A New Rule – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi 

It is the rule with drunkards to fall upon each other,

to quarrel, become violent, and make a scene.

The lover is even worse than a drunkard.

I will tell you what love is: to enter a mine of gold.

And what is that gold?

The lover is a king above all kings,

unafraid of death, not at all interested in a golden crown.

The dervish has a pearl concealed under his patched cloak.

Why should he go begging door to door?

Last night that moon came along,

drunk, dropping clothes in the street.

“Get up,” I told my heart, “Give the soul a glass of wine.

The moment has come to join the nightingale in the garden,

to taste sugar with the soul-parrot.”

I have fallen, with my heart shattered –

where else but on your path? And I

broke your bowl, drunk, my idol, so drunk,

don’t let me be harmed, take my hand.

A new rule a new law has been born:

break all the glasses and fall toward the glassblower. 

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One Whisper Of The Beloved – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Lovers share a sacred decree – 

to seek the Beloved. 

They roll head over heels, 

rushing toward the Beautiful One 

like a torrent of water. 
In truth, everyone is a shadow of the Beloved – 

Our seeking is His seeking, 

Our words are His words. 
At times we flow toward the Beloved 

like a dancing stream. 

At times we are still water 

held in His pitcher. 

At times we boil in a pot 

turning to vapor – 

that is the job of the Beloved. 
He breathes into my ear 

until my soul 

takes on His fragrance. 

He is the soul of my soul – 

How can I escape? 

But why would any soul in this world 

want to escape from the Beloved? 
He will melt your pride 

making you thin as a strand of hair, 

Yet do not trade, even for both worlds, 

One strand of His hair. 
We search for Him here and there 

while looking right at Him. 

Sitting by His side we ask, 

‘O Beloved, where is the Beloved?’ 
Enough with such questions! – 

Let silence take you to the core of life. 
All your talk is worthless 

When compared to one whisper 

of the Beloved.

The Guest House – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

This being human is a guest house. 

Every morning a new arrival. 
A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

some momentary awareness comes 

As an unexpected visitor. 
Welcome and entertain them all! 

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, 

who violently sweep your house 

empty of its furniture, 

still treat each guest honorably. 

He may be clearing you out 

for some new delight. 
The dark thought, the shame, the malice, 

meet them at the door laughing, 

and invite them in. 
Be grateful for whoever comes, 

because each has been sent 

as a guide from beyond.

The Temple Of Love – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

The temple of love is not love itself; 

True love is the treasure, 

Not the walls about it. 

Do not admire the decoration, 

But involve yourself in the essence, 

The perfume that invades and touches you- 

The beginning and the end. 

Discovered, this replace all else, 

The apparent and the unknowable. 

Time and space are slaves to this presence.

This Is Love – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, 

to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. 

First, to let go of live. 

In the end, to take a step without feet; 

to regard this world as invisible, 

and to disregard what appears to be the self. 
Heart, I said, what a gift it has been 

to enter this circle of lovers, 

to see beyond seeing itself, 

to reach and feel within the breast.

We Are As The Flute – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee; 

we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.
We are as pieces of chess engaged in victory and defeat: 

our victory and defeat is from thee, 

O thou whose qualities are comely! 
Who are we, O Thou soul of our souls, 

that we should remain in being beside thee? 
We and our existences are really non-existence; 

thou art the absolute Being which manifests the perishable. 
We all are lions, but lions on a banner: 

because of the wind they are rushing 

onward from moment to moment. 
Their onward rush is visible, 

and the wind is unseen: 

may that which is unseen not fail from us! 
Our wind whereby we are moved and our being are of thy gift; 

our whole existence is from thy bringing into being.

When Grapes Turn To Wine – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

When grapes turn 

to wine, they long for our ability to change. 
When stars wheel 

around the North Pole, 

they are longing for our growing consciousness. 
Wine got drunk with us, 

not the other way. 

The body developed out of us, not we from it. 
We are bees, 

and our body is a honeycomb. 

We made 

the body, cell by cell we made it