Rumi writes of ecstasy, of being used by the Divine, being sung through, the longing to be used in such a way, to praise the Divine. I am not in ecstasy, but I long to be used nonetheless, to be sung. We all do. To feel something greater than the small, worried ego, motivating our actions, thoughts, being. To feel purposeful, inspired, part of some greatness.
This moves us to do stupid things sometimes, like joining some nationalistic cause and killing or condemning others. But it can also move us to beauty, kindness, giving, to our best selves.
The bird’s song calls us home to simplicity, joy, the music in all things. The wind in the trees reminds me of effortlessness and being danced. And, yes, I have a great longing for that.
Please, Beloved, use me for some great purpose, or better yet, just some simple, sweet song. Please make of me a song, so that my cells become notes, my bones rhythm, my nerves melodies, my blood harmony, my skin orchestration. Let me be Your song and nothing else, dissolved completely in the One Being.
I can come to you with my sadness, my hatred, my depression—and You can transform them into light or beautiful darkness, the singing void, womb from which creation comes. I don’t have to be ecstatic to reach You or be worthy of You. Take me as I am and use me. I am willing. That is enough.
This musing is a response to today’s poem in A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings, translated and assembled by Coleman Barks. I cannot print the poem here because of copyright, but you can read the poem at: http://rumidays.blogspot.com/2010_05_20_archive.html
