Jalalud’din Rumi - how to meditate
Rumi’s great gift was not his poetry, his wonderful example of selfless love, or his scholarship. Rather I feel it was his instruction on how to meditate properly. But first a little background....
Jalalud’din Rumi (1207-1273 CE) was born in the small village of Wakhsh in Tajikistan. The Mongol invasion when he was a child caused his family to flee - as a result he travelled extensively. He and his family finally settled in the small town of Konya in Anatolia then part of the Seljuk Empire. At age twenty-four he succeeded his father as the local professor of theology, having trained extensively in both religion and the sciences.
As a scholar he did research into the sayings of Mohammad, and studied and wrote about a number of teachers of various religious backgrounds. His emphasis however was upon learning and upon scholarship, rather than religion for its own sake. He translated Quar’ânic verses into Persian, thus making the Quaran more accessible to his countrymen. He had many students, and was relatively well known.
In his thirties a wandering dervish Shamsuddin of Tabriz challenged his understanding of the deeper meaning of what he had been studying. At first Rumi did not understand, but Shams was ruthless and relentless. Eventually Rumi awoke from his dream.
After this, he often danced and sang, whirling in circles, spontaneously chanting poetry which others wrote down and which remain with us to this day.
Following his death his follows founded the Mawlawī Sufi order, based in part upon his teachings. These folk are most famous in the west as the so-called ’whirling dervishes’ after the whirling dance they perform as a type of meditation. But, as with any time-honoured tradition, there is a great deal of artificiality, religious fundamentalism, and tourist-trapiness associated with the dances.
It is my own feeling (just my opinion, of course) that Rumi cannot be understood without performing the whirling dance yourself. I do not like the mystical clap trap that has been built up around it - silly things such as talking about the placement of dancers imitating the positions of the planets, the robes imitating the flow of energy, and so on. Ignore that stuff. Instead, if you are interested in whirling, try this:
Stand quietly in an open space, such as a living room or yard. Place the right arm slightly out with the hand about hip level, palm down as if touching the earth. Place the left arm up slightly bent, with the hand about shoulder level, palm up as if touching the sky. Now with the eyes focused on nothing gently begin to turn in a circle (like a very slow top). Turn always to the left (or to the right if you are in the southern hemisphere). There is no need to spin quickly - just quietly turn in a circle, eyes unfocused. Whirl gently, for as long as you wish. I used to do it for a few hours at a time, but YMMV - a few moments of proper whirling is, however, as good as a few hours. Whatever works for you. And notice this - as you gently whirl, although your conscious mind knows that it is you spinning, what you see is the trees, the grass, the clouds, the sky, the universe spinning around an utterly silent, utterly empty you.
There is no need to try to empty the mind, to embrace love, to feel at one with the universe. Those are games for children. Rather notice what is, see for yourself. As the world whirls around you in silence.
For those who have trouble with the horrors of Zen sitting (leg cramps anyone) or who are just not the type of person to sit in meditation, you might try whirling instead. But be patient, give it a chance to do its thing. Try once a day for a week, say, and see if it is something you feel like continuing. Try it alone though. Why? Because when done with friends, people usually end up chatting about their ’experiences’, or some other trivialisation ritual. Nope - try whirling alone (in a space where you will not bump into things or destroy vases, please), and just relax quietly for a while afterword.
we came whirling
out of nothingness
scattering stars
like dust
the stars made a circle
and in the middle
we dance
the wheel of heaven.
circles God.
like a mill
if you grab a spoke
it will tear your hand off
turning and turning
it sunders
all attachment
were that wheel not in love
it would cry
“enough! how long is this turning”
every atom
turns bewildered
beggars circle tables
dogs circle carrion
the lover circles
his own, heart
ashamed,
I circle shame
a ruined water wheel
whichever way I turn,
is the river
if that rusty old sky
creaks to a stop
still, still I turn
and it is only God
circling Himself
(The above poem is from a most beautiful of translation of Rumi’s song by Daniel Liebert, isbn 0-942234-00-6.)
