I've been thinking about this Rumi poem lately for a couple of reasons. First, I went to a talk in which this Korean American pastor described himself as a "recovering cynic"--someone that wants to believe in the goodness of people but must continue to be vigilant about trusting less he slips up and falls back on what's easier, which is cynicism. I've also recently heard from an old friend who seems to have lost himself somehow as he's dealt with different heartache and betrayals from people he's trusted. Over the years, as we endure hardship and find that our youthful idealism seems inadequate, it is easy to become jaded and bitter. Rather, Rumi's poem gives us a way to rethink this tendency and to return to the heart of who we are created to be.
Don't go away, come near.
Don't be faithless, be faithful.
Find the antidote in the venom.
Come to the root of the root of yourself.
Molded of clay, yet kneaded
from the substance of certainty,
a guard at the Treasury of Holy Light --
come, return to the root of the root of your Self.
Once you get hold of selflessness,
You'll be dragged from your ego
and freed from many traps.
Come, return to the root of the root of your Self.
You are born from the children of God's creation,
but you have fixed your sight too low.
How can you be happy?
Come, return to the root of the root of your Self.
You were born from a ray of God's majesty
and have the blessings of a good star.
Why suffer at the hands of things that don't exist?
Come, return to the root of the root of your Self.
You are a ruby embedded in granite.
How long will you pretend it's not true?
We can see it in your eyes.
Come to the root of the root of your Self.
You came here from the presence of that fine Friend,
a little drunk, but gentle, stealing our hearts
with that look so full of fire; so,
come, return to the root of the root of your Self.
Our master and host, Shamsi Tabrizi,
has put the eternal cup before you.
Glory be to God, what a rare wine!
So come, return to the root of the root of your Self.
--Rumi
