Lovers of God, sometimes a door opens,
and a human being becomes a way
for grace to come through.
I see various herbs in the kitchen garden,
each with its own bed, garlic, capers, saffron,
and basil, each watered differently to help it mature.
We keep the delicate ones separate from the turnips,
but there’s room for all in this unseen world, so vast
that the Arabian desert gets lost in it like a single hair
in the ocean. Imagine that you are Sheba
trying to decide whether to go to Solomon!
You’re haggling about how much to pay
for shoeing a donkey, when you could be seated
with one who is always in union with God,
who carries a beautiful garden inside himself.
You could be moving in a circuit without wing,
nourished without eating, sovereign without a throne.
No longer subject to fortune, you could be luck itself,
if you would rise from sleep, leave
the market arguing, and learn that
your own essence is your wealth.
I walked into to the office of a client yesterday and on the desk where I usually sit was The Essential Rumi, wrapped in a bright orange ribbon. Tucked beneath the bow were two golden puakinikini flowers, joined at the stem, and a card that read “To a Beautiful Mother.”
That night Jeb has a bad dream while clouds thunder and jolts of electricity splinter the sky. I let him crawl into bed with me, to drift back to sleep and sprawl his legs all over. 1:30am and storming, I was up for hours.
This morning I grab slipping darkness, it’s nearly six o’clock as Jeb still sleeps. My writing hour will quickly seep to sunshine.
Not much time to dip into the well of my own and stir. I turn towards a master. Flip to one random page and see what Rumi has to say.
Unfold Your Own Myth
Who gets up early to discover the moment light begins? Who finds us here circling, bewildered, like atoms? Who comes to a spring thirsty and sees the moon reflected in it? Who, like Jacob blind with grief and age, smells the shirt of his lost son and can see again? Who lets a bucket down and brings up a flowing prophet? Or like Moses goes for fire and finds what burns inside the sunrise?
Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies, and opens a door to the other world. Solomon cuts open a fish, and there’s a gold ring. Omar storms in to kill the prophet and leaves with blessings. Chase a deer and end up everywhere! An oyster opens his mouth to swallow one drop. Now there’s a pearl. A vagrant wanders empty ruins. Suddenly he’s wealthy.
But don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth, without complicated explanation, so everyone will understand the passage, We have opened you.
Start walking toward Shams. Your legs will get heavy and tired. Then comes a moment of feeling the wings you’ve grown, lifting.
Jeb dresses like a Jedi warrior in second-hand karate pants and a bathrobe, then takes his harmonica outside to play to the birds.
“They’re coming all around me, mom. They like it. Come see. Come!”
To me, they don’t seem to be coming around more than usual, though he keeps the harmonica sucked in his mouth, pointing with hands at birds under distant trees or flying high above. His eyebrows arch at me, silently saying “see” in affirming proof.
Both St. Francis and an orchestra conductor in one, he wanders out to the field, moving both hands in time to the sound of his inhales and exhales. Barefoot in grass and mud, he shares his music with the trees and all of the earthly creatures.
Later I take Jeb to Rex’s house and get the last day of 2010 to myself. In the afternoon two girlfriends I haven’t seen in a long while come over. We drink Patron and lemon. Eat kale salad and hazelnut crackers. Bing cherries and dark chocolate.
One friend has tickets to the ‘gala’ fundraising event and a new black sequins dress. My other friend will be enjoying a quiet meal with friends around the fire. I haven’t decided how I’ll bring in the new year. There are numerous options, the best of which has me leaning toward a night at home.
I wondered if I was simply losing gumption by settling in for a new year’s night alone. But when I dipped into the outdoor bath, soaking in the hot water beneath the star sky, I knew that all was well with the crickets and I.
Fresh from the bath, there was Lotus Garden body butter. The softness of a pashmina shawl from Nepal. I was tucked in beneath my mother’s cream colored afghan. Bullfrogs sounded down by the stream. Quiet.
After a whirlwind December tour of California, I was finally back home – landed. After a full and challenging year, 2010 was coming to a close. I felt complete. Even ready for bed at 8:24pm.
No shoulds about it. I climbed in. Who says you have to stay up till midnight? My body wanted rest. And there’s a difference between rest and sleep. Sleep can sometimes seek escape. On the last day of 2010 I wasn’t trying to hide. I simply wanted to transcend all concepts of what I was supposed to do. Set the tone for 2011 and stay true to the moment. And this moment called for rest. Which I did, soundly.
And on this first day of 2011- 1/1/11 – here’s to waking up.
The Breeze at Dawn The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep
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