Sufi Poems: Eight

I haven't done a post about Sufi poetry for a while. I haven't had anything especially interesting to say, perhaps, or maybe I just got a little tired and lost writing about myself. I'm inspired today to write about a couple of Hafez verses, however, in a large part because of recent late night discussions with Jaime.

I don't know what other couples with kids do; it's tough to make time to just hang out together the way you do before you have children. Jaime and I usually take a few hours after the kids go to sleep, sneak into their play room on the other end of the house, and talk. The past few weeks these discussions have become especially fruitful and exciting. I always know how brilliant and wonderful Jaime is, and how lucky I am to have her. But these recent discussions have reminded me forcefully of how necessary she is to my life.

Which brings me to the poems. A lot of our talks lately have been about religion and spirituality. We are attempting to discover the best way of introducing spiritual ideas into the lives of our kids. We've never been comfortable with mainstream ideas of spiritual things, and our own paths are strange and difficult, as true spiritual paths often are. Working in a daycare, I hear little kid conversations about God and the universe that make me deeply concerned about what my son will learn about his own spiritual path through his peers. (If you're wondering, to most kids, God is Santa/mean dad, and he randomly turns people into birds.)

As always when I am disturbed and challenged by ideas Jaime lobs at me, I look to the poems of the masters. Not surprisingly, Hafez faced a pretty awful establishment that had warped spiritual beliefs into a mockery of Truth for money and power*. He'd recognize our frustration and sadness at the current state of churches and states all too well. He wrote some amazing poems about the shackles people attempt to put on the Beloved, and how they can be overcome.

The small man build cages for everyone he knows.
While the sage,
who has to duck his head
when the moon is low,
keeps dropping keys all night long
for the beautiful rowdy
prisoners

...

Someone put You on a slave block
and the unreal bought You.
Now I keep coming to Your owner saying,
'This one is mine.'
You often overhear us talking
and this can make your heart leap with
excitement.

Don't worry. I will not let sadness possess you.
I will gladly borrow all the gold I need
to get you back.

So, we wait for some way to provide the kids with wisdom, and muddle through as best we can. They have their own paths, and I don't presume to have a perfect answer for their journey. I wish I had a small glimmer of where they need to place their feet. I suppose in trying to find some place for them to live and grow safely and honestly I am finding that first place. I need to be a big enough person and a good enough father to trust that they'll take the step.

*Amazing how often that happens. To be clear, I don't intend this to criticize people who are involved in organized religion. There are great and beautiful people there, I'm sure. And one good person doing good work is to be lauded. But I can't get past the problems. I can't ignore that genuine spiritual people are persecuted while greed and corruption pollute the religion. I certainly don't mean these poems as a judgement, and I doubt Hafez did either. He meant them as a call to insanity, as Love can be crazy.

Dancing Meditation In San Fran

My Sufi order had a meeting in San Francisco, a celebration of the life of our previous master, and I got to go. It was, as usual, amazing. The Sufi house there is huge, with a diverse and committed group of darvishes. This meeting, due to the emotions involved and the fact that it was the only one on the west coast, was particularly high energy and inspiring. Even with everything else, and the rushing around and the work, the darvishes there still went out of their way to talk to me, make me welcome. I have never seen a better group of sincere men, I think, than that one. I'm extraordinarily grateful to them for being who they are. I can't share too many details, since it is primarily a matter for initiated members of the order, but I wanted to mention it for a few reasons. For one, it gives me an excuse to encourage everyone to check out the order, which I cannot recommend highly enough. And for another, the flights down and back reminded me of exactly why I am who I am, and made me a little happier to have made the choices I had made.

The flight down was filled with families visiting friends and relatives. It was an interesting plane ride, and it made me miss my kids, who I'd just said goodbye to hours before. I really like having a family, and every experience I have makes me glad I choose to have one, and didn't sit on a plane wishing I had. You get a chance, and you take it. That's a recipe for a happy life. The flight back was the same lesson; corporate douches discussing how much they drink and sales meetings. If I had taken one of these office jobs, you would not be reading this blog. My internet presence would instead be news stories about how I'd gunned down my office mates for saying "synergy" one time too many.

