Contemplating Rumi

Tired today.

Perhaps it was last night’s trek over the Dumbarton Bridge to bring hubby toothbrush, a change of clothes, blanket, pillows —  he had to test product for the start-up he works for, and that required measuring something every three hours for almost 24 hours —  potential investors were dropping by the company today.  It was late and full dark by the time self arrived in the technology park in Fremont.  Hubby took self for late dinner in a Korean restaurant in some strip mall. Then self drove home, heading south and hooking up with 237.  She didn’t get to sleep until 2 a.m.  Today, when self called hubby to check on how the meeting with the investors had gone, there was bad news:  the little gadget his company hopes to launch on the market, to (hopefully) great fanfare, had failed the test.  More worries, more anxiety.

In the meantime, in the meantime —

Self had to get up bright and early to work in the Writing Center.  Had only four hours sleep.  Even though the semester had barely begun, one student after another came, and then self had to photocopy handouts for her 8 a.m. class tomorrow, and she got tired and her shoulders began to ache and then she got angry because all she really wants to do —  and this is something hubby can never really understand —  is write.

But how many people actually get to pursue their heart’s desire?  Does 5 % of the human population sound about right?

Then, self decides she must count her blessings:  Think of Ying!  Think of Tita G, who passed away suddenly last month in New York!

Self decides to read a new translation of Rumi, which she’d ordered from Amazon to send to Dearest Mum, who’s had a fascination with the poet for approximately the last two years.  (Wherefrom this latest of Dearest Mum’s fascinations?  For self always thought Rumi wrote only love poetry and, well —  Self!  There you go again!  Just because Dearest Mum is past 70 doesn’t mean she can’t fall in love!)

Anyhoo, before self mails the book to Dearest Mum, she decides to try reading it.  One of the poems is called “rocking and rolling.”  And it goes:

what have you been drinking

please let me know

you must be drunk

going house to house

wandering from street to street

(Hmm, self thinks:  Not bad!  Not bad at all!  Self would very much like to get drunk right now, so this book is giving her plenty of ideas!)

Self decides to try another.  Here’s a poem called “a voice out of this world”:

a voice out of this world

calls on our souls

not to wait any more

get ready to move

to the original home

your real home

your real birth place

is up here with the heavens

let your soul take a flight

like a happy phoenix

Perfect.  Self as happy phoenix results in happy thoughts.  Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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