Thoughts inspired by Rumi

Sorrow prepares you for joy by Jalaluddin Rumi

Sorrow prepares you for joy,

It violently sweeps everything out of your house,

so that new joy can find space to enter.

It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart,

so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place.

It pulls up the rotten roots,

so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow.

Whatever Sorrow shakes from your heart,

far better things will take their place.

Rumi writes that sorrow prepares you for joy.  It violently sweeps everything out of your house.

My problem is that I am a terrible housekeeper and along with not sweeping away the dust and mess, I feel I am also unable to rid my heart of sorrow.

I’ve been thinking recently about the fact I used to be a kinder person—non-judgmental and more accepting and, I am trying to figure out what became of that part of me.  When did I start to change?

I never was aware of space, although I was always aware of my boundaries.  I tried never to cross other people’s boundaries.  I always allowed intrusions into mine, usually unaware.  Now, I find I have put barriers around my space and perhaps am more protective of my boundaries, but have I, in order for my own protection, built walls separating me completely.  I draw lines where I never did before.  I spend more time marching and keeping a watchful eye out for intruders.  I have dug a moat around the castle of self.

Spring is here with its expansiveness of beauty with its new blooms of flowers and I think of that person 20 years ago who wrote of what she wanted in this poem:

Send Me Flowers Of All Different Hues To Highlight the Feelings by Alyss 

I want violets of passion,

Roses of nettle

Gladiolas of growth

Sweet peas of tenderness

Jasmine of fervor

Forget-me-nots of caring

Buttercups of sunshine and happy days

Will-o-the wisp of adventure

Orchids of yearning

Gardenias of fragility

Asters of foreboding strength

An umbel bouquet rendering love,

P.S.  But I might settle for daisies.

 Ode to Spring by Alyss

Sip the wine, toast the world, do a jig.

Spring has sprung

Its pollen is flying

Kerchoo, kerchoo, kerchoo