I've made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. But every time a real life decision, one that really shaped my life, was there before me, I took a shot. There is only one I would take back, which could have changed my life, but even that worked out for the best. (Still, you can't help wonder 'what if?' with a moment or two over thirty odd years.)

Next week I turn thirty three. I'm an adult, in hobbit terms. (In Sufi terms I think I need to wait until forty.) I'm happy where I am. I love my kids and my wife. I even like my job. I'm broke, but that's okay. Not bad for thirty three. I'll take it.

SInce I can't share a lot of the amazing music and dancing and poetry and friendship I experienced this weekend, here is something I can share. A poem by the late master. Enjoy.

“From everything we were or were not, we are free, with Love
The heart remained tied to your passion, with Love
Love alone, was the goal of our journey
Free from all other we rested, with Love.”
-- Dr. Javad Nurbakhsh

Charity Work At Blessed Sacrament

Our Hearts Should Do This More

I sit in the streets with the homeless

My clothes stained with the wine

From the vineyards the saints tend.

Light has painted all acts

The same color

So I sit around and laugh all day

With my friends.

At night if I feel a divine loneliness

I tear the doors off Love’s mansion

And wrestle God onto the floor.

He becomes so pleased with Hafez

And says,

“Our hearts should do this more.”

-Hafez

This past Sunday I worked at the Blessed Sacrament Catholic church's soup kitchen, with a group of my fellow darvishes from the Sufi house. It was really interesting, strange work. We served a really nice meal to hundreds of people, and I poured gallons of coffee and fruit punch. A large part of our order is chivalry, how we treat others, and these periodic efforts in the community are a way to perform some good service together, as an order. Different houses, or khaniquahs, do different things. We help out at Blessed Sacrament.

I was impressed with their operation. Say what you will about the Catholic church and its problems and faults; they can pound out the charity when they want. The whole thing has been going on for a few decades there, and they have it down to a science. We were neatly plugged in and the day just flew. There were a few elderly people who were skeptical of us; I've never met so many people who had never heard of Sufism. We explained simply and politely, and they politely left us alone. They were glad for the help, I think, but they never did get why we were there. Maybe they thought we were a Sufi gang doing community service. (I want a jacket that says the Darvishes!)

The people who came to the kitchen where all types, but mostly who you would expect. Mostly men, middle aged, with varying degrees of problems. A few people had to be asked to leave, but by and large they thanked us and ate in peace. It was mostly white, but there were a lot of Native Americans, which was sad and alarming. Considering the total population in Seattle, to see so many so down on their luck made me really ashamed of my ancestors. (You know who you are, 17th and 18th century Barkers! Not you, mom's side. You're Irish and came here in 1920. We're cool.)

It was really great to be of help. We do so much for ourselves, and so little to help out others, and when there is a direct and obvious way to just give out food and keep people fed, it feels great. All of the darvishes who showed up, even with their own families and busy schedules, are amazing. The Master asked us to perform this small service, and many of us did. Those who made the effort, they inspire me to be a better darvish, and they make me proud to have started on this path.

Sufi Poems: Seven

Today's poem is another by Rumi. I think I mentioned several times that I wanted to include other poets. I'm not really succeeding. But why succeed when failure means Rumi? I'm only looking at a few lines of the overall poem, since it is a big one to unpack. I'm not comfortable looking at the entire poem just now; but I want to highlight a few lines that strike me.

This poem is often titled "Sublime Generosity," and it's one of the poems that really showed me that Sufism is the path for me. Like most of Rumi's poems, it's about self awareness and letting go of ego. Rumi is encouraging the reader to look at the subtle aspects of reality for enlightenment. The beauty of the world is all around, but we get so caught up in our own minds that we don't see it. We live in our imagination, instead of letting our imagination be in service to our true selves.

He said, "You already have wings.
I cannot give you wings."

