Love is a cloud that scatters pearls.

Everyone is so afraid of death, but the real sufis just laugh: nothing tyrannizes their hearts. What strikes the oyster shell does not damage the pearl

There is some kiss we want with our whole lives, the touch of spirit on the body. Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell. and the lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling! At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language door and open the lovers window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.

A pearl in the shell does not touch the ocean. Be a pearl without a shell. a mindful flooding. a spark turned to flame. bird settling nest. love lived

THIS TORTURE Why should we tell you our love stories when you spill them together like blood in the dirt? Love is a pearl lost on the ocean floor, or a fire we can’t see, but how does saying that push us through the top of the head into the light above the head? Love is not an iron pot, so this boiling energy won’t help. Soul, heart, self. Beyond and within those is one saying, How long before I’m free of this torture!

Day and night I guarded the pearl of my soul. Now in this ocean of pearling currents, I’ve lost track of which was mine.

What are mere pearls when you’ll become the ocean, And that bright sun with its revolving motion!

Without delay, from the middle of his (closed) fist every pebble began to pronounce the (Moslem's) profession of faith. Each said, “There is no god” and (each) said, “except Allah”; (each) threaded the pearl of “Ahmad is the Messenger of Allah.

The cloud weeps, and then the garden sprouts. The baby cries, and the mother's milk flows. The nurse of creation has said, Let them cry a lot. This rain-weeping and sun-burning twine together to make us grow. Keep your intelligence white-hot and your grief glistening, so your life will stay fresh. Cry easily like a little child. Let body needs dwindle and soul decisions increase. Diminish what you give your physical self. Your spiritual eye will begin to open. When the body empties and stays empty, God fills it with musk and mother-of-pearl. That way a man gives his dung and gets purity. Listen to the prophets, not to some adolescent boy. The foundation and the walls of spiritual life are made of self-denials and disciplines. Stay with friends who support you in these. Talk with them about sacred texts, and how you're doing, and how they're doing, and keep your practices together.

Plunge headfirst into the ocean of your loving. Then look around patiently for the pearl that is yours.”28

So the candle flickers and goes out. We have a piece of flint, and a spark. This singing art is sea foam. The graceful movements come from a pearl somewhere on the ocean floor. Poems reach up like spin drift and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting! They derive from a slow and powerful root that we can’t see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.

All the tears which we creatures shed for Him are not tears as many think but pearls....

THE HUSK AND CORE OF MASCULINITY Masculinity has a core of clarity, which does not act from anger or greed or sensuality, and a husk, which does. The virile center that listens within takes pleasure in obeying that truth. Nobility of spirit, the true spontaneous energy of your life, comes as you abandon other motives and move only when you feel the majesty that commands and is the delight of the self. Remember Ayaz crushing the king's pearl!

ROSES UNDERFOOT The sound of salaams rising as waves diminish down in prayer, hoping for some trace of the one whose trace does not appear. If anyone asks you to say who you are, say without hesitation, soul withing soul within soul. There's a pearl diver who does not know how to swim! No matter. Pearls are handed him on the beach. We lovers laugh to hear, "This should be more that and that more this,"coming from people sitting in a wagon tilted in a ditch. Going in search of the heart, I found a huge rose under my feet, and roses under all our feet! How to say this to someone who denies it? The robe we wear is the sky's cloth. Everything is soul and flowering. --------------------------------- I open and fill with love and other objects evaporate. All the learning in books stays put on the shelf. Poetry, the dear words and images of song, comes down over me like mountain water. ---------------------------------- Any cup I hold fills with wine that lovers drink. Every word I say opens into mystery. Any way I turn I see brilliance.

