Running Into Rumi

I ran into Rumi on a stretch of astro-turf the color of burnt sienna.

That would be the astro-turf track in my neighborhood. You duck between two apartment buildings, dart down about 30 feet of a small alley, and you end up on a fairly expansive, heavily sloped running track with a bit of greenery and a small play park. The local mosque is slightly off to one corner near the bottom, just behind a couple apartment buildings and on the edge of a field.

It was about half an hour into the walk when the sun began to set and the small mosque offered up its call to prayer.  Minutes later, the vibrato voice began to wind down his soulful message, and our local dog pack began to chime in, as if sensing that he was coming to an end and wanting to put in their two cents before it was all over.  As the pack reached their crescendo one voice stood over the rest…a wailing, lonesome pup undoubtedly calling for his mother to return.  His insistence and persistence were admirable, and he continued long after the others ceased.  He was urgent, plaintive, and filled with sadness.  He made the perfect ending to the song of prayer, and his lonely calling made me think, vividly, of a flute.

And as I walked that flute took a more solid form, and I saw a painting I had done for a friend a couple of years ago.  It was Betty’s idea to use extra ebru sheets as a background for Sufi dervishes and a flute player.  I saw that flute player now, rising in his purple mist not unlike my own current twilight, and with that vision I felt an urge to unite the painting with Rumi.  He just surprised me that way. Had Rumi ever written about flute music?  I didn’t know, not really having an in-depth knowledge of the work of the famous Sufi poet and mystic.  Rounding out the bottom loop near the mosque and turning uphill, blood moderately pumping and knee loosening up, I pulled out my phone.  “Rumi, flute” I googled.  I was well rewarded.  That, my friends, is how I ran (or walked) into Rumi, and that is how I was able to put his words and my art (which now happily resides in Wisconsin, but will soon be on its way to California, where it shall be not too far from a Sufi center I hear) into the same space, together.  Sometimes it takes years or even decades for the sense of something to be made known.

Here are Rumi’s words that needed to be with the pictures:

The Reed Flute’s Song – Mevlana Rumi

“Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it’s not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty.”

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside sure a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn’t want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it’s best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.”

-translation by Coleman Barks and John Moyne in The Essential Rumi ([Barks 2004], pages 17–20), as cited on flutopedia.com

and this one…

A Craftsman Pulled a Reed … – Rumi

“A craftsman pulled a reed from the reedbed,
cut holes in it, and called it a human being.

Since then, it’s been wailing a tender agony
of parting, never mentioning the skill
that gave it life as a flute.”

-translation by Coleman Barks and John Moyne in The Essential Rumi, page 146, as cited on flutopedia.com

About ebru:  Ebru is a Turkish paper marbling art.  I took a one-night introductory class a while back which featured natural resources such as marshmallow extract, natural pigments in the dyes, and even bile, as I recall. When I first came to Turkey 20 years ago, we used turpentine in the art rooms for this activity and had to keep all the windows and doors open, as well as bottle up all remains after as bio-hazards.  Now, there are kid-safe solutions you can buy here at any craft store, or even make your own solutions by mixing a little gum tragacanth and water and leaving it for a couple of nights to disperse. Basically, you pour this solution in a tray, float dyes on top, and use a comb or stick to swirl patterns in it.  The patterns and dyes are picked up by laying a paper over the surface.  The designs can get quite sophisticated, and can include landscapes, floral patters, and abstract patterns.

When I returned somewhat late this fall to teach I was moved into the same art room where I had taken the ebru course last year.  On that same day, I received a letter from a friend, postmarked from Iowa.  The woman who arranged the activity had kept my bit of practice ebru, then moved to Milan by way of Iowa over the summer…and had very touchingly thought to return it to me.  The small package was a wonderful welcome to my new teaching assignment this year, so thank you Claudia.

 

About the dogs: First, they are fed regularly by concerned citizens.  They have a makeshift dog house set up on the edge of a field so they are protected from the elements.  It is probably a better arrangement than calling a local ‘dog farm”, because those places are always over crowded and struggling to make ends meet.  There are no “kill”shelters here.  Local street dogs- and these particular ones are Anatolian shepherds -eventually receive injections and sometimes neutering from the municipality, and are tagged in the ear to show that they have received their injections.  People often feed and shelter them, and sometimes adopt.  They are seen very much as part of the natural environment.  It is true they are vulnerable to abuse ( I have lost two in the past to poisons)and starvation, but on the average they are free, independent, and go about their daily business alongside the humans.  I find it preferable to placing them in a cubicle and giving them a two week expiration date.

note: in Overkill I planned to make my next post  a piece on education, parenting, and character… I now plan to post that work on April 1st.