But I wanted his wings

This is one of my favorite lines of poetry ever written. I love the longing in the line, the desire for real knowledge. Sufis often say that profound longing is God's answer to our prayers, because the longing leads to submission to reality. This verse contains both the pain of longing and the joy of realization. The speaker already has the truth, but he desires the truth of the master. He understands intellectually that they are the same truth, of course. But the longing remains until he is truly enlightened. He could lie to himself, and pretend to be realized, like many do. He isn't, however, going to lie. He is going to seek. It's a lovely, simple way to put a powerful expression of spiritual growth. This is what Rumi does best.

"Don't move. A sublime generosity is
coming toward you."

And old love said, "Stay with me."

I said, "I will."

This section of the poem epitomizes the sweet and sincere nature of Rumi. He expresses his devotion in a statement of intent. For a darvish, the remembrance of God is constant. Rumi was always saying his zekr, or personal remembrance. I imagine the power of the phrase 'I will' as a comment on his zekr. Rumi is reminding us to live in the remembrance. The use of the words sublime generosity is intriguing as well. The Sublime is one of the ninety nine names of God in Sufism, and it is often referenced in Sufi poems. This has multiple reasons, but one is the reminder that the truth of the universe is beyond the ordinary intellect. Rumi dealt with narrow minded people and fundamentalists of his age, and I imagine he wanted to remind them, and perhaps his students, that devotion to the real means everything that is real, not what is simple or culturally acceptable to the rulers of the time.

Reading the poetry of Rumi never ceases to amaze me. The insights and beauty of his words, even translated into another language, is transcendent. It is not hard at all to see how he gathered disciples of all faiths during his lifetime. As frustrating as the pervasiveness of Rumi's work is on some levels, the fact that he is readily available in the West is a huge advantage for our generation. I hope more people devote themselves to a serious study of his work, and that he has the impact on more people he has had on me.

Sufi Poems: Six

No greater wings are there
than Love.
And all of my beauty comes
from a mirror you always
hold before me.

Hafez differs from Rumi in many ways, but for me the biggest contrast comes from his approach to the subject of the Divine. Rumi speaks in parables, stories to inform. Hafez goes straight for the heart, and tries to stir the heart to act. Our master speaks a lot of chivalry, and for our order the darvish acts without thought of himself, always for others. Both Rumi and Hafez encourage this, of course, but Hafez speaks only to this. He is the darvish's darvish.

This verse is one of my favorites for exactly this reason. He is giving us the same criticism of ego that we hear in other poems, but phrased in such a personal and heart-wrenching way. He is reminding us of our own impermanence, and the need to seek the truth. There is beauty in the world, but don't lose sight of the real meaning of this meditation and remembrance.

Appropriately, this post is my 99th of this blog. In Sufi tradition, there are ninety-nine special names of God. The one hundredth name is unknowable, save for union with the divine. The one hundredth name is often given as a kind of koan, a meditation on the limitations of the intellect. A darvish attempting to become a Sufi is given a name or names as a remembrance, to meditate upon constantly. This is called a zekr, pronounced "zek." I started writing these posts, especially the Sufi ones, to try and get out some of my intellectual wanderings in order to focus on my zekr. I don't know if that was a good idea. It does seem to help, but Lord knows if I'm fooling myself. (A darvish reminded me of the master's comment when anyone started some new project or obsession: "This means they're crazy!")

But, all of that be as it may, I enjoy it. I like writing about my Sufi meditation, my kids, my little hobbies. So, I'm going to keep doing it. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, as a good WV darvish would say.

Sufi Poems: Five

"You've done well," she said, "but listen to me.
All this is the decor of love, the branches
and leaves and blossoms. You must live
at the root to be a true lover."
"Where is that!"
Tell me!"
"You've done the outward acts,
but you haven't died. You must die."

I haven't done a post about Sufi poetry in a while, and I was inspired to write this earlier in the week when I came across some anti-Islam, and in general anti-religion stuff online. I typically avoid reading this, since it is usually bored jerks trying to start a fight. Oh, bad things have been done in the name of religion, wow, you don't say? As if that has never been pointed out. As if evil people wouldn't use any excuse or label necessary to create conflict. The Nazis called themselves socialist, because it sounded nice. Then they executed everyone to the left of Mussolini. The argument from history doesn't hold much weight with me; people do what they do, for their own reasons. Religion has been a useful tool for manipulation for the past few thousand years, of course it's been used. We're seeing now how science is being used for questionable purposes, too. People trapped in their own heads seeking power will grab what they can. What faith they profess is irrelevant, whether Christian, Atheist, or Buddhist.

