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"The Love of Your Life"

Rumi's Poetry as a Way Inside

Index to Rumi Poetry Series

Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull 
of what you really love.

-- Rumi

Jelaluddin Rumi  lived during the 13th century. He was a theologian with his own divinity school. At age 37, through a relationship with a dervish monk, Shams, Rumi began to transform his being, and in the process, to write some of the most beautiful mystical poetry ever written. For the next several weeks, we’ll reflect on some of his poems.

I’m using a translation found in the book The Illuminated Rumi.

Wouldn't you think that, on the face of it, this "living one's life in the silent pull of what one loves" would be what we all do? And doesn't it make sense that we all would be doing what we love, but emphatically not making a song and dance out of it?

I probably don't have to say that this is not the experience most people have.

As Thoreau put it, 
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things." (Walden, Henry David Thoreau)

So, when I write or say that such "quiet desperation" is simply one choice of many, lots of people make this a complicated or erroneous statement. 

Quiet desperation: a small example --


A client was in the other day, and was there to let me know, after a 4 month break, that her life was still in the tank. In the process, she said that she had been accepted into Nursing School, a life-dream of hers. She sighed. I asked her to tell me how she was making that a bad thing. She replied, "Well, if I hadn't had that auto accident two years ago, I'd be finishing Nursing School now. I'll never be able to stop thinking that all of this is happening two years later than it was supposed to."

Noisy desperation --

Noisy desperation is engaged in by those who really believe that they have to have something to whine about, and figure the rest of the world should actually care.

Noisy braggadocio -- 

Then, there's the noisy palaver of those who are sort of doing what they want to do, and who really, really want you to know how charged up and wonderful they are. I get the feeling that, far from being totally immersed in the thing that they love, they are immersed in the adoration of the crowds.

Which leaves the Rumi quote --

Inside each of us, deep inside, is a longing to be reunited with Spirit, with the cosmos, with our purpose and vocation. The pull of this vocation is subtle, but strong, like undertow. It tugs at the harp strings of our hearts, playing a quiet melody. You'll know that I always describe this energy as "vocational" - a word that comes from the Christian tradition of choosing to serve God - say, as a monk or nun. The word, in the last few decades, has been freed from it's religious roots to describe the life one chooses to live, from a place of focused service.

The way this life is lived out varies from person to person, but commonly has to do with letting go of the ego's need to keep score. For example, a common experience in the West is to get a job, work your way up the ladder, make more money, gain recognition. At the end of the day (or increasingly more frequently, in our 40's) we begin to sense a vague disquiet that suggests to us that perhaps we're using the wrong beans to keep score.

If we choose to keep doing things the same way, the ache in our gut (which is existential angst - the knowledge of our impending deaths) gets stronger, and something will have to give. Many get sick. Or dive into the Prozac bottle. Others, the wise few, begin to "talk" to the ache, and suddenly find themselves at a crossroads.

I recognize that, for me, leaving the church at age 45 was that crossroads. Actually, being the Drama King I was back then, I set it up to get myself turfed out - I really never fit in in the first place. This caused Dar and me to begin a rigorous self-examination process, as we'd have to deal with the practicalities of loss of my income, and we knew that taking my counselling and consulting practice full time would take, well, time.

But the pull, the pull . . . was so strong. And combined with that was the pull into myself. I found myself examining everything I believed, thought, understood. And I came to the conclusion that "nothing is for sure." Except for this moment.

Since then, I feel continued moments of ego death, as another chunk of resistance falls away. The feeling? "Ouch!"

The tug, the pull, for me, is like a caress from the hands of the loves of my life. I feel protected and safe within the pull, and notice no particular need to shout abort what's happening. Rumi's idea of the "silent pull" resonates deeply within me.

I am more than willing to share what I know about this process, here in 
Into the Centre
, in person with clients and people who attend my workshops or who hire me to teach them to transform their businesses. But I feel no pull to have people consider me wise. That's the "silent" part.

"What we truly love" is a pattern of understanding unique to each of us. It is a felt sense of coming into the world and leaving something beautiful behind. Like Rumi's community recording his poetry. After his "conversion experience," he found himself spontaneously singing the poems we've been playing with. Some kind soul wrote them down for us; for Rumi, it wasn't about "being a poet." It was glorifying his relationship with God and with others, singing out the joy he found in diving into the depths of who he was.

Inside of you is a current of bliss and joy, which points clearly to a "silent" vocation. You can stick to the world's way of doing things - for praise, for glory - or you can step quietly into the silken stream of the thing you love, and live out your love in silent wonder and joy.

The world's way leads to quiet desperation, or noisy self-glorification. The path of the soul leads to silent bliss. 

I wonder. Why are you choosing to make
this a difficult choice?

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