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Rumi was a Persian mystic and poet, born in 1207. He was a sufi muslim, who, judging by the ones I have met, are filled to the brim with love and laughter. They do not take the Quran so literally, they even have the bravery to say that some of it is fundamentally wrong and flawed. I know very little about the religion on the whole, but it seems to me, that Sufis are interested in esoteric matters, the spiritual journey through life and sometimes, like I always thought, it is just better to dance your way to higher enlightenment. Apparently, Rumi believed passionately in the use of music, poetry, and dance as a path for reaching God. I am not looking for god, but I do agree with the philosophy that having a open heart to music, poetry and dance will bring you peace in the whirlpool of day to day existence. He was a braindancer for sure.
I have never seen whirling dervishes with my own eyes, I would dearly love to. His teachings were taken, and used to develop the dance by his son.

Rumi encouraged listening to music and turning or doing the sacred dance. In the Mevlevi tradition, samāʿ represents a mystical journey of spiritual ascent through mind and love to the Perfect One.
In this journey, the seeker symbolically turns towards the truth, grows through love, abandons the ego, finds the truth, and arrives at the Perfect. Sounds good hey?
The seeker then returns from this spiritual journey, with greater maturity, to love and to be of service to the whole of creation without discrimination with regard to beliefs, races, classes, and nations. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rumi

I like his style, why can we not have more religious figures on this tip?

He is one of my top poets of all time, I find his words do deeply resonant with me, I breath deeper whilst reading them, I smile through the day as I remember lines that help me to see and alter the selfish, confused behaviour I was implementing. So soft, yet truthful. This is my favourite poem of his.


In the early dawn of happiness you gave me three kisses so that I would wake up to this moment of love

I tried to remember in my heart what I’d dreamt about during the night before I became aware of this moving of life

I found my dreams but the moon took me away It lifted me up to the firmament and suspended me there I saw how my heart had fallen on your path singing a song

Between my love and my heart things were happening which slowly slowly made me recall everything

You amuse me with your touch although I can’t see your hands.You have kissed me with tenderness although I haven’t seen your lips

You are hidden from me.

But it is you who keeps me alive

Perhaps the time will come when you will tire of kisses

I shall be happy even for insults from you
I only ask that you keep some attention on me.

These are some Rumi poems I read to my children, the ones I like the most so far. I have not read everything the man put to paper, So much came spilling from his mind, my collection is growing though. Check this website, they have a lot of his work here:http://www.rumi.org.uk/

Climbing up the path I step aside Delighted by the fragrance of roses upon the garden wall.
He meets me at the gate; Gives me welcome, and a cup. I drink his wine, And lose myself in drunken loving among the roses.
Asleep in two worlds, No fear or pain, Content where I am, Until its time to climb again,
I cannot remain lingering between; I tell him so; He smiles, Pins a rose upon my breast,
Guides me back onto the path.
Now he joins me in my quest, And fills my time Increasing my capacity for wine.

Full Moons
Under full moons
lovers wings
are spread open waiting
As moon begins to wane
it drops
its ashes from
the lover who lives in
the sky

The lover's food is the love of the bread;
no bread need be at hand:
no one who is sincere in his love is a slave to existence.
Lovers have nothing to do with with with existence;
lovers have the interest without the capital.
Without wings they fly around the world;
without hands they carry the polo ball off the field.
That dervish who caught the scent of Reality used to weave basket even though his hand had been cut off.
Lover have pitched their tents in nonexistence:they are of one quality and one essence, as nonexistence is.

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