I was happy about one aspect of that post, however. It did remind me of an important point that is often neglected in these discussions. The superficial trappings of a religion are dangerous, if they are taken literally. The essence of a spiritual path is not in the boundaries which define it for the followers, but the deeper spiritual truth. Most true spiritual paths require a master for exactly this reason. Without a master to guide you, you'll fall back onto dogma or rules, the most basic aspect of a path. The rules exist for reasons, which a master will gladly explain to neophyte disciples. The rules are guides, meant to be elucidated by a master of the path. If you don't have the benefit of a master, you get caught up in your own ego, and the path isn't clear.

This Rumi verse, like many of Rumi's, talks about ridding yourself of ego. He is warning us against the trappings of love, the outward appearance of faith. Living by the trappings of faith is okay, you'll fit into your society fine, but you won't be a true Lover. As usual in Rumi, there is a prescience to this poem. In an age where the superficial information about anything is available to anyone at the click of a button, people believe they can shape the world with their own ego. What they desire to be true is true, and the enlightened people are bypassed. The information is valuable, if your quest for knowledge leads you to a master, but the trappings themselves do not make up the spiritual path. As fundamentalists across the world are teaching us, the branches and blossoms die without the roots to nourish them.

The only way to be free of the issues which divide us, Rumi says, is to let go of your ego. Die before you die, and the remaining is the pure, unpolluted you of the Divine. It's hard to delve into any path and not find this basic message of egolessness and surrender. It's not a coincidence that the other paths even come back to the same terms, in society after society. Truth will out, as Shakespeare said.

Sufi Poems: Four

Tonight I am crazy,
crazy with desire for You.
This impassioned heart of mine
overflows with longing for You

This is a line of poetry by the recently passed master of my order, Dr. Javad Nurbakhsh. I'm venturing into the realm of arrogance, I know, but I'm going to make the effort to talk about the master's poem. I'll reiterate the warning I posted at the beginning of this project, that any mistakes and misunderstandings are solely my own, and don't reflect on my teachers or order.

This is one of my favorite of the master's lines, because it expresses the notion of longing that is often mentioned in Sufi poems. That longing, or desire for unity, has been referred to as the answer to the prayers of humanity. Meaning that the hopes and wishes we express, often limited to material needs or psychological issues, is answered with the desire to understand ultimate reality. This reality would open our minds to the truth of existence, and presumably the more mundane concerns would be set aside. Perhaps the solution would be obvious, or the issue would cease to have meaning at all.

The poets often talk of madness, or being crazy. This seems to be the madness of saints, who see the truth of the world and are unable to be comprehended by those of us solely in the realm of material concerns. Seekers of enlightenment from Zen monks to St. John talk of madness, barely being able to function in the face of the overwhelming beauty of the real. People who achieve unity with God have perceptions and abilities that make others misunderstand, envy, or even fear them. Watching someone who can see glimpses of the future, or appear to have a communion with animals, I can guess that it's a bit shocking.

To me, the master's poem is saying that all of this is only to put your heart into longing for God. The intensity and madness is driving the Sufi to seek God with all of his or her heart, and that longing is the communion that we are seeking. I love the use of "tonight," bringing the purpose of the meditation the immediacy of the moment. Tonight stands for the moment, right now, when we should be in remembrance of Absolute Reality.

Sufi Poems: Three

Today is another Rumi poem. A short one this time, in order to focus on the purpose of these entries and avoid too much intellectual wasting of time. A little is perhaps unavoidable, at least for me. Brevity is the soul of wit, the poets say.

All day and night, music,
a quiet, bright
reedsong. If it
fades, we fade.

I like this verse especially in reference to the business and wordiness of modern life. We are bombarded by noise, we inflict noise on ourselves and those around us. The fundamental reality escapes us, and we start to think the noise is reality. Rumi has such a perfect little caution for us, from centuries ago. Remember the quiet, bright reedsong. This is a subtle reference to the constant remembrance of God that all Sufis should be doing, and do when the noise doesn't make us forget. If we stop the remembrance, we stop truly being.

