If the Model is Exquisite, do not wonder why the Painting is Beautiful - of Ghosts, Rumi, God and Friendship

Sigh. Why can't this crank just leave me alone.

Rumi is quite Da Man, you know. And although I have known of him for some time, I can never really wrap my turban around his prose. Just like Ruzbihan’s, they are so elevated and transcendental that my brain kinda break down and refuses to budge despite my loudest exhortations. So I say that if Rumi’s prose is so high and heavenly, then obviously I must drag Rumi and his fabled lore down to my low standards. So I am sorry if you are looking for elevated love in this almanac. I don’t think you will find any here. There is an elevator in the building, correct, but the arrow is always pointing down, because you know, I am that ‘low kinda guy’. Hehehe.

Rubbing Rumi

Did Rumi not say,

“How will your mirror

Be polished if you are

Irritated by every rub?”

Well, I am Rumi’s proverbial mirror.

And yes, Mr. Rumi…

I do get irritated by every rub.

But maybe it is you who is

Rubbing me the wrong way!

Ha.  Ha.  Ha. My beard is funnier than his jokes.



I don’t write poetry, actually. I just write. I have no notion of the aesthetics nor am I an avid reader of poetry. What actually happens is that I just pay attention and listen to any ghost willing to impart some understanding of God, the Prophets, the Companion, the Saints and humanity generally. And just like an artist with his model, if the subject is beautiful, how else can the artist draw her. If God is so utterly beautiful, how else can I write of Him?

Friends. Well, Rumi or Ruzbihan, Ariffin, Rusty, Rose, Lee, Petr, Ema, Matasan, George,  Zulkarnain or Katmon… so many friends and so many faces. How I wish sometimes I had ten thousand extra hours to sit with my old and new friends, to listen to their stories and jokes, to commiserate at their loss or sickness. Just to be a part of their wonderfully rich lives. I am a sinner, but by God I am surrounded by beautiful people. Far and near, alive or dead, their tales seed my life with hope, and their love and compassion shame me to be a better person.

Ghosts? I do not actually see them. But their voices are loud and clear. I read them in books, and I hear them in the oral traditions from people of all sorts of spiritual colour. And all of the good ghosts are saying, "Do not let our good stories die with us. Do not let everything that we struggled for, Love, Faith, Truth, Kindness, Humility and Beauty perish with us."  So I listen. Then I write.

Thank you for reading what I write. Have a happy, happy Sabbath, pet.

Pax Taufiqa.