Rumi Travel Quotes

Travel brings power and love back into your life.

Travelers, it is late. Life's sun is going to set. During these brief days that you have strength, be quick and spare no effort of your wings

Friend, we're traveling together. Throw off your tiredness. Let me show you one tiny spot of the beauty that cannot be spoken. I'm like an ant that's gotten into the granary, ludicrously happy, and trying to lug out a grain that's way too big.

You run back and forth listening for unusual events, peering into the faces of travelers. "Why are you looking at me like a madman?" I have lost a friend. Please forgive me.

I like to borrow a metaphor from the great poet and mystic Rumi who talks about living like a drawing compass. One leg of the compass is static. It is fixed and rooted in a certain spot. Meanwhile, the other leg draws a huge wide circle around the first one, constantly moving. Just like that, one part of my writing is based in Istanbul. It has strong local roots. Yet at the same time the other part travels the whole wide world, feeling connected to several cities, cultures, and peoples.

by the great Persian mystical poet Rumi: “Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.

Love has come and it flows like blood beneath my skin, through my veins. It has emptied me of my self and filled me with the Beloved. The Beloved has penetrated every cell of my body. Of myself there remains only a name, everything else is Him. (Rumi)

Traveling is as refreshing for some as staying at home is for others.

2:74-75 FUMES Clean clothes and expensive accessories will not cover a blackened core. The smoldering sends out smoke through the crevices. You brush the fumes away, but they keep coming. As his criminal actions have built walls around a prisoner, so your forgetfulness and refusal to let light in keep your soul from traveling.

Originally, you were clay. From being mineral, you became vegetable. From vegetable, you became animal, and from animal, man…And you have to go through a hundred different worlds yet. There are a thousand forms of mind. —RUMI

How Finite Minds Most Want To Be You are the living marrow. The rest is hay, and dead grass does not nourish a human being. When you are not here, this desire we feel has no traveling companion. When the sun is gone, the soul's clarity fades. There is nothing but idiocy and mistakes. We are half-dead, inanimate, exhausted. The way finite minds most want to be is an ocean with a soul swimming in it. No one can describe that. These words do not touch you. Metaphors mentioning the moon have no effect on the moon. My soul, you are a master, a Moses, a Jesus. Why do I stay blind in your presence? You are Joseph at the bottom of his well. Constantly working, but you do not get paid, because what you do seems trivial, like play. Now silence. Unless these words fill with nourishment from the unseen, they will stay empty, and why would I serve my friends bowls with no food in them?

O lovers, lovers it is time to set out from the world. I hear a drum in my soul's ear coming from the depths of the stars. Our camel driver is at work; the caravan is being readied. He asks that we forgive him for the disturbance he has caused us, He asks why we travelers are asleep. Everywhere the murmur of departure; the stars, like candles thrust at us from behind blue veils, and as if to make the invisible plain, a wondrous people have come forth.

Whoever enters the Way without a guide will take a hundred years to travel a two-day journey. . . . – Rumi (p. 123)

It is burning of the heart I want; this burning which is everything, More precious than a worldly empire, because it calls God secretly, in the night. (Rumi)

Choose a master, for without him this journey is full of tribulations, fears, and dangers. With no escort, you would be lost on a road you would have already taken. Do not travel alone on the Path.

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.

Before I ended up in this dungeon of the world, I was with you all the time. How I wish I’d never fallen into this earthly trap. I kept telling you over and over again: “I’m perfectly happy here. I don’t want to go anywhere. To travel from this exaltation down to earth is just too difficult a journey." You sent me anyway: “Go, don’t be scared. No harm will come to you. I will always be with you." You persuaded me by saying: 
“If you go, you’ll gain new experiences. You’ll progress on your path. You’ll be far more mature when you come back home." I replied: “O Essence of Knowledge, What good is all this learning and information
without you? Who could leave you for knowledge, unless he has no knowledge of you?" When I drink wine from your hand, 
I haven’t a care in the world. I become drunk and happy. 
I couldn’t care less about gain or loss, or people’s good or bad features.

1:354-355 BEING TAKEN When you begin to surrender, forget yourself. Become senseless with no motive, so you can be blown from east to west and back without knowing anything, or caring either. It would not be surprising if in such mindlessness your essential being went hundreds of miles without you being aware of it. We see such wandering in the clouds and the waters. The forests and the crops too in their ways travel with caravans of people along the earth. God takes our souls on journeys he knows nothing of. Why? We don't know, being as we are the passed-out reveler laid in a wagon and driven elsewhere. What we love, what we want, is this being held in the presence, this being taken. That is the satisfaction, not learning why or how or where we are, or when we'll arrive somewhere else.