I honestly do have some intent to talk about poems other than Rumi... but boy is it difficult to pull myself away from the great saint himself. I'll make a genuine effort, I promise. I want to start on Sana'i, if I kind find some suitable translations. I even may get arrogant enough to post a poem of the master's, though I'm not sure when I'll dare that.

Sufi Poems: Two

Today's verse is from a poem by Rumi that actually inspired me to start these Sufi poetry posts. It's a well known verse often translated as "Ali in Battle."

Learn from Ali how to fight
without your Ego participating.

God's Lion did nothing
that did not originate
from his deep center.

Once in battle he got the best of a certain knight
and quickly drew his sword. The man,
helpless on the ground, spat
in Ali's face. Ali dropped his sword,
relaxed, and helped the man to his feet.

"Why have you spared me?
How has lightning contracted back
into its cloud? Speak, my prince,
so that my soul can begin to stir
in me like an embryo."

Ali was quiet then finally answered,
"I am God's Lion, not the lion of passion.
The sun is my lord. I have no longing
except for the One.

When a wind of personal reaction comes,
I do not go along with it.

There are many winds full of anger,
and lust and greed. They move the rubbish
around, but the solid mountain of our true nature
stays where it's always been.

There's nothing now
except the divine qualities.
Come through the opening into me.

Your impudence was better than any reverence,
because in this moment I am you and you are me.

I give you this opened heart as God gives gifts:
the poison of your spit has become
the honey of friendship."

This has always been one of my favorite Rumi poems because of the clarity. He is always reminding the reader to let go of the ego, to seek the unity of the divine. In this case he explains through Ali how to act like a noble human being. "There is nothing now/except the divine qualities" is especially interesting, because it is a reminder that even Ali could slip away into ego, if he ceased the constant remembrance of the real.

As in many traditions, to be a darvish you must act from a place of balance, from a center. It is not possible to be in the moment and yet easily stirred by the events around you; being in the moment is grounding. When Ali was challenged to respond with ego, he responded with his divine qualities.

I think Rumi inspires people of many faiths precisely because he takes these moments and creates a poem that ties the specific cultural moment to the universal truth of the statement. A Muslim can read about Ali, and move from a place of piety and justice into the center. A Christian sees the mercy and forgiveness in the lines and finds a balance of his own. All of my years in Japan make me drawn to Rumi's use of "deep center" to describe the remembrance of the divine. And as a darvish, I understand the chivalric aspects of Ali's actions, which Rumi phrases so well.

Rumi begins the poem with the most important element: Learn from this. This is something which will point you on the path to understanding the universe. He ends it with the understanding that it is a gift, an offering to anyone willing to hear it. One of the most beautiful components of his poetry is the elegance with which he can make a profound point about the nature of truth. This is a gift to you, learn from it.

Sufi Poems: One

One of the greatest Sufi poets is Hafez. He is revered above all others, I think it's safe to say. The measure of his importance to Persian culture and Sufis in particular is illustrated by the commonly repeated statement that if there is only one book in a Persian household, it will be the Divan of Hafez.

Having the ability to read Hafez only in translation is a particular problem. According to native speakers, the poetry of Hafez is intensely difficult to capture, making use of complex imagery and allusion to which English cannot do justice. I appreciate this, of course, but as I said previously on translation, if it's what I can get I'll take it. The fact that Hafez frequently moves me to sit in raptured silence in the corner for hours in meditative prayer tells me that some aspect of his meaning is getting through to me. I do have a Robert Bly translation that was in the works for decades which I love. Bly is a member of my order, too, so I guess his approach resonates with me.

The verse that I have been contemplating for several days is this, translated in The Path by Dr. Javad Nurbakhsh:

The beggar at Your door
does not need the eight gardens of Paradise.
The prisoner of Your love
is freed from this world and the next.

