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Posts
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Rumi, the King of Love….. amazing narration… enjoy.. ♥♥♥♥
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZqAnIp5dMQ
Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu Buddhist, Sufi, or Zen.
Not any religion or cultural system….
I am not from the East or the West,
not out of the ocean or up from the ground,
not natural or ethereal, not composed of elements at all.
I do not exist,
am not an entity in this world or in the next,
did not descend from Adam and Eve or any origin story.
My place is placeless, a trace
of the traceless.
Neither body or soul.
I belong to the beloved, have seen the two
worlds as one and that one call to
and know, first, last, outer, inner, only that
breath breathing human being.Perhaps.
To my knowledge Rumi was a passionate believer in art, poetry and song. And the protagonist of my post was one of the great British Blues / Punk vocalists, singing from personal experience of psychiatric nursing, and from drug counselling work on the famous Soho Project. All of which makes your ‘idiocy’ remark rather unfortunate although I probably missed something that only you know.
And while I’m on the whole Persian mystic vibe, maybe Rumi would say that judgementalism defeats us. That each opinion was of equal value or summat. I might be wrong of course but if he was posting on message boards at this juncture I don’t believe, imho, that he would have posted what you did.
Having said all that I simply adore Cath56’s siggy . . . . .
forget my comment about psychobabble on another thread.. this takes the biscuit.
It all makes me want to smoke some DMT. Not the punk, though. Punk makes me uncomfortable and agitated. A very worthy artistic achievement, I’m sure, but easily accomplished, when in the mood, by having some staff scrape their nails on a blackboard and torture a badger.
I’m the abominal bambino of Thompson and Clarkson and I’m here all week.
only a fool would freebase dimethyltryptamine in the winter. I’m talking about some new kind of uninvented moron, never seen before. You need the sweet sounds, colours and true smells of an English Summer to really get those important 7th and 8th senses aroused adequately. When roses are in bloom and those impertinent daffs have fooked right off.
I hate replying to pikey; its not so much the words but having to tie the bloody cravate first.
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