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dragged by the hair into his presence

13 Sep

Screen Shot 2014-09-13 at 4.44.59 PM

It’s been awhile since I picked up Rumi and took a stroll with him through his pages.
And now I remember why.

He tells the truth just a bit too brutally.

“By deferring generosity I am helping him.”
aka “I caused you to hunger then fed you with manna
that I might know what was in your heart.”

And so our need “drags us by the hair into his presence.”

Received a text this morning from a couple I love who have been dragged by the hair into his presence for decades. Well meaning idiots people tell them, “This is the enemy! Pray against the enemy!” This, of course, has never occurred to them. Such glorious words of comfort rank right up there with blood letting for them. I told them “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Yes, that enemy I will ever pray against. God bless and keep you far away from all who suffer.

Satan gets so much credit for what God is doing.
Where did we get this notion that it’s all about escaping pain,
that this is God’s number one goal and plan for my life?
Because if that is his plan, quite frankly he sucks, and his plan sucks.
Totally.

I would love to trade in the torn-open cry. I would.
I can caw-caw like a crow, truly I can, if that means you would let me go.
But you have stolen me, with no intention of return, I your singing nightingale.

And in my torn-open nightingale-ish cries,
I see what I never would have seen,
feel would I never would have felt;
dimensions and worlds open before my dumbfounded gaze,
my torn-open lips screeching, “Holy, Holy, Holy”
but to your ears it’s my own nightingale song
and so I steal You.

Rumi, I really, really hate you.

nightingale-are-singing

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Posted by on September 13, 2014 in haverings, Poetry, Suffering

 

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