The theme of this verse is a common one for the Sufi: The purpose of the practice is to abolish the ego and understand the unity of all things. There is no concern of an ego reward, whether it's the desire for reward here or the quest to win a ticket to heaven. These are all ego desires, and not worthy of a Sufi. The image of the beggar appears throughout Sufi poems, but Hafez especially seems to like this image. It is reinforced by Hafez that it isn't about you, spiritual understanding is about God. In order to achieve, you cast aside yourself in favor of Reality.

Understandably, Hafez was persecuted by the mainstream religious figures of his time. Boldly teaching to set aside ego and not be concerned for material gains does not play well with people who both depend on your taxes and expect you to be lulled into complacency by fears of hell and expectations of heaven. A poet who doesn't need the gardens of Paradise doesn't fear the demons of hell, either.

I thought of this verse once when I was accosted at the Seattle Center by some evangelical. I was with my kids, and he asked me if I was a good person, ever broke any commandments. I told him I was a reasonably good man, but sure, I had probably broken a few. He pulled out his trump card: Well, then aren't you worried about going to hell? Your kids? Do you want my get out of jail free card? And I told him I wasn't worried about going to hell, but not because I didn't believe in it. I mean what do I know? Maybe there is a hell. But I wasn't worried because I wanted to accept God's will, good or bad. I didn't like the idea of going to hell, but it didn't motivate me one way or the other.

He was flabbergasted. He was speechless. I wasn't trying to be clever, or give him a hard time, but I replied with the teachings that I have learned from my order, and my Sufi poems. I wasn't going to be a hypocrite. I'm a long way from being enlightened, but I don't imagine turning aside from my path because I'm afraid or greedy will get me any further.

Sufi Poems: Intro

I have decided to do a series of posts about Sufi poetry. This is mainly in response to my own discussion among friends and acquaintances about Sufism, about my order, and specifically about certain poems and images that they run across. These are just my thoughts and experiences, I don't profess to be an expert, so bear that in mind. And more importantly, the mistakes and errors in judgement that come from my words are completely my own, and don't reflect on my order or my teachers. I just want to lay down these ideas somewhere they can be shared and discussed, in hopes that myself or others glean some small benefit from them.

The first discussion I always have with people who have an interest in Sufism is always about wine. Sufi poetry mentions wine a lot, and people are often very curious about that for two reasons. One, they wonder why an order from a part of the world that mostly avoids wine talks so much about wine. Or two, and related, is that they are eager to be a part of an order that talks so much about wine.

Wine is used in poetry to express different things, but always in Sufi poetry the author is steering the reader away from the self, the ego, and towards Divine Unity. I think it is a mistake to take even a word of most Sufi poetry literally, but this is especially true with words like wine. Fundamentalists and material minded people speak of the dangers of wine, the evils of wine, and in some sense this is the spirit that the Sufis are invoking; after all to be a Sufi you are setting aside dogma to pursue the Truth, unvarnished. But of course the poet isn't talking about getting drunk in the woods after prom either. The wine of Sufis is the pure ecstasy of Divine attention.

As Sufis we strive for the experience of Unity. We seek to let go of ego, and holding on to notions of our own can only be limiting. Enlightenment isn't a logical puzzle to be worked out, or a goal for the hardest runner. The poems attempt to pull you away from your ego, show you glimpses of the nature of the universe. There isn't a need for alcohol, or the need to stand around yelling at others about drinking, when your ego isn't involved. As Rumi says:

There are thousands of wines
that can take over our minds.

Don't think all ecstasies
are the same!

Jesus was lost in his love for God.
His donkey was drunk with barley.

Drink from the presence of saints,
not from those other jars.

Every object, every being,
is a jar full of delight.

Be a connoiseur,
and taste with caution.

I imagine there will be a lot of Rumi in these posts, since Rumi is amazing and stated things so well. Unfortunately I don't understand Persian, so I'm forced to trust the translators. Of course Rumi himself said about translation that Love will find its way across all languages on its own. So maybe it's okay.

Again I want to stress these are my own ramblings; consult a master for wise discourse on the subject, I am a simple darvish. I feel like doing this has merit, so I am. And once again, remember Rumi:

When I come to Love, I am ashamed of all that I have ever said about Love.