Rumi's shrine
A few days ago I stood with a few thousand people, huddled inside Rumi’s shrine, celebrating the 738th anniversary of his passing on to the Beyond. Millions of people around the world have been touched and transformed by his teachings and sublime poetry, whether in the original Persian, Turkish translations through the centuries or now in English. Many had asked me to share a few words from the Urs (annual celebration) of Rumi, and I thought to write down a few cherished memories about Rumi, known to his followers as Hazrat-e Mawlana (“His Holiness, Our master”).
Mawlana Rumi’s shrine is not a large place. It consists of three rooms: one is a long corridor that contains the graves of Rumi; his father, Baha Valad; his son, Sultan Valad; and many of his family and close companions. The second room is a large rectangular one where the Whirling Ceremony (Sama’) was held, and the third is a mosque for the performance of the Muslim prayers. Due to the secularization of Turkey under Ataturk, Rumi’s shrine was converted to a secular museum in 1926. Yet the standing of the shrine as a museum does not prevent more than a million pilgrims every year to visit this greatest of Muslim poets and mystics. On most times of everyday you find at least 50 people inside, but on this day there were a few thousand people packed inside. We got there a few hours before the ceremony that started after the late afternoon (asr) prayers to find a place to stand. Our Sufi teacher, Cemalnur (the leading female Islamic teacher in Turkey), had wisely reminded us to not drink anything from the morning, because we wouldn’t be able to leave to use the facilities. This is one of the many admirable qualities about these teachers: They think of the whole human being — yes, the heart, the soul and even the bladder!
We kept looking around as more and more waves of loving pilgrims arrived, and each time we thought the shrine was as packed as it could possibly get, more would fit. As a parent, it reminded me of when my children were born. After my first daughter was born, I felt I had discovered a love like I had not ever known before. It was a love pure and holy, which took over my whole heart. When we became pregnant with our next child, I was actually initially concerned about how I would love another child to the same extent. And yet something miraculous happened when my son was born: as soon as I first laid eye on him, I felt inside that my heart was expanding. I now loved each of my children fully, completely and equally. I didn’t love my daughter any less because another soul had entered my heart. My heart had become larger, capable of more love. And this is what Rumi’s shrine felt like, it had become a representation of the heart. The shrine kept expanding and expanding to take in more and more pilgrims. It was a palpable lesson that we as humans are capable of growth, of becoming much more than we thought, and taking in so many inside of our hearts if we dare to let it expand to encompass the whole humanity.
The crowd huddled inside was an international gathering: there were hundreds of Iranians, who had come on bus and planes, each with a collection of Rumi’s poetry, silently and beautifully going to their favorite poems. The Turkish pilgrims were of course there, offering prayers to God in the presence of Mawlana Rumi, and simply giving thanks. They offered thanks for a love that starts from God, flows through humanity, and takes us back to God. And there were Americans there, some who are formally Muslims and some who are drawn to this amazing Muslim saint without having adopted Islam. There were Germans and French and Italians and Senegalese. I wondered for a moment how it was that a poet, a saint, had left such a legacy that people would travel from around the world to be there to celebrate him, to celebrate the impact he had had on their lives. I can not think of a single king or ruler who so would draw people centuries after his death. These saintly souls are the true kings, because they draw with love, not with force.
Above the entrance to Rumi’s shrine there is a lovely poem inscribed:
This place is like the Ka’ba for lovers.
All come here broken and incomplete
All leave whole.
READ MORE HEREhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/omid-safi/pilgrimage-to-rumi-may-it_b_1165302.html