"Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving -
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times.
Come, yet again, come, come."
—Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Balkh, or Rumi
(September 30, 1207 – December 17, 1273)
I share a birthday with Rumi.
Maybe that shouldn't be my most first thought when reading this. Yet, I've always loved Rumi. I first found his work when I was in high school, working in the library. It caresses me with its passion and intensity.
I've been a traveler, a nomad, a gypsy since a very young age. My mother said I habitually wandered off. When I was 5 or 6, I climbed to the top beam of a house being built in my neighborhood and she needed to climb up to get me. I promised to be good, to stay close, to let people know where I was going. Alas, I have indeed broken that promise at least a hundred times.
Rumi speaks from that deep place of love, the knowingness that someone is always present in your life, will always return to you ~ or allow your return. The call to that return is exuberant ~ "Come, come.... yet again, come, come." The invitation is not only real but overflowing with emotion.
Rumi's voice can be heard also as the voice of the Divine, the Lover of us all, hailing us, reminding us that there is a place for us whenever we choose to return to it. It's that open, passionate invitation that keeps me returning when I feel less than charitable toward myself, when I need to be held by the essence of Love.
Is there a place, solid or spiritual, that beckons you? How do you feel when it does? What draws you back? How do you "hear" the call?