SHORE AND GROUND Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to. Don’t try to see through the distances. That’s not for human beings. Move within, but don’t move the way fear makes you move. Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument. Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground. RUMI

We travelled with a bookshelf fixed above the back of our seat. The poor books were shaken madly during all these days, but we rejoiced to be able to lay our hand on the right volume at the right moment. Rubbing against each other were Marco Polo, Pelliot, Evans-Wentz, Vivekananda, Maritain, Jung, a life of Alexander the Great, Grousset, the Zend-Avesta. I picked The Darvishes by John P. Brown and H. A. Rose, and read aloud a passage about Jalal-ud-din Rumi.

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!

Gardening Work There was a man breaking up the ground, getting ready to plant, when another man came by, "Why are you ruining this land?" "Don't interfere. Nothing can grow here until the earth is turned over and crumbled. There can be no roses and no orchard without first this devastation. You must lance an ulcer to heal. You must tear down parts of an old building to restore it." So it is with the sensual life that has no spirit. A person must face the dragon of his or her appetites with another dragon, the life energy of the soul. When that's not strong, everyone seems to be full of fear and wanting, as one thinks the room is spinning when one's whirling around. If your love has contracted into anger, the atmosphere itself feels threatening, but when you're expansive and clear, no matter what the weather, you're in an open windy field with friends. Many people travel as far as Syria and Iraq and meet only hypocrites. Others go all the way to India and see only people buying and selling. Others travel to Turkestan and China to discover those countries are full of cheats and sneak thieves. You always see the qualities that live in you. A cow may walk through the amazing city of Baghdad and notice only a watermelon rind and a tuft of hay that fell off a wagon. Don't repeatedly keep doing what your lowest self wants. That's like deciding to be a strip of meat nailed to dry on a board in the sun.

HOW SHOULD THE SOUL not take wings when from the Glory of God It hears a sweet, kindly call: "Why are you here, soul? Arise!" How should a fish not leap fast into the sea from dry land When from the ocean so cool the sound of the waves reaches its How should the falcon not fly back to his king from the hunt When from the falconer's drum it hears to call: "Oh, come back"? Why should not every Sufi begin to dance atom-like Around the Sun of duration that saves from impermanence? What graciousness and what beauty? What life-bestowing! What grace! If anyone does without that, woe- what err, what suffering! Oh fly , of fly, O my soul-bird, fly to your primordial home! You have escaped from the cage now- your wings are spread in the air. Oh travel from brackish water now to the fountain of life! Return from the place of the sandals now to the high seat of souls! Go on! Go on! we are going, and we are coming, O soul, From this world of separation to union, a world beyond worlds! How long shall we here in the dust-world like children fill our skirts With earth and with stones without value, with broken shards without worth? Let's take our hand from the dust grove, let's fly to the heavens' high, Let's fly from our childish behaviour and join the banquet of men! Call out, O soul, to proclaim now that you are rules and king! You have the grace of the answer, you know the question as well!

SOUL SPRING Everything visible has an invisible archetype. Forms wear down and die. No matter. The original and the origin do not. Every fragile beauty, every perfect forgotten sentence, you grieve their going away, but that is not how it is. Where they come from never goes dry. It is an always flowing spring. Imagine soul as a fountain, a source, and these visible forms as rivers that build from an aquifer that is an infinite water. The moment you come into being here a ladder, a means of escape, is set up. First, you are mineral, then plant, then animal. This much is obvious, surely. You go on to be a human developing reason and subtle intuitions. Look at your body, what an intricate beauty it has grown to be in this dustpit. And you have yet more traveling to do, the move into spirit, where eventually you will be done with this earthplace. There is an ocean where your drop becomes a hundred Indian Oceans. Where Son becomes One. Be sure of two things. The body grows old, and your soul stays fresh and young.

HOW SHOULD THE SOUL How should the soul not take wings when from the Glory of God It hears a sweet, kindly call: "Why are you here, soul? Arise!" How should a fish not leap fast into the sea form dry land When from the ocean so cool the sound of the waves reaches its How should the falcon not fly back to his king from the hunt When from the falconer's drum it hears to call: "Oh, come back"? Why should not every Sufi begin to dance atom-like Around the Sun of duration that saves from impermanence? What graciousness and what beauty? What life-bestowing! What grace! If anyone does without that, woe- what err, what suffering! Oh fly , of fly, O my soul-bird, fly to your primordial home! You have escaped from the cage now- your wings are spread in the air. Oh travel from brackish water now to the fountain of life! Return from the place of the sandals now to the high seat of souls! Go on! Go on! we are going, and we are coming, O soul, From this world of separation to union, a world beyond worlds! How long shall we here in the dust-world like children fill our skirts With earth and with stones without value, with broken shards without worth? Let's take our hand from the dust grove, let's fly to the heavens' high, Let's fly from our childish behaviour and join the banquet of men! Call out, O soul, to proclaim now that you are rules and king! You have the grace of the answer, you know the question as well!

