Tell No One What You Have Seen

I circled awhile with each of the intelligences
the nine fathers that control the levels of spirit growth.

I revolved for years with the stars
through each astrologic sign.

I disappeared into the kingdom of nearness.
I saw what I have seen, receiving nourishment as a child lives in the womb.

Personalities are born once;
a mystic many times.

Wearing the body robe, I have been busy in the market, weighing and arguing prices.

Sometimes I have torn the robe off with my own hands and thrown it away.

I have spent long nights in monasteries, and I have slept with those who claim to believe nothing on the porches of pagodas, just traveling through.

When someone feels jealous, I am inside the hurt and the need to possess.

When anyone is sick, I feel feverish and dizzy.

I am cloud and rain being released,
then the meadow as it soaks it in.

I wash the grains of mortality from the cloth around a dervish.

I am the rose of Eternity,
not made of water or fire,
not even of the wandering wind
or even earth. I play with those.

I am not Shams of Tabriz,
but a light within his light.

If you see me, be careful.
Tell no one what you have seen.

— Jalaludin Mevlana, “Rumi”

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