BOWLS OF FOOD Moon and evening star do their slow tambourine dance to praise this universe. The purpose of every gathering is discovered: to recognize beauty and love what’s beautiful. “Once it was like that, now it’s like this,” the saying goes around town, and serious consequences too. Men and women turn their faces to the wall in grief. They lose appetite. Then they start eating the fire of pleasure, as camels chew pungent grass for the sake of their souls. Winter blocks the road. Flowers are taken prisoner underground. Then green justice tenders a spear. Go outside to the orchard. These visitors came a long way, past all the houses of the zodiac, learning Something new at each stop. And they’re here for such a short time, sitting at these tables set on the prow of the wind. Bowls of food are brought out as answers, but still no one knows the answer. Food for the soul stays secret. Body food gets put out in the open like us. Those who work at a bakery don’t know the taste of bread like the hungry beggars do. Because the beloved wants to know, unseen things become manifest. Hiding is the hidden purpose of creation: bury your seed and wait. After you die, All the thoughts you had will throng around like children. The heart is the secret inside the secret. Call the secret language, and never be sure what you conceal. It’s unsure people who get the blessing. Climbing cypress, opening rose, Nightingale song, fruit, these are inside the chill November wind. They are its secret. We climb and fall so often. Plants have an inner Being, and separate ways of talking and feeling. An ear of corn bends in thought. Tulip, so embarrassed. Pink rose deciding to open a competing store. A bunch of grapes sits with its feet stuck out. Narcissus gossiping about iris. Willow, what do you learn from running water? Humility. Red apple, what has the Friend taught you? To be sour. Peach tree, why so low? To let you reach. Look at the poplar, tall but without fruit or flower. Yes, if I had those, I’d be self-absorbed like you. I gave up self to watch the enlightened ones. Pomegranate questions quince, Why so pale? For the pearl you hid inside me. How did you discover my secret? Your laugh. The core of the seen and unseen universes smiles, but remember, smiles come best from those who weep. Lightning, then the rain-laughter. Dark earth receives that clear and grows a trunk. Melon and cucumber come dragging along on pilgrimage. You have to be to be blessed! Pumpkin begins climbing a rope! Where did he learn that? Grass, thorns, a hundred thousand ants and snakes, everything is looking for food. Don’t you hear the noise? Every herb cures some illness. Camels delight to eat thorns. We prefer the inside of a walnut, not the shell. The inside of an egg, the outside of a date. What about your inside and outside? The same way a branch draws water up many feet, God is pulling your soul along. Wind carries pollen from blossom to ground. Wings and Arabian stallions gallop toward the warmth of spring. They visit; they sing and tell what they think they know: so-and-so will travel to such-and-such. The hoopoe carries a letter to Solomon. The wise stork says lek-lek. Please translate. It’s time to go to the high plain, to leave the winter house. Be your own watchman as birds are. Let the remembering beads encircle you. I make promises to myself and break them. Words are coins: the vein of ore and the mine shaft, what they speak of. Now consider the sun. It’s neither oriental nor occidental. Only the soul knows what love is. This moment in time and space is an eggshell with an embryo crumpled inside, soaked in belief-yolk, under the wing of grace, until it breaks free of mind to become the song of an actual bird, and God.

What do you really possess, and what have you gained? What pearls have you brought up from the depth of the sea? On the day of death, bodily senses will vanish: do you have the spiritual light to accompany your heart? When dust fills these eyes in the grave, will your grave shine bright?

THIS TORTURE Why should we tell you our love stories when you spill them together like blood in the dirt? Love is a pearl lost on the ocean floor, or a fire we can't see, but how does saying that push us through the top of the head into the light above the head? Love is no tan iron pot, so this boiling energy won't help. Soul, heart, self. Beyond and within those is one saying, How long before I'm free of this torture!

A moth flying into the flame says with its wingfire, 'Try this.' The wick with its knotted neck broken, tells you the same. A candle as it diminishes explains, 'Gathering more and more is not the way. Burn, become light and heat and help. Melt.' The ocean sits in the sand letting its lap fill with pearls and shells, then empty. A bittersalt taste hums, 'This.' The phoenix gives up on good-and-bad, flies to rest on Mt. Qaf, no more burning and rising from ash. It sends out one message. The rose purifies its face, drops the soft petals, shows its thorn, and points. Wine abandons thousands of famous names, the vintage years and delightful bouquets, to run wild and anonymous through your brain. The flute closes its eyes and gives its lips to Hamza’s emptiness. Everything begs with the silent rocks for you to be flung out like light over this plain, the presence of Shams.

If A Tree Could Wander Oh, if a tree could wander and move with foot and wings! It would not suffer the axe blows and not the pain of saws! For would the sun not wander away in every night ? How could at ev'ry morning the world be lighted up? And if the ocean's water would not rise to the sky, How would the plants be quickened by streams and gentle rain? The drop that left its homeland, the sea, and then returned ? It found an oyster waiting and grew into a pearl. Did Yusaf not leave his father, in grief and tears and despair? Did he not, by such a journey, gain kingdom and fortune wide? Did not the Prophet travel to far Medina, friend? And there he found a new kingdom and ruled a hundred lands. You lack a foot to travel? Then journey into yourself! And like a mine of rubies receive the sunbeams? print! Out of yourself ? such a journey will lead you to your self, It leads to transformation of dust into pure gold!

Though thou pour the ocean into thy pitcher, It can hold no more than one day's store. The pitcher of the desire of the covetous never fills, The oyster-shell fills not with pearls till it is content; Only he whose garment is rent by the violence of love Is wholly pure from covetousness and sin. Hail to thee, then, O LOVE, sweet madness! Thou who healest all our infirmities! Who art the physician of our pride and self-conceit! Who art our Plato and our Galen! Love exalts our earthly bodies to heaven, And makes the very hills to dance with joy!

Let’s talk about mankind’s most adored emotion – Love. However, love itself is not a single emotion, rather a blend of many. It is such an enchanting sensation, that it has been inspiring artists, scientists, philosophers and thinkers for ages. Albert Einstein said, “any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves”. Geniuses around the world came up with various creations under the spell of love. Schrodinger’s Wave Equation, Hawking’s Hawking Radiation, Tagore’s songs, Rumi’s poems, are just a few among the plethora of scientific and philosophical literature created under the enigmatic and warm influence of love. So, technically it is totally worth being crazy in love.

When You Reveal Those Rose-Colored Cheeks Ghazal 1711 1941 When you reveal those rose-colored cheeks (of yours),you make the stones whirl2 from joy. Put (your) head out from the veil once again, for the sake of amazed lovers-- So that knowledge may lose the way, (and) the intellectual may shatter (his) learning; So that water may become a pearl3 from your reflection, (and) fire may quit war. 1945 With (the presence of) your beauty, I don't desire the (lovely full) moon or those few little hanging lanterns (in the heavens). (And) with (the presence of) your face, I don't call the ancient rusty sky a "mirror." You breathed into and created this narrow world4 in another form once again. O Venus,5 make that harp melodious again, in desire for his Mars-like eyes!

My heart, sit only with those who know and understand you. Sit only under a tree that is full of blossoms. In the bazaar of herbs and potions don't wander aimlessly, find the shop with a potion that is sweet. If you don't have a measure, people will rob you in no time. You will take counterfeit coins thinking they are real. Don't fill your bowl with food from every boiling pot you see. Not every joke is humorous, so don't search for meaning where there isn't one. Not every eye can see, not every sea is full of pearls. My heart, sing the song of longing like a nightingale. The sound of your voice casts a spell on every stone, on every thorn. First, lay down your head, then one by one let go of all distractions. Embrace the light and let it guide you beyond the winds of desire. There you will find a spring and, nourished by its sweet waters, like a tree you will bear fruit forever.

Tonight is a night of union for the stars and of scattering, scattering, since a bride is coming from the skies, consisting of a full moon. Venus cannot contain hereself for charming melodies, like the nightingale which becomes intoxicated with the rose in spring-time. See how the polestar is ogling Leo; behold what dust Pisces is stirring up drom the deep! Jupiter has galloped his steed against ancient Saturn, saying "Take back your youth and go, bring good tidings!" Mars' hand, which was full of blood from the handle of his sword, has become as life-giving as the sun, the exalted in works. Since Aquarius has come full of that water of life, the dry cluster of Virgo is raining pearls from him. The Pleiades full of goodness fears not Libra and being broken; how should Aries flee away in fright from its mother? When from the moon the arrow of a glance struck the heart of Sagittarius, he took to night-faring in passion for her, like Scorpio. On such a festival, go, sacrifice Taurus, else you are crooked of gait in the mud like Cancer. This sky is the astrolabe, and the reality is Love; whatever wesay of this, attend to the meaning. Shamsi-Tabriz, on that dawn when you shine, the dark night is transformed to bright day by your moonlike face.

STAY CLOSE, MY HEART Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways; Come into the shade of the tree that allays has fresh flowers. Don't stroll idly through the bazaar of the perfume-markers: Stay in the shop of the sugar-seller. If you don't find true balance, anyone can deceive you; Anyone can trick out of a thing of straw, And make you take it for gold Don't squat with a bowl before every boiling pot; In each pot on the fire you find very different things. Not all sugarcanes have sugar, not all abysses a peak; Not all eyes possess vision, not every sea is full of pearls. O nightingale, with your voice of dark honey! Go on lamenting! Only your drunken ecstasy can pierce the rock's hard heart! Surrender yourself, and if you cannot be welcomes by the Friend, Know that you are rebelling inwardly like a thread That doesn't want to go through the needle's eye! The awakened heart is a lamp; protect it by the him of your robe! Hurry and get out of this wind, for the weather is bad. And when you've left this storm, you will come to a fountain; You'll find a Friend there who will always nourish your soul. And with your soul always green, you'll grow into a tall tree Flowering always with sweet light-fruit, whose growth is interior.

O son, burst thy chains and be free! How long wilt thou be a bondsman to silver and gold? If thou pour the sea into a pitcher, how much will it hold? One day's store. The pitcher, the eye of the covetous, never becomes full: the oyster-shell is not filled with pearls until it is contented. He (alone) whose garment is rent by a (mighty) love is purged of covetousness and all defect. Hail, O Love that bringest us good gain - thou that art the physician of all our ills, The remedy of our pride and vainglory, our Plato and our Galen!

PARADOX Paradoxes: best wakefulness in sleep, wealth in having nothing, a pearl necklace fastened around an iron collar. Fire contained in boiling water. Revenues growing from funds flowing out. Giving is gainful employment. It brings in money. Taking time for ritual prayer and meditation saves time. Sweet fruit hide in leaves. Dung becomes food for the ground and generative power in trees. Nonexistence contains existence. Love encloses beauty. Brown flint and gray steel have orange candlelight in them. Inside fear, safety. In the black pupil of the eye, many brilliancies. Inside the body-cow, a handsome prince.

Man is hidden behind his words his tongue is a curtain over the door of his soul. When a gust of wind lifts the curtain the secret of the interior is exposed, you can see if there is gold or snakes pearls or scorpions hidden inside. Thoughtless speech spills easily out of man while the wise ones keep silent.

Even the most brave and powerful men tremble at the sight of their Beloved - So vulnerable from the essence her fragrance leaves in their heart. I remember You like a cryptic carving of ancient scriptures on the sandalwood With reverence, meaning and a scent. I dance like a wild stream between the palms of God - so that, My movement is free of thought, My love for you free from context, I mirror galaxies for you drunk of my own reflection, You are the silence in a drowning noise - like an island, And your silence becomes a voice of its own. Tonight I am Rumi, the poet of the poets Who spoke of the Beloved: Oh Beloved, Moon of the Moons! Your pale face dissolves in the daylight, Where should I find you in my wake? Light becomes a concealing veil for your sacredness. Night covers you in a different veil, like that pearl at the bottom of the ocean, that is my heart. So precious is thy refinement. You move with the tides, always leaving but a fragrance of devotion. I'm meeting you on the crossroads where breath becomes life - And like a breath, immersed and formless, together we are scattered and life is merely a passage, a doorway to our secret garden.

A jasper from a pearl you can distinguish The day belief in your self you relinquish,

Beneath a common banner of classically liberal ideals, countless tastes and traditions may mingle and mutate into ever new and exciting flavors. Thus would be born a homeland where the Sufi dances with the Breslover round the neon jungle of Times Square, where the Baptist of Alabama nods along to the merry melodies of Klezmer, where the secular humanist combs the Christian gospels and poems of Rumi for their many pearls of wisdom, where the Guatemalan college student learns to read Marx and Luxemburg in their original German, where the Russian refugee freely markets her own art painted in the style of Van Gogh and Monet, where the Italian chef tosses up a Lambi stew for his Haitian wife’s birthday while the operas of Verdi and Puccini play on his radio, where two brothers in exile share the wine of the Galilee and Golan while listening to the oud music of Nablus and Nazareth, where the Buddhist and the stoner hike through redwood trails and swap thoughts of life and death beneath a star-spangled sky. In this America, only the polyglot sets the lingua franca, the bully pulpit yields to the poets café, decent discourse finds favor over any cocksure shouting match, no library is so uniform as to betray to a tee its owner’s beliefs, no citizen is so selfish as to live for only themself nor so weak of will as to live only for others, and such a land—as yet a dream deferred, but still a dream we may seize—such a land would truly be worthy of you and me.