Discourses Of Rumi (Or Fihi Ma Fihi) pdf download

Discourses Of Rumi (Or Fihi Ma Fihi) Based on The Original Translation by A. J. Arberry –

ما فيه ما فيه

DISCOURSES OF RUMI (OR FIHI MA FIHI)

Recognized as perhaps the greatest mystical poet of Islam, Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207-1273) communicated something through his writing that has attracted spiritual seekers from almost every religion in the world, for hundreds of years.

Even in his day, Rumi was sought out by merchants and kings, devout worshippers and rebellious seekers, famous scholars and common peasants, men, and women. At his funeral, Muslims, Christians, Jews, Arabs, Persians, Turks, and Romans honored him. Listen to his call for seekers of truth:

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.

Rumi’s love and honor for all religious traditions were not always popular in his day, and often provoked criticism from the more dogmatic. A story is told that one such public challenge came from a Muslim dignitary, Qonavi, who confront- ed Rumi before an audience.

 “You claim to be at one with 72 religious sects,” said Qonavi, “but the Jews cannot agree with the Christians, and the Christians cannot agree with Muslims. If they cannot agree with each other, how could you agree with them all?” To this Rumi answered, “Yes, you are right, I agree with you too.”

Although kings were his followers, Rumi’s critics could never understand why Rumi’s greatest love and dedication went to what they called, “the tailors, the cloth-sellers, and the petty shop-keepers – uncouth and uncultured ruffians.” Yet even amongst these, his dearest companions, Rumi allowed no vanity.

The story is told that one day, while Rumi was in deep contemplation, sur- rounded by his disciples, a drunkard walked in shouting and stumbling.

The man staggered toward Rumi and then fell on him. To Rumi’s followers, such a disgrace of their teacher was intolerable, and they rose as one to rush the ignorant fool.

Rumi stopped them with his raised hand, saying, “I thought this intruder was the one who was intoxicated, but now I see it is not he, but my own students who are drunk!”

There are thousands who believe that Rumi’s presence (baraka) still exists today, and still teaches.

If this is true, it is certainly largely due to the remarkable vitality that can be found in his writings and poetry, and the relevancy they contain that reaches our inner core. Rumi’s poetry has captured the hearts of spiritual seekers around the world because of its depth and beauty.

His verses sketch out the whole panorama of life, from human sorrow and devotion to the universal breadth of God’s hidden plan. His poetry seems fathomless and endless.

Rumi has also left to us another manuscript that is not so well known – the collection of dis- courses given at the gatherings with his students.

It Is What It Is (Fihi ma Fihi) is a record of these spiritual discussions that often followed music and dance, the reciting of sacred poems and phrases, and the now famous Whirling Dervish exercise that Rumi originated to enliven and bring the spiritual opening to the rather somber people of Konya, Turkey, in his day.

This present book is edited and rewritten from

A. J. Arberry’s original English translation, published in 1961 as Discourses of Rumi. Arberry himself admitted that his scholastic, literal, work “is not an easy book to read…and the original is by no means easy always to understand.”

According to more recent studies of the original manuscript (Chittick and Shah, for example,), Arberry’s translation also has some technical errors, and better understandings of Rumi’s subtle spiritual teachings have come to light.

I hope this edition will help illuminate and clarify such passages and build on Professor Arberry’s contribution.

If you were to compare the original manuscript of Rumi’s discourses with this present book, the first change you might notice would be the dropping of phrases like, “may Allah bless him and give him peace,” after every reference to a saint or prophet, which was the proper and respectful way of speaking in Rumi’s day, and still is today in some parts of the world.

Also, Rumi makes numerable references to the Koran and quotes from it frequently. Since Rumi’s listeners knew the Koran well, such quotes were familiar and personal brush strokes.

However, for too many readers of this book, this will not be so. Therefore, I have removed a few quotes that could prove confusing to those who do not know the Koran or might disturb the direction of Rumi’s message.

Rumi’s reference to God is always deeply personal. Whether he uses the masculine term “Allah,” or refers to God as “The Beloved,” it is nearness and closeness to God that Rumi is expressing. Unfortunately, the English language has no personal, neutral pronoun for God.

To always use “He” in referring to God, to mankind, or to any general person, was common practice when Arberry released his edition but seems too masculine today. In Rumi’s Persian language, “God” has no gender, and Rumi’s symbolic portrayal of God uses images of the Lover, and the Ocean, as often as the King.

Therefore, I have used “It” to refer to God in places, to help raise above gender, but have also used “He” and “Beloved” to give the personal closeness of Rumi’s message.

The flow, rhythm, and impact of Rumi’s images are what I have tried to preserve, over everything else. These inner subtleties are, paradoxically, more important than the apparent point he is making. For example, in discourse Twenty-Six Rumi says, “Beware! Do not say, ‘I have under-stood.’

The more you understand and grasp these words, the farther you will be from understanding them.

Their meaning comes in not understand- ing.” Such insights cannot be explained, we must catch them inwardly, with only the subtle clues that Rumi leaves to guide us.

Follow Rumi closely in this way, and you will see a string that holds one pearl to the next on this necklace. Each story, each image, is a new moment in Rumi’s discourse, yet rarely is it broken from the last moment.

Step by step, Rumi is dancing. We must be limber and flexible to follow without losing that thread. Yet, hidden in the rhythm and pattern of Rumi’s dance is his true intention.

Even today, Rumi challenges many of our basic cultural assumptions, and often in ways, we may not notice if we aren’t careful. It is easy to make the mistake of rejecting an idea on the grounds that it is out of date, or that it sounds merely like a traditional, orthodox opinion.

I would caution about ever jumping to this conclusion with Rumi since you will more likely find that he has caught you making the very same error.

For example, in discourse Twelve, Rumi asks the question, “If a saint, who carries God’s secret jewel [spiritual grace], strikes someone and breaks their nose and jaw, who is the wronged party?” Rumi claims it is the saint who has been wronged.

“Since the saint is consumed in God, their actions are God’s actions. God is not called a wrongdoer.”

At first glance, these smacks of religious zealotry. The same sort that brought about the killings and murders of the Inquisition. No different than any other self-justified excuse. Anyone can blame God for their own choices, we say. But read Rumi’s words closely; he is not talking about justifying violence. He is asking