HE SAID: "Who's knocking at my door?" Said I: "Your humble servant!" Said He: "What business have you got?" Said I: "I came to greet You!" Said He: "How long are you to push?" Said I: "Until You'll call me!" Said He: "How long are you to boil?" Said I: "Till resurrection!" I claimed I was a lover true and I took may oaths That for the sake of love I lost my kingdom and my wealth! He said: "You make a claim - the judge needs witness for your cause!" Said I: "My witness is my tears, my proof my yellow face!" Said He: "The witness is corrupt, your eye is wet and ill!" Said I: "No, by Your eminence: My eye is sinless clear!" He said: "And what do you intend?" Said I: "Just faithful friendships!" Said He: "What do you want from me?" Said I: "Your grace abundant!" Said He: "Who travelled here with you?" Said I: "Your dream and phantom!" Said He: "And what led you to me?" Said I: "Your goblet's fragrance!" Said He: "What is most pleasant, say?" Said I: "The ruler's presence!" Said He: "What did you see there, friend?" Said I: "A hundred wonders!" Said He: "Why is it empty now?" Said I: "From fear of brigands!" Said He: "The brigand, who is that?" Said I: "IT is the blaming!" Said He: "And where is safety then?" Said: "In renunciation." Said He: "Renunciation? That's ... ?" Said I: "The path to safety!" Said He: "And where is danger, then?" Said I: "In Your love's quarters!" Said He: "And how do you fare there?" Said I: "Steadfast and happy." I tested you and tested you, but it availed to nothing - Who tests the one who was once tried, he will repent forever! Be silent! If I'd utter here the secrets fine he told me, You would go out all of yourself, no door nor roof could hold you

Twain had already traveled himself to the Middle East in 1867, the experience of which he details in The Innocents Abroad, or the New Pilgrim’s Progress (1869), and from the 1870s was much captivated by a different Persian poet, cOmar Khayyam, whose Rubáiyát Twain described as “the only poem I have ever carried about with me.

The Sufi Way is to follow the model provided by the Prophet‘s representatives on earth, the saints, who are the shaykhs or the spiritual masters. Once having entered the Way, the disciple begins to undergo a process of inward transformation. If he is among those destined to reach spiritual perfection, he will climb the ascending rungs of a ladder stretching to heaven and beyond; the alchemy of the Way will transmute the base copper of his substance into pure and noble gold. The Truth or „attainment to God“ is not a simple, one-step process. It can be said that this third dimension of Sufi teaching deals with all the inner experiences undergone by the traveler on his journey. It concerns all the „virtues“ (akhlaq) the Sufi must acquire, in keeping with the Prophet‘s saying, „Assume the virtues of God!“ If acquiring virtues means „attaining to God,“ this is because they do not belong to man. The discipline of the Way coupled with God‘s grace and guidance results in a process of purification whereby the veil of human nature is gradually removed from the mirror of the primordial human substance, made in the image of God, or, in the Prophet‘s words, „upon the Form of the All-Merciful.“ Any perfection achieved by man is God‘s perfection reflected within him. (p. 11-12)

ALL THOSE IN LOVE ARE READY all those in love are ready to lose both worlds in one stroke let go of a hundred years of life in one day travel a thousand miles to experience a moment and lose a thousand lives for the sake of one heart

Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument. Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground. RUMI

There is a life-force within your soul, seek that life .There is a gem in the mountain of your body, seek that mine. O traveler, if you are in search of that, don't look outside, look inside yourself and seek that.

When you’re travelling ask a traveller for advice, Not someone whose lameness keeps him in one place. —Jalaluddin Rumi,

He likes to quote the Sufi poet Rumi: ‘Travel leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller’, an aphorism also attributed to the Moroccan explorer, Ibn Battuta.

Before this we were one community, none knew whether we were good or bad. False coin and fine (both) were current in the world, since all was night, and we were as night-travellers, Until the sun of the prophets rose and said, “Begone, O alloy! Come, O thou that art pure!” The eye can distinguish colours, the eye knows ruby and (common) stone. The eye knows the jewel and the rubbish; hence bits of rubbish sting the eye.

There is a life-force within your soul, seek that life. There is a gem in the mountain of your body, seek that mine. O traveler, if you are in search of That Don’t look outside, look inside yourself and seek That. Rumi