Wednesday, November 22 \u00a0 Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi \u00a0\u2014 \u00a0\u201cWhen I die\u201d<\/p>\n
Wednesday before Thanksgiving, \u00a0work, for many of us, begins to shift from professional skills to hospitality arts – calculating the weight of a large turkey in terms of cooking time, \u00a0family-special recipes, families gathering across generations. \u00a0Last minute grocery shopping runs, \u00a0the small-scale excitements of family and close friends with the oldest of rituals, cooking for familiar company. \u00a0 Wednesday opens into a Thursday that has three Saturday-like days in a row. \u00a0Breathing time, nap times, time for old stories re-told, for the City\u2019s massive Parade, for football.<\/p>\n
I looked for a poet from outside the U.S. \u2014 a voice as deeply domestic and human as the ones many of our readers grew up with in what we learned to call America, a voice to remind us as we gather that this country of immigrant-set tables with foods from around the wide world.<\/p>\n
I came upon this, to me new, poem by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi. \u00a0He opens us readers into awe and mystery and playful teasing. \u00a0 Lots of free time these coming days so reading two or three times should fit into some open spaces.<\/p>\n
Happy Thanksgiving, may your hospitality return to anoint you. \u00a0See you on Monday.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
john sj<\/p>\n
Today\u2019s Post, \u201cWhen I die\u201d<\/p>\n
When I die
\nwhen my coffin
\nis being taken out
\nyou must never think
\ni am missing this world<\/p>\n
don’t shed any tears
\ndon’t lament or
\nfeel sorry
\ni’m not falling
\ninto a monster’s abyss<\/p>\n
when you see
\nmy corpse is being carried
\ndon’t cry for my leaving
\ni’m not leaving
\ni’m arriving at eternal love<\/p>\n
when you leave me
\nin the grave
\ndon’t say goodbye
\nremember a grave is
\nonly a curtain
\nfor the paradise behind<\/p>\n
you’ll only see me
\ndescending into a grave
\nnow watch me rise
\nhow can there be an end
\nwhen the sun sets or
\nthe moon goes down<\/p>\n
it looks like the end
\nit seems like a sunset
\nbut in reality it is a dawn
\nwhen the grave locks you up
\nthat is when your soul is freed<\/p>\n
have you ever seen
\na seed fallen to earth
\nnot rise with a new life
\nwhy should you doubt the rise
\nof a seed named human<\/p>\n
have you ever seen
\na bucket lowered into a well
\ncoming back empty
\nwhy lament for a soul
\nwhen it can come back
\nlike Joseph from the well<\/p>\n
when for the last time
\nyou close your mouth
\nyour words and soul
\nwill belong to the world of
\nno place no time<\/p>\n
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi<\/a><\/p>\n (30 September 1207\u00a0\u2013 17 December 1273)<\/p>\n Wednesday, November 22 \u00a0 Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi \u00a0\u2014 \u00a0\u201cWhen I die\u201d Wednesday before Thanksgiving, \u00a0work, for many of us, begins to shift from professional skills to hospitality arts – calculating the weight of a large turkey in terms of cooking … Continue reading ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/sites.udmercy.edu\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/170\/2017\/11\/Rumi.